“I repaired the face of Christ today at the National Cathedral,” Christopher, my late husband told me as he hung up his work jacket. Years later, during President Reagan’s funeral, I called the family to tell them the stained glass image, shown between every T.V. segment, was part of Christopher’s handiwork,
but I didn’t tell them about the tape measure.
The following day was hard for me to wait for the days’ report. “So how did it go?” I asked.
“I got kicked out of the cathedral,” he said proudly.
“You see, there was a guy in a long robe and a really tall hat, (the cardinal???), standing directly under me. I was really high on the scaffold and the worker next to me kicked my tape measure off the scaffold. Do you know what a tape measure can do to a man’s skull?”
“So what did you do?”
“I screamed, ‘Watch the f*** out!'”
“Why,” I asked, “would you swear in one of the most holy of places, while, I might add, you were eye level to the sacred image of the son of God?”
“You see,” he said, “construction workers are always yelling things to each other, and people are used to ignoring it as chatter. That man’s life depended on my ability to signal the people below and I needed something that was sure to attract immediate attention.”
“Did it work?”
“Yes. The person next to him pushed him out of the way, and my tape measure shattered at his feet. ”