THE HEALER - MARTIN CONNORS SR.
by Doreen Ennis-Greene
As a child I was very much afraid of Mr. Martin. His tall austere frame and gruff manner caused me to hurry a little faster as I passed his house on my way to the Co-Op store or to visit my friends down the road. I must confess that, although I wasn't brave enough to pelt his house with a handful of rocks as some of the bigger boys did, I irreverently called him ‘Old Moan’ behind his back. My opinion of Mr. Martin changed when I was nine years old.
Uncle Jack Ennis had just finished hanging the doors in his son Paddy's new house. My friends and I were running through the house slamming doors and making a nuisance of ourselves. My brother Frank was only three years old and was gleefully following us. Someone slammed a door and jammed Frank's fingers. Imagine our horror when amid Frank's screams, we discovered that his little hand was completely flattened and his fingers deathly white! Scared that he was going to lose his hand and afraid to tell my mom lest she punish me for not taking care of him, I ran as fast as my legs could carry me to Mr. Martin. I will never forget how gentle his gnarled old hands knead and flexed Frank's fingers probing to see if any bones were broken.
I was quite unprepared when he raised his head and looked directly into my frightened eyes. In an instant I recognized the kindness and compassion of a true healer. ‘Don't worry, child‘, he gently said. "Nothing's broken. You see, the little fingers are so flexible that they just squashed together a bit. They'll be just fine’. Ever so tenderly he ruffled my hair and sent us on our way.
My heart was light as we made our way home. I was so grateful that Frank's hand was okay but, even at such a young age, I knew that I had witnessed something far greater. I had looked into a man's soul and my opinion of him would be forever changed.