A PROUD MOMENT?
I brought some donated food to a homeless shelter.
A group of clients were waiting outside
for the dormitory to open.
I complained that no staff were around.
One sympathetic client said,
“No, the Catholics give Sunday lunch, but no supper.
If you want supper, you’ll have to go to the
Protestant shelter.”
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Thursday, July 23, 2009
HOW DID THEY MANAGE?
An Irish couple in Mason City Iowa reared a family of 8 children right during the Great Depression. Decades later, after the parents were dead, the surviving children tried to figure out two things: a) how could they afford it? And
(b) how did they manage to conceive all those children with all those children around?
The answer to (a) was backbreaking work and strict frugality. But the children were stumped to answer (b).
Then they remembered an odd fact—poor as they were, the two oldest children (Agnes and John) were sent to a movie every Saturday afternoon (a nickel a ticket).
That’s how Billy and Margaret and Bernard and Clare and Anne and Bridget showed up.
Then the survivors talked to friends from Cedar Falls—also 6 siblings raised in the Depression. Sure enough, poor as they were, the two older children (Andy and Jerry) were always Funded for a Sunday movie—result ? the appearance of Alice and Don and Edward and Liz.
These parents enjoyed movies they never saw.
(b) how did they manage to conceive all those children with all those children around?
The answer to (a) was backbreaking work and strict frugality. But the children were stumped to answer (b).
Then they remembered an odd fact—poor as they were, the two oldest children (Agnes and John) were sent to a movie every Saturday afternoon (a nickel a ticket).
That’s how Billy and Margaret and Bernard and Clare and Anne and Bridget showed up.
Then the survivors talked to friends from Cedar Falls—also 6 siblings raised in the Depression. Sure enough, poor as they were, the two older children (Andy and Jerry) were always Funded for a Sunday movie—result ? the appearance of Alice and Don and Edward and Liz.
These parents enjoyed movies they never saw.
Friday, July 17, 2009
OUR FIRST DAY IN IRELAND
In 1972, I took my family to Ireland, planning to spend my whole Sabbatical year there. We didn’t; elsewhere I have explained why.
This tale is about our first day in Ireland. I foolishly took the whole year Sabbatical, on half of my miserable pay. In Chicago we heard of a couple who won
a prize of having their luggage conveyed to Ireland (!) They weren’t going, so they offeredThe luggage allowance to us. We grabbed it.
The only problem was that the luggage had to go to the West of Ireland,to the town of Limerick, near Shannon airport. My wife had relatives in Limerick who could help us get the luggage illicitly. There were several big bags, and a trunk, which we lived out of the whole year.
My family settled into a nice duplex in the suburb of Dublin.
(I found out later that several of them had diarrhea, with no toilet paper. Kindly neighbors looked out for them..) I took off at once for the train to Limerick. Arriving, I looked for the first cheapest accommodations I could find—a block from the train station.
The building was ancient and musty smelling. In the parlor there were two pictures: Jack Kennedy, with a full halo—and Bobby Kennedy(recently assassinated) with only the beginning of a halo. An interesting theology.
The hostess was a skinny old woman with a scarred face—either her husband beat her, or she fell down drunk. I slept ill that night, worried about bedbugs.
In the morning, I sat down for breakfast, but the awful smell made me flee (the only time in my life I haven’t eaten a meal I paid for.)
But the memorable part of my meeting the hostess was when she noticed I had
no luggage. She wanted to show that she once had strict standards,
but now couldn’t afford them./
“Are ye a DAIRTY man? Oh well, it doesn’t matter.”
This tale is about our first day in Ireland. I foolishly took the whole year Sabbatical, on half of my miserable pay. In Chicago we heard of a couple who won
a prize of having their luggage conveyed to Ireland (!) They weren’t going, so they offeredThe luggage allowance to us. We grabbed it.
The only problem was that the luggage had to go to the West of Ireland,to the town of Limerick, near Shannon airport. My wife had relatives in Limerick who could help us get the luggage illicitly. There were several big bags, and a trunk, which we lived out of the whole year.
My family settled into a nice duplex in the suburb of Dublin.
(I found out later that several of them had diarrhea, with no toilet paper. Kindly neighbors looked out for them..) I took off at once for the train to Limerick. Arriving, I looked for the first cheapest accommodations I could find—a block from the train station.
The building was ancient and musty smelling. In the parlor there were two pictures: Jack Kennedy, with a full halo—and Bobby Kennedy(recently assassinated) with only the beginning of a halo. An interesting theology.
The hostess was a skinny old woman with a scarred face—either her husband beat her, or she fell down drunk. I slept ill that night, worried about bedbugs.
In the morning, I sat down for breakfast, but the awful smell made me flee (the only time in my life I haven’t eaten a meal I paid for.)
But the memorable part of my meeting the hostess was when she noticed I had
no luggage. She wanted to show that she once had strict standards,
but now couldn’t afford them./
“Are ye a DAIRTY man? Oh well, it doesn’t matter.”
Friday, June 12, 2009
LIFE AND DEATH/
Our oldest daughter was so volatile we nicknamed her ‘Stormy Perpetua’.
Years ago we were foolish enough to enroll our children
in a ‘free school’:
Foolish because if you use the word ‘free’ to a 6-year-old, he thinks it outrageous
If you forbid him to climb on the roof.
There were 2 lambs fenced in at the school. Somehow one became known as belonging to our daughter Jean, and the other to another girl named Heather.
On Sunday evenings it was my job to feed the lambs.
Lambs are insanely greedy, and I fed one too much.
Monday morning one lamb was dead. It was Jean’s.
She came home and said calmly, “My lamb died.”
We waited for the hurricane—
But she said, “George (a teacher) explained to me that death is a part of life!”
We were astonished. She went to bed —but in the middle of the night we heard her screaming, “MY LAMB IS DEAD !!” No sleep for anyone the rest of that night.
Later she said she felt guilty because when she heard one lamb was dead, She hoped it was Heather’s.
Our oldest daughter was so volatile we nicknamed her ‘Stormy Perpetua’.
Years ago we were foolish enough to enroll our children
in a ‘free school’:
Foolish because if you use the word ‘free’ to a 6-year-old, he thinks it outrageous
If you forbid him to climb on the roof.
There were 2 lambs fenced in at the school. Somehow one became known as belonging to our daughter Jean, and the other to another girl named Heather.
On Sunday evenings it was my job to feed the lambs.
Lambs are insanely greedy, and I fed one too much.
Monday morning one lamb was dead. It was Jean’s.
She came home and said calmly, “My lamb died.”
We waited for the hurricane—
But she said, “George (a teacher) explained to me that death is a part of life!”
We were astonished. She went to bed —but in the middle of the night we heard her screaming, “MY LAMB IS DEAD !!” No sleep for anyone the rest of that night.
Later she said she felt guilty because when she heard one lamb was dead, She hoped it was Heather’s.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
MONTANA HUMOR
Years ago, we made friends with a couple who were (rare) Catholics in anti-Viet-war
peace movement. Husband died, but wry wife survived for years.
She said, "You know the town of FairDeal, Mon..? I came from the other side,
RawDeal Mont."
At our house, on Thanksgiving Day,with the children present,
she offered to say the Grace.
We bowed our heads; she said:
THEIR MEETING IT WAS SUDDEN, THEIR PARTING IS WAS SAD;
SHE GAVE HER YOUNG LIFE GLADLY--THE ONLY THING SHE HAD.
SHE LIES BENEATH THE MEADOW; SHE'S OH,SO PEACEFUL NOW;
THAT'S WHAT ALWAYS HAPPENS
WHEN A FREIGHT TRAIN MEETS A COW.
peace movement. Husband died, but wry wife survived for years.
She said, "You know the town of FairDeal, Mon..? I came from the other side,
RawDeal Mont."
At our house, on Thanksgiving Day,with the children present,
she offered to say the Grace.
We bowed our heads; she said:
THEIR MEETING IT WAS SUDDEN, THEIR PARTING IS WAS SAD;
SHE GAVE HER YOUNG LIFE GLADLY--THE ONLY THING SHE HAD.
SHE LIES BENEATH THE MEADOW; SHE'S OH,SO PEACEFUL NOW;
THAT'S WHAT ALWAYS HAPPENS
WHEN A FREIGHT TRAIN MEETS A COW.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
DIRTY THOUGHTS
Further down, under ‘Cresco Irish’ I discuss the predicament of adolescents
Confessing dirty thoughts, so they could go to Communion.
A friend told me later that he one time confessed dirty thoughts,
Then walked 2 blocks from the church and had another dirty thought.
Problem: should he go back to the church and make another confession?
After a while, most youths got brazen. One time a priest asked this kid,
“Did you ENTERTAIN those thoughts?”
The kid answered, “No, they entertained me.”
Confessing dirty thoughts, so they could go to Communion.
A friend told me later that he one time confessed dirty thoughts,
Then walked 2 blocks from the church and had another dirty thought.
Problem: should he go back to the church and make another confession?
After a while, most youths got brazen. One time a priest asked this kid,
“Did you ENTERTAIN those thoughts?”
The kid answered, “No, they entertained me.”
Friday, March 13, 2009
CRESCO IRISH/PART ONE
PILGRIMS IN BABYLON (MEMORIES OF IRISH COMMUNITY IN PROTESTANT IOWA TOWN)/
IN 6 PARTS
This piece is in the Natl. Archives of Ireland.
We didn’t see ourselves as slaves, but as the people who knew God’s private Name, in an alien country, surrounded by outsiders insensitive or contemptuous of the true religion.
Cresco was county seat, with about 3000 people: Scandinavians, Germans, Irish, Bohemians, and Britishers.
The town was dominated by a few Scotch-Mason lawyers and bankers. (My father feared an international conspiracy, involving as usual Jews and Communists—but untypically he saw these groups as dupes: the conspiracy was ruled by Scotch Masons.)
This town had 2 large Catholic churches, three blocks apart with about 500 parishioners in each—with 2 separate schools. One parish was mainly German. The other—Assumption--, run completely by the Irish, included some subdued Bohemians.
The Archbishop in Dubuque saw these 2 parishes as inefficient and once proposed a merger. The Germans noted that the Irish never paid their church debt—if cornered, they would merge instead with the German Lutherans. But later, the bishop sneakily installed a half-breed priest in each parish. By 1950 the 2 schools, at least, had merged.
Today Cresco has only 1 priest; he says early Mass at Assumption, then later Mass at St. Joseph’s, the German Church.
The Irish school had included a high-school, but the German school ended in 8th grade.
I was one of the first Assumption 8th-graders who dared to go to public high-school.
The priest roared up to warn of damnation—he sometimes refused Communion to defaulting parents.
My mother pointed out
a) that canon law didn’t require you to go to an INFERIOR Catholic school;
and (b) that the German priest encouraged his youth to go to the public high-school, so he didn’t have to pay Assumption tuition. “I find it hard to believe,” mother said, “that a mortal sin on one side of town is an act of virtue 3 blocks away.”
The priest fled.
IN 6 PARTS
This piece is in the Natl. Archives of Ireland.
We didn’t see ourselves as slaves, but as the people who knew God’s private Name, in an alien country, surrounded by outsiders insensitive or contemptuous of the true religion.
Cresco was county seat, with about 3000 people: Scandinavians, Germans, Irish, Bohemians, and Britishers.
The town was dominated by a few Scotch-Mason lawyers and bankers. (My father feared an international conspiracy, involving as usual Jews and Communists—but untypically he saw these groups as dupes: the conspiracy was ruled by Scotch Masons.)
This town had 2 large Catholic churches, three blocks apart with about 500 parishioners in each—with 2 separate schools. One parish was mainly German. The other—Assumption--, run completely by the Irish, included some subdued Bohemians.
The Archbishop in Dubuque saw these 2 parishes as inefficient and once proposed a merger. The Germans noted that the Irish never paid their church debt—if cornered, they would merge instead with the German Lutherans. But later, the bishop sneakily installed a half-breed priest in each parish. By 1950 the 2 schools, at least, had merged.
Today Cresco has only 1 priest; he says early Mass at Assumption, then later Mass at St. Joseph’s, the German Church.
The Irish school had included a high-school, but the German school ended in 8th grade.
I was one of the first Assumption 8th-graders who dared to go to public high-school.
The priest roared up to warn of damnation—he sometimes refused Communion to defaulting parents.
My mother pointed out
a) that canon law didn’t require you to go to an INFERIOR Catholic school;
and (b) that the German priest encouraged his youth to go to the public high-school, so he didn’t have to pay Assumption tuition. “I find it hard to believe,” mother said, “that a mortal sin on one side of town is an act of virtue 3 blocks away.”
The priest fled.
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