Uphams Corner: A Brief Encounter

It happened at 1,000--maybe at 100,000--stretches of street, bends in the road, unmarked dots on the newspaper maps that showed the routes of John Paul's motorcade. Each scene was different, yet each was very much the same. The sum of them was a papal visit. TIME Correspondent Jeff Melvoin reports from Uphams Corner in Boston.

It is a little shopping area straddling northern Dorchester and southern Roxbury, whose life has bobbed up and down and up again with the social tides that have swept the Boston area. Boston is a city of ethnic neighborhoods, and Uphams Corner has seen its share --Irish, then blacks, then Spanish.

They were all here. And many others, from surrounding suburbs and beyond. The Pope was expected at 3:30 p.m., but the people came as early as 10 a.m. to find a place by the sidewalk, huddled close to the yellow nylon cord strung between bright baby-blue barrels marking the route of the motorcade. It was a damp morning. The weary buildings belonged to the gray sky. But the street was proud with flags. Children held their own yellow-and-white papal banners--made the night before out of a glossy-stock insert from the Sunday Boston Globe. The HQ Company 181 of the National Guard, out of Worcester, lined the street.

The people waited patiently. Patty Taylor, a pretty, blond twelve-year-old from Milton, held a handmade sign that read I LOVE YOU, JOHN PAUL II. Why did she and her family pick this spot? "Because he'll have to slow down to turn the corner." One sign stood out even more than the big WITAM, JAN PAWEL II placard above LaSalle's bar. VIVA EL PAPA it read. And in small letters below LOS CUBANOS. "I am from Miami Beach," the old woman said who held it. "I am Cuban." She was Noemi Sarmenteros, 75 years old, and she lived with her son in Florida. But she had made the trip to see the Pope with Boston friends.

At 2:51 word was passed from transistor radio owners that the Pope had landed. Christine Bagley from South Weymouth, with her two daughters munching pizza beside her, explained, "I'm taking pictures for our grandmother in Braintree." Gregory Casey, 9, from Needham, in his baseball jacket, was ready. "I hope the Pope says something to the kids," his mother Mary Lou said. "They need religion, and they need a father figure. The Pope is a strong, athletic-type they can relate to."

A squadron of police motorcycles whizzed around the corner, their blue lights blinking. Instamatics were pushed forward. The people pressed against the ropes. Then came an unmarked security car, obviously packed with Secret Service agents. Then ... nothing. The Instamatics were lowered.

Moments later, shouting, cheering. More motorcycles came and then, behind a police car, there was the black limousine, red lights under the grille blinking between the headlights. And standing through the roof, standing out like a beacon in the gray afternoon, was John Paul II. The St. Peter's C.Y.O. band from Dorchester began to play. The flags were raised. But he was coming so fast!

The motorcade was positively speeding through Uphams Corner (from 10 to 15 m.p.h., National Guardsmen later estimated). But there he was. He seemed to glow in his white garments and red hat. His complexion seemed more brilliant than those of the people in the street. He was smiling. You could see the blue of his eyes. Flashbulbs flared.

People were shouting. Crying aloud. Waving. The Pope only had time to make the sign of the cross in one direction--and then he was gone. Just like that. Gone. It was 4:10. He was through Uphams Corner in 20 seconds.

Other black Cadillacs went by. No one knew who was inside them, but the people kept on waving. Then they too were gone, and there were only the trailing motorcycle cops to pass, and it was all over. The St. Peter's band finished playing to an empty street. There was a moment of stunned silence. Then the crowd broke, walking to cars or homes or bus or train depots. The rest of the proceedings would be seen on television.

Twenty seconds. Yet the people were ecstatic. "He's beautiful!" a woman cried out. "He looked so beautiful. I could see the blue of his eyes." Christine Bagley was happy. "My God," she gushed. "I can't believe it. I'm still shaking. Look!" She pointed to her Polaroid picture. There was the black limousine, and there was John Paul II. In the center. In focus. Down the street a middle-aged Irishman and a young Chicano in Army surplus clothes were unraveling the strong new nylon cord strung between the blue barrels. "Hey, we'll split it," the man said. He produced a pocket knife and they did.

Next day the front page of the Globe was emblazoned with a color picture of the Pope passing by Uphams Corner. Off to the right in it appears 75-year-old Noemi Sarmenteros from Miami. The Pope is facing away from her, making the sign of the cross on the other side of the street. Noemi is standing with her sign. It doesn't matter that the Pope can't see her. She is smiling and she is waving and she is very, very happy.

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