EVERYONE TALKED ABOUT “boat people” in 1979. Video clips of rickety vessels chugging toward Malaysia and the Philippines dominated the evening news. Cameras focused on rows of unwanted Vietnamese refugees standing elbow to elbow on deck, awaiting admission to overcrowded, unsanitary migrant camps. The footage played most often was a grim shot of an infant’s abandoned denim overalls washing ashore.
Earlier that year the Canadian government implemented a refugee sponsorship program. Churches and private groups were encouraged to join. Many heeded the call.
From the pulpit, our minister spoke of finding homes for those fleeing the repressive, communist regime. “They’re adrift on leaking boats,” Father Fithian intoned, “battling rough seas, pirates, and starvation. But twenty-five dollars from every person seated within these walls would rescue a family of four – a tireless mother, a proud father, and two little loved ones – rescue them from the brink of damnation and deliver them here, to bask in our community of faith and love.”
I interpreted his words literally. The twelve dollars and seventeen cents in my piggy bank – I counted twice – didn’t come halfway to keeping that family alive. My parents had their own target, so I couldn’t ask them. My grandmother might be good for five dollars but that wasn’t enough.
My best friend had money – but different priorities. Gary Lutton had everything and wanted more, a trait he inherited from his parents who upgraded their car every September, and wardrobe every season. Gary collected shiny new loot each Christmas and
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Dave Gregory is a Canadian writer, a retired sailor, and an associate editor with the Los Angeles-based literary journal Exposition Review. His fiction has appeared in Existere, FreeFall, White Wall Review, Pulp Literature, & The Temz Review. Please follow him on Twitter @CourtlandAvenue.