Nov. 22, 2007 — People were looking out for one another on Thursday, sharing a laugh, a remembrance, a kind word. The community came together; at either end of Main Street, folks were sharing a meal, gathered together through the kindness of others.
The Salvation Army serves about 100 lunches every day. Its doors were opened Thursday to about 300 folks. At the other end of Main Street, the Penn-Scipio family held its traditional feast at Emancipation Garden.
About 40 or so people were lined up for the family's feed — old folks, youngsters, folks dressed to kill, and those in worn jeans and T-shirts. Musician Charles Matthews of the Carnival Zulu troupe was entertaining a young couple as they waited patiently in line.
"You can be part of the Zulus," he told the young man, "but it's a lot of work," The young man and his girlfriend said they came to be "part of the community." "This is such a good thing,"
the girlfriend said, while declining the opportunity to become a Zulu.
Perennial political personality Ike Williams was holding court, sort of, from his place in line. But, he said, no more politics. "People don't want the things that count," he said.
What counted Thursday for Williams was the Penn-Scipio's veggie lasagna. "It's the very best," he said.
Francine Penn-Scipio said she had cooked 11 turkeys since Wednesday. Asked how she managed, her husband, Clarence, pointed at the sky. "She gets help from there," he said.
She said the families have been serving the meal for years, with a little time out after Hurricane Marilyn in 1995. "It's been harder this year, because my mother died just last week," she said. "But my friends have been wonderful helping me. I wish we could do this every day of the year."
The serving line was dishing out ham, turkey, stuffing, and that lasagna as fast as folks could gobble it up.
At the Salvation Army chapel, somber organ music poured out and was met with a rousing rendition of "The Tennessee Waltz," blaring from an boombox outside as folks sat on benches intent on plates of turkey.
Inside, First Lady Cecile deJongh was busy serving folks at two long tables, dressed in a jaunty paper cap supplied by Major Federico Craig. It wasn't special for the first lady; all the volunteers wear the headgear, it turns out.
Craig and his wife, Major Doris Craig, were busy overseeing the holiday production, their second since taking over the St. Thomas post two years ago. Their normally peaceful kingdom was controlled chaos Thursday.
A line of volunteers served the food Army style, accepting platters coming out of the kitchen from George Goodwin; if its turkey at the Salvation Army, it's Goodwin. He looks up for a quick smile and a hello.
How many years has the carver par excellence been doing this? He wipes his brow, "Oh, 32, I think."
Another gobble day veteran, Judy Gomez, is carrying out the plates as fast as Goodwin can hand them out. Both former senators never looked happier. The feeling of good will abounds.
Children run about, some serving and some being served. Teresa Tyson Prince, manning the volunteer desk, said they had 81 as of noon.
The volunteers come from all parts of the community. Delta Sigma Theta sorority has about 20 young women learning how to serve the public, said Asiah Clendenin. "It's good training for them to learn how to serve people," she said.
Children were gathered around the first lady, who was pulled off duty for a bit of picture taking with the very youngest celebrant, one-month, two-day old Kenaz A. Dyer, who seemed utterly unfazed by his sudden celebrity. His mother and grandmother, Cherilce and Ellen Wattley, gazed with pride at the newborn and his new pal.
DeJongh's husband, the governor, was also caught up in the picture-taking business, surrounded by several of the Delta Sigma Theta young women who weren't about to let him by without a picture.
The governor is a familiar face at the annual feast. "Today, though, it's my turn," said the first lady.
Walking in the church doors, a nicely dressed middle-aged man stopped for a brief chat. "You know, it's not like everybody here is poor or homeless," he said. "I don't have anyone to cook for me anymore. My wife's parents died, and we used to always go there. Look around, you will see lots of retired workers like me. We just don't have anyone to cook a meal like this for us."
Both Majors Craig were still smiling while shepherding their assorted flock, as the busy day began to wind down. Federico Craig let on that he and his wife would be sleeping very well tonight.
"We were down here setting up at 3:30 this morning," he said, without a hint of regret. "It's what we do."
Back Talk
Share your reaction to this news with other Source readers. Please include headline, your name and city and state/country or island where you reside.
