The Foreign Service Journal, July-August 2004

And may I add my own regret for your inconvenience?” On the way home Dad told Tim that he was a peace- maker now. He should be proud of himself, and for the rest of his life he should be alert to the opportunity for peacemaking; it can come suddenly, without warning. There were many kinds of peace, of course. The one they had just imposed by force was a worthy accom- plishment, but it probably would not hold. It was more peacekeeping than peacemaking. The most effective peacemaker cannot take sides in any way, and must have the respect of all parties. He must be imaginative, and use whatever means will help both parties keep their basic self-respect. And a peacemaker seldom is thanked, and must be prepared for criticism, and sometimes even attack. “When we get home you’re to read the Sermon on the Mount. You’ll see that peacemakers are blessed, and they shall be called children of God,” Dad said. “And tell me, lad, did you have a nice visit with your class- mate Maureen?” “She wouldn’t even talk to me, Dad. It was as if I didn’t exist, and I felt pretty bad. She wouldn’t even say hello; just kept reading a soup can label, over and over.” “Now don’t you be feeling bad, son. You can be sure she appreciates that you were there and trying to keep peace in the family. There was nothing personal in it on her part. She was in her own private world, a secret world where no one can hurt her, a world nobody else can enter,” Dad explained. “Tim, sometimes things get so bad that a person has to escape from their world,” Dad continued. “They may do it by getting drunk, and maybe this is what Mr. Quillen does. Maureen escapes by entering her own private world. Maybe the real world is so bad for her at times that the only way she can survive is to leave it. “You did a good job, lad,” Dad concluded. “Now let’s get home to the family, lest they worry about us.” F ive years later, on the athletic field behind his high school, Tim was privileged to witness another peacemaker in action. Brother Mark, a Christian brother who taught biol- ogy, and Vladimir Kalucki were standing about 50 feet apart and throwing a softball back and forth. Brother Mark, about 6 feet, 1 inch and 200 pounds, had played football for Georgetown. Vladimir, about 16 years old and from Greenpoint, was maybe the same height and weight as Brother Mark. But they were not having a friendly catch. This looked to be for blood. They had been playing in a pickup softball game after school, when one of them fielded the ball and threw it to the other, perhaps with a little too much steam. The recipient took it personally, and sent the ball back even harder. The situation escalated, each of them now throwing the ball as hard as he could — and they didn’t use gloves for softball. Both players’ hands were scarlet. A group of students had gathered, fasci- nated, wondering in trepidation how the incident would end. A student-faculty shootout like this was unprecedented. Suddenly Brother Cassian, the high school princi- pal, came striding out and shouldered his way through the crowd: “Gentlemen, please let me see that ball.” Turning the ball in his hand, he continued, “Just as I feared. You may not realize how rough handling can damage these softballs. You must understand how much they cost, and how hard it is for us to come up with the funds to replace them. So, gentlemen, please — enjoy your game, but be careful with the equipment. Thanks.” As Brother Cassian walked away, Brother Mark threw an arm across Kalucki’s shoulder. “You’ve got a good arm, Kal, but we’re going to have to work on your control.” “Thanks, Brother. I hope I’m as good as you some- day.” F ifty years later Tim was privileged to have an opportunity to be a peacemaker again. Stepping out of a subway car at a station in Washington, D.C., he encountered a group of people watching two men F O C U S J U LY- A U G U S T 2 0 0 4 / F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L 35 He pulled his State Department ID out of his pocket and flashed it, careful not to let them focus on it.