“I did something terribly wrong, I just know it,” I sputtered between sobs. It was a Saturday in early January 1960, I was nine years old, living in Passaic, New Jersey, and sitting in my best friend Patty’s living room. She had convinced me to tell her mother my problem. “Did you commit a sin?” Mrs. Ingrassia asked, handing me a glass of water and a fresh white embroidered hankie. I wasn’t sure what a sin actually was, but I knew what I had done was against the law. I had just become a brand new citizen and read all about the laws in the handbook I needed to study ahead of time.

“I think I might be a criminal and I don’t know what to do,” I choked out. Suddenly, their front door opened and in walked Patty’s sister who was a brand new nun. Two months ago Patty had told me about her, “Well, her name used to be Therese but when she took her vows she became ‘Sister Philomena.’ She said it was the name of the patron saint of children so that’s what her life is about. I still think she’s just my stupid sister but I’m not allowed to say that anymore,” she had said rolling her eyes while we both dissolved into giggles.

“Sister Philomena, “Mrs. Ingrassia began, “Patty’s friend Sylvia is very upset because she thinks she’s done something terrible. I don’t know what it is yet but maybe you can help us.” Sister Philomena sat down in a chair facing me. I had no experience with nuns, but my parents had taken me to see the Broadway show “The Sound of Music” last month so I knew they helped people figure things out. I hung my head and stared at the floor before beginning.

I told her about saving up one dollar and thirty-two cents, then yesterday after school going to our local corner grocery store, Kurwitzki’s, to buy some special candy and soda treats. “I was walking down the back section and I saw a woman with a baby. I had seen her before, in the park last month, on my way home from school. I remembered because it was really, really cold and she took off her coat and wrapped it around the baby. She looked like she was shaking and her clothes were all…well, they looked really torn. She saw me looking and she almost ran away.”

I stopped for a sip of water and to blow my nose and saw Mrs. Ingrassia and Sister Philomena look at each other. “So,” I went on, “I recognized the lady when I saw her in the store. I could hear her trying to quiet the baby by singing but it wasn’t in English or Spanish, or Portuguese and those are the only languages I know. She was really thin and the baby was wrapped up in torn pieces of cloth. But then I saw it.”

I stopped to take a deep breath and continued, “She put two cans of baby formula in her pockets. I saw her do it. And she walked out quickly.”

“And what did you do then?” Sister Philomena asked me.

“Well, I wasn’t sure what to do but it seemed to me that the baby needed food and she couldn’t afford it and she needed help and no one should go hungry and…well, I didn’t report it. I know I was supposed to but I just couldn’t. The law tells me to do it, but something inside told me not to.”

I took another deep breath and kept going, “I didn’t know how much the formula cost and Mr. Kurzwitski shouldn’t lose that money either so I just left my one dollar and thirty-two cents on counter and walked out. By then she had disappeared. I was going to tell my mom but when I got home she was really worried about my dad who was in Venezuela on business and there was some sort of revolution there right now. I couldn’t upset her more with this problem. I could hardly sleep all night and food just won’t go down my throat today.”

Sister Philomena moved closer to me and began asking me for more descriptions of the woman, assuring me that nothing bad would happen. I described her as best I could. But then to try to calm me Patty began singing a snippet of a lullaby her grandmother had sung to her and I jumped up. “That’s it, that’s the song she was singing to her baby,” I exclaimed.

Now Mrs. Ingrassia had a phone book in her hand. She picked up the phone and started dialing, Sister Philomena ran out of the door yelling that she’d be back in a minute. Patty and I were left to ourselves on the worn red velvet couch. “What do you think is going to happen, Patty?” I asked. She shrugged. We both sat quietly and waited.

Within half an hour women started coming into the house, arms filled with things. Cans of baby formula, two winter coats, piles of cloth diapers, hats, gloves, baby clothes — all began filling the dinning room table. It was like a miracle. Patty and I were given the job of sorting things into neat piles.

And then more than an hour later an even bigger miracle happened, Sister Philomena had been able to find the mother and baby by asking folks from the church and neighborhood, and she walked them right through the door. In a language I didn’t understand. she introduced the woman to everyone. Patty translated for me. Her name was Angelica. She and her husband Antonio had immigrated from Sardinia in Italy in late August. He had been promised a good job in a factory in exchange for their small savings. And even though Angelica was very pregnant at the time they came eager for a new start at life only to find that no such factory existed. Antonio found small work but baby Maria’s birth took all of his earnings. They found one room to live in over a small gas station but food was scarce and they had not yet learned enough English to be understood.

Within the next hour a big pot of pasta was boiling on the stove, Mrs. Ingrassia’s neighbor, Mrs. Maratelli came over with tomato sauce-covered meat balls, and Joe Mondano –a foreman at the local Continental Can Company– had been summoned to fetch Antonio. It was clear he would be offered a line job at the plant.

Songs were sung food was eaten (my first taste of a cannoli) and stories were told. Angelica came over to me. “Grazie,” she said and then very hesitantly, “thank you”. She hugged me, and we both smiled.

Days later my father came safely home. My mother’s nerves had nearly snapped by then. I learned there had been an uprising in the region where he was staying, but local villagers had given him a safe hiding spot.

“It was very brave of them, “my father explained, “because the rebels were after foreigners thinking that they were invading the country and taking their resources. I was going to be killed. But, kind people saw that I was doing no harm but I was in danger, so they felt they had to help. And I’m so glad they did!”

Then I told him about Angelica and Antonio and baby Maria and Sister Philomena and Mrs. Ingrassia and the entire community.

His bright blue eyes looked directly at me as he said, “Don’t forget any part of this Sylvia. Always remember that most of the world is filled with good people who want to help others. Don’t be dismayed (a new word for me) by those who want to harm. There are so few of them that if all the rest can just work together, wonderful things can happen. Sometimes it only takes one person to get things going.”

I believed him back then, and I believe him still.