The Crime beat is often an ugly one to cover. But every once in a while out of the ugliness comes tear jerking hope, even salvation.
The murders occurred in the most unlikely place and among an unlikely people. The congregation of a small church in Clifton, New Jersey had just celebrated mass and was kneeling to say prayers for the dead when evil came into their sanctuary. Evil had traveled a long way - from India, through California and then across America to New Jersey. His name was Joseph Pallipurath and he carried the delusion that he, literally, owned another person, his wife of less than a year, 24 year old Reshama James.
They had their roots in a different country and culture and submitted to an arranged marriage by their Indian families, going back to India for the ceremony. After settling in California the brutality began and American born Reshama knew just what to do. She got a court in Sacramento to issue restraining orders against Joseph but it did no good. So Reshama fled to New Jersey to start anew. Evil followed her and more court orders were issued in New Jersey.
As they say, restraining orders are just pieces of paper and soon there was Joseph, standing in the vestibule of the New Jersey church where Reshama found weekly solace. Holding a small silver handgun he aimed to kill not to simply punish. He shot his wife in the head when she refused to leave with him. He then shot in the head his wife's 47 year old cousin who had given Reshama sanctuary. Next to be shot was a 25 year old church director named Dennis John Malloosseril who had instinctively stepped in to help. As worshippers ducked for cover, and then wailed in disbelief, Reshama died on the spot. Good Samaritan Dennis Malloosseril died in the hospital the next day, one day shy of his 26th birthday, two days shy of Thanksgiving Day, 2008. The cousin has miraculously survived.
Law enforcement officers in Macon, Georgia captured 27 year old Joseph Pallipurath as he drove his California tagged jeep toward the home of his relatives. Less than two days had passed since his murderous outburst at the church.
Last weekend a Thanksgiving Day of a different sort came to that very church. St. Thomas Syrian Orthodox Knanaya Church played host to the five people who now live because Dennis John Malloosseril died.
Among the congregants last Sunday was John Muscarella who carried Dennis' life saving lungs in his chest, Terence Begley had received one of Dennis' kidneys and his pancreas. Migdalia Torrez of Cleveland, Ohio got the other kidney. Malta Hammed was also able to be there in church because her long battle with liver disease ended when doctors transplanted Dennis' liver into her ailing body. And last but not least, was James O'Hea who also would have died had it not been for the gift of a new heart, made possible because Dennis' parents decided to donate the organs of their hero son. He was the giving type of person, they said, and they wanted to honor that trait.
Looking at the scene I was struck by something no one mentioned at the service. It was the human soup mix of races and cultures involved in this remarkable event. An Indian man died a tragic, needless death and gave life to Americans of Middle Eastern, Italian, Irish and Mexican descent. They were Christians, Catholics, one was Muslim, all were of one belief this day.
As Muscarella, Begley, Torrez, Hammed and O'Hea greeted Dennis' parents they each stepped up and exchanged warm hugs as if they were part of a long-time family. In fact, they'd only just met. Usually a transplant donation family simply gets a letter of thanks in the mail, if even that.
Side-by-side they worshipped together in the very church where evil came that day last November. Just a few short months later and those who benefited from the Malloosseril's selfless act were standing, mostly healthy and complete, to say a communal thank you for the precious gifts of life.
The most touching moment had to be when it came time for O'Hea's hug with Aley Mallooseril, Dennis' mother. The tiny bespectacled woman, dressed in a traditional silver and blue Indian sari looked at the Irishman's T-shirt which bore a large picture of her dead son with his name stenciled underneath. She slowly bent toward the man, put her ear to his chest and let it rest there for a few moments. When she finally pulled away she said simply, "It is my son beating through him."
Indeed.
Like I said, sometimes covering the crime beat makes you sad. Other times it just makes you glad to be alive.
Diane Dimond can be reached through her web site at : www.DianeDimond.net