A few blocks away, behind an array of buildings, stood the stainless shine of the Arch along the mighty Mississippi.  Often referred to by the name of the city it is in, it’s formally known as The Gateway Arch.  A gateway with no gate.

We were in town to see a Cardinals game, and a mere two blocks separated us from Busch Stadium.  On the sidewalk along South Broadway, just outside of the Hilton, we were joined by a St. Louis Police officer in a blue athletic polo.   Crosing Walnut Street a Missouri State Policeman joined in.

The two had a singular focus.  It seemed to lie up ahead and just off to the left.  Soon we came upon a squad car.  The female officer who drove it had the passenger door open towards the sidewalk we were on.  Her feet were set in a wide stance, and she crouched slightly behind the V that was formed between the door and the car.  Seeing our companions, she rose briefly to speak in the ear of the metro cop and then turned back to where she had stood before.

Looking with her, I finally saw what the hubbub was about.

On the far side of the street and half a block ahead, a sign emerged from the crowd of people making their way to the ballpark.  It was light green with a hint of purple splashed across its top.  Standing in dark letters were the words “God Hates Fags.”  Instinctively I looked away.  Then I forced myself to look back.

Other signs were with it, and beneath them stood half a dozen members of the Topeka, Kansas based Westboro Baptist Church.  Across from them stood the stadium.  In it the Cardinals were about to hold their inaugural Pride Night.

A steel barricade had been put around the handful of members that stood in front of a parking garage.  15 to 20 officers in blue polos stood beside them, many with bicycles.  Around them stood a crowd.  I again looked away.  This time for good.

Among the other signs Westboro is known to sport are:  God Hates Jews.  Priests Rape Boys.  Thank God for Dead Soldiers.  I didn’t happen to see any of those signs that night, only the sentiment, I guess.

They boast they protest six events a day, ranging from ballgames and concerts to deployed soldiers’ funerals and the funerals of LGBT victims of violence.  They have been frequently sued, and while lower courts and state legislatures have tried to take action against the group, the United States Supreme Court, in an 8-1 ruling in Snyder v. Phelps, decided with the group on protected free speech.  The sole dissenter with Justice Samuel Alito, perhaps the most conservative justice on the bench today.

The Church’s most famous leader, the late Fred Phelps, knew his way around a courtroom.  Besides being a preacher, he was a civil rights attorney, and his daughter maintains that his law firm once made up 1/3 of Kansas’ federal docket of civil rights cases.  Twice he was recognized for his work on behalf of black clients.

He never seemed to have made any profit from it, selling vacuum cleaners at one time on the side.  He would eventually go on to run three times as a Democratic candidate in the primary for Governor of the State of Kansas and once ran in the Democratic primary for US Senator.  In the 1992 Gubnatorial Primary he garnered 30% of the vote.

By nearly all accounts, Phelps was known as an asshole of epic proportion.  The church, which claims a mere 40 members today, most of whom are Phelps’ extended family, seems pleased to continue on that tradition.  In the opinion of the author, they do a fine job.

Across from the Westboro Church in Topeka, Aaron Jackson, who founded a nonprofit organization called “Planting Peace,” purchased a residence in 2013 that was then painted in rainbow colors and dubbed the “Equality House.”  It has been reported that in September of 2013 Phelps offered support for those behind the house.  He was promptly excommunicated by Westboro.  Two family members maintain in the aftermath he quit taking care of himself and neglected his own nourishment until his death six months later.

A granddaughter emphasizes Phelps story is a real life example of how even the most hard hearts can change.  Perhaps she’s right, but it is hard to tell if Phelps’ main affliction was a hardness of heart or simply being an asshole.  In the end, he appears to be a victim of who most are a victim of:  himself.

There on Broadway the counter protesters confronting Westboro hoisted signs of their own, some rather ingenious.  In the park we settled in to watch the game.  Our hotdogs were heaped with pastrami, and our glasses were full of alcohol.  My mind was still full of what I had seen outside.

I thought of those persecuted for who they are, but I really didn’t think of those that stood up to Westboro, facing what I could not.  Nor did I think of the idiots from Topeka.  As I looked at the Arch, what I thought of were the cops.

LGBT, Catholic, Jewish, veteran, standing there beside those they might not want to.  They couldn’t look away, and they couldn’t respond.  They weren’t there to protest hate.  They were there to serve and protect.  Perhaps it is hate’s best antidote.

In the end they laced their bicycle tires together, gating the protesters from the crowd so they could get to their cars and go home.  Home is a place where many along the sidewalk probably slept with a clear conscience that night.  I wonder how the cops slept?

The Cardinals lost.  The crowd went home.  The Arch stood in the dark still open.  Perhaps it is the counter protestors that keep it that way.  Maybe it is the Supreme Court.  Maybe it is just the willingness of some to do that which they don’t want to.