Looking Backward from the Tricentennial

Chapter Forty

Julian inhaled deeply as Connor Sullivan began to take form on the loveseat next to Reverend Shaver, and what had been theoretical became reality. The piercing blue eyes targeted him with the first flicker, and Julian exhaled, expanding his view as each new flash came. Connor's wispy gray hair only extended a hand's width above his ears but was neatly combed back. He wore a button-down white shirt over tan khakis, and the expression on his clean-shaven face was friendly but guarded as it solidified.

They sized each other up for a moment. Julian was very aware that he was face-to-face with the man who'd tried to kill him, recognizing intellectually that Connor was face-to-face with the man who'd killed several of his friends and would have tried to kill him if he hadn't run out of ammunition. There was a non-zero amount of similarity between their actions.

"Mr. West," Connor said, pressing his palms together in greeting. "I appreciate you hearing me out." With his hands lifted, Julian saw a yellow stain about the size of a silver dollar on Connor's otherwise clean shirt. The septuagenarian promptly placed his arm over the discoloration, hiding it, and Julian felt a stirring of empathy.

"First, I want to thank you for what you did," Conner continued. "If you hadn't stopped Clive and Vincent, who knows how many other people might have been hurt? I don't know if you have any guilt, or regrets about killing them, but you shouldn't. You did the right thing—they would have done the same to you." His steel blue eyes were intense, laser-focused on Julian, and projected sincerity.

Julian nodded to the gray-haired man, indicating he should go on. "I also want to apologize and ask for your forgiveness. Not just as the man who shot you, but as the man who orchestrated the whole assault. The evil things I did back then, Mr. West, the harm I caused, I can never undo. It's a burden I still carry to this day.

"I'm not asking you to ignore what I've done. If I can quote Dr. King, forgiveness means 'the evil act no longer remains as a barrier to the relationship.' Can you forgive me—see me as a man who has made mistakes and tried to do better?"

The feeling of agape love and empathy no longer overwhelmed him, but Julian knew it was still within him. "Yes," Julian replied. "And I'm sorry for refusing to listen to you last week."

Connor released a wry chuckle. "There was a counselor that worked with me," he said. "One of his favorite phrases was, 'Your actions may not have been justifiable, but that doesn't preclude them from being understandable.' It was very understandable, Mr. West."

That understanding furthered his belief he was doing the right thing. "Call me Julian," he said. Ray watched him skeptically. "Can you help me understand how you ended up like that?"

Connor shared his story. "I was raised by a single mom, me and my two younger sisters. After my dad left, she moved us back to Kentucky—I was eight—to be closer to her family, so they could help us. We were poor, but so was everyone else. There was just never enough money." Julian found himself nodding in recognition.

"I knew things were broken in America, and when I was in high school, I found some websites with a nice, neat explanation—it was the fault of the blacks and the jews." Connor scratched at his chin. "My grandfather had a slew of racist jokes, so white supremacy wasn't much of a stretch, but what was compelling was the sense of identity it offered. That community had an atmosphere of purpose that I wasn't seeing anywhere else. They were going to fix things.

"Alvin brought me a book in prison, Breaking Hate. The author was a former skinhead from a white-power band, and he'd founded an organization to help others emerge from the dark world of hate. His theory was that humans seek ICP—identity, community, and purpose—and that young people who'd been radicalized hadn't been finding it elsewhere. That resonated with me because it was my experience.