It was about 3 o’clock in the morning in Honolulu when Tony Campolo’s stomach told him it was time to eat. Tony’s brain said no, it was time to eat if they were home in Philadelphia, but this was Hawaii. The stomach angrily retorted it didn’t understand “time zones” so the noted psychologist went down to the lobby of the hotel at the behest of his tummy, not his brain.
Nothing was open but Tony was told there was an all-night diner several blocks away so he trudged through the darkness to a little place and was sitting at the counter with his three doughnuts when he sensed, or smelled, something unusual.
When he first got to the diner, he was one of few patrons, but as he sat, one heavily-perfumed and gaudily-dressed woman after another began to arrive. Tony gave a bewildered look at the guy who ran the place, but the counter-man acted as though he knew all the girls by name. The women also called out to one another, even though they sat are various tables.
With realization that was a curious mix of humor and horror, it dawned on Compollo, who has written many Christian books and who may be the most acclaimed speaker in the world, that his tummy had just plunked him right in the middle of a flock of Hawaii’s best prostitutes.
It was at this very diner, just as their “market” has closed for the night, that the lonely women would come to “check on” one another, to make sure none had been beaten or battered, before making their way home. Tony buried his nose in his doughnuts, trying to figure if he should sit quietly or affront the women if he were suddenly to leave.
That is when one girl happened to say, “Tomorrow is my birthday.” Another sitting nearby replied, “We all have them, Louise. Get over it.” And, as Tony Campolo watched, there seemed to be more pity at the remark than joy because the older a prostitute becomes … well, you know the drag.
After about 30 minutes the covey of women left, each going her own way, and Tony asked the counter guy, “Does this happen often?” The guy nodded, “Yeah, every night… they come in for a cup of coffee to count noses. They don’t hurt nothin’,” and Tony nodded.
Then he asked the guy another question. “Can you bake a cake?” The guy looked at him funny. “What for?” Tony looked back, “I need you to make the prettiest birthday cake you ever made.” The counter guy stopped drying the just-washed spoons, “Are you for real?” and Tony’s answer was a folded $50 bill. “Have it ready when the girls come back tomorrow night.”
Later that same day Tony Campolo enthralled a huge crowd with a spirited speech in the hotel’s ballroom, did a television interview and then scurried downtown where he bought balloons and streamers and stickers. As the sun set, his excitement grew. He checked with the diner only to learn the night manager wasn’t there. “He’s at home baking a birthday cake.”
So about 2 o’clock the next morning, Tony carried the overflowing bags of decorations to the diner and, ignoring the stares and snide comments of other late-night patrons, he dolled up the place. He taped a huge “Happy Birthday” banner over the bar and put balloons at the door. He strung streamers. He put out glitter. And then he sat in the corner and waited.
Sure enough about 3 a.m. the first girl arrived. Seeing her shocked expression, Tony whispered “We are having a birthday party.” The girl smiled at Tony, thinking perhaps the bald-headed older man was a grateful “john,” but as one girl after another came, they learned Tony had never seen “Louise” until the night before and had overhead her comment.
Finally “Louise” arrived and everybody yelled and clapped. “Happy Birthday!” “Atta’ girl, ‘Louise,’ today’s your day!” The prostitute was shocked, and at first mortified. She looked at Tony. “I just thought it might be fun,” he said, sipping his coffee. “I do crazy stuff sometimes. People ought to love one another regardless,” he said quietly, “just like … well, like Jesus loves us.”
The other girls then squealed because here came Bert, the counter guy, carrying a cake with so many candles it looked like it was on fire. “Make a wish! Blow out the candles,” one girl laughed, hugging “Louise” and the woman, looking a little shell-shocked, puffed her cheeks and blew out the flames as all her friends cheered and laughed.
“Cut the cake! You get the first slice!” they then cried, but “Louise,” tears now streaming down her face, shook her head. She put her purse strap over her shoulder, gathered up the cake in her arms and said, “I’ve never had a birthday cake in my life. I gotta’ keep this … gotta’ take a picture.”
Crying harder, she looked at Tony. “Thanks, mister, whoever you are….” And she walked out the door. The other girls thought it was cool, but they, too, soon left and Bert, the counter guy, asked Tony once more, “Are you for real?’
* * *
Tony Campolo, the author of wonderful books and perhaps the most wonderful speaker I have ever heard, is wrapping up a three-day conference at First Centenary United Methodist Church in Chattanooga today. And, yes, he is “for real.”
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