People of our generation always say that this is one day we remember not only where we were, but also what we were doing. The generation before remembered Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, and the generation after remembered their circumstances following the terrorist attack on the World Trade Center in New York on September 11, 2001.
I do remember clearly the presidential assassination. I recall watching television with my family when Walter Cronkite announced President Kennedy’s death. He took off his glasses and for one of the few times exposed his tearing vulnerability as he spoke these brief, haunting words: From Dallas, Texas, the flash apparently official, President Kennedy died at 1:00 p.m. central standard time, 2:00 p.m. eastern standard time, some 38 minutes ago. What we thought of as Camelot vanished in a horrifying instant. There was no longer …a more congenial spot for happy ever-aftering than here in Camelot.
On a less somber note, it was in that same year that I recall witnessing Catholic nuns “out of place,” that is, not in the roles in which we inflexibly restricted them. In the late fifties and early sixties, nuns were habitually in habit and we assumed wrongfully that they probably slept and showered in them as well. There was both a mystique and admiration about priests and nuns back then that blinded us about their human condition and human frailties. We did not attribute normal human actions and daily functions to nuns. We assumed that they had no hair, and never left the confines of their convent. After all, they were stay-at-home nuns on house arrest for God. Most of us did not even think that nuns used restrooms! I do not know why; we just did not attribute normal bodily functions to women of God.
We knew that nuns did not drive or go shopping. I am not sure how we thought that they purchased food or other commodities. I guess we thought such merchandise miraculous appeared—if they had water, they could make wine! Anyway, the aura about nuns was shattered one day when I caught a glimpse of a Sister shopping at the local grocery store. I was dumbfounded and astonished. I remember asking myself, “What is she doing here? How could this be?” The event was unordinary and the experience surreal. Something was obviously out of place and it was not I!
It was Sister Modestrine whom we called unaffectionately “Mighty Moe.” She was thin in frame and all of four feet tall. Her short stature was inconsistent with her gruff presentation. She was tougher than any drill sergeant you could imagine or would want to experience. Her reputation preceded her in a Bondian sort of way, or the demented ravings of her past pupils exposed her. The Incredible Hulk had nothing over her. Progressing from the third to fourth grade became known as hell’s rite of passage for some students. You found out your assigned teacher several weeks before the start of school on a Sunday morning. Students who were entering the fourth grade scanned wearily the classroom lists posted on the main door of school. You prayed that your name was not identified below the envisioned title of “Mighty Moe.” Like many students before me, I hesitantly ran my finger down the classroom list as I peered through the fingers of my other hand... and there it was! No doubt about it. Many are called, but few are chosen. And I was chosen. There was no escape as my baptized name betrayed me and did not protect me from perceivable harm and horror. A prayer, a novena, not even a trip to Lourdes, France or joining the foreign legion would make a difference now. Although reality did not set in immediately, the dye was cast. But I digress once again…
I was startled to see a nun shopping at the local grocery store; never mind that it was “Mighty Moe.” Her head was not much higher than the top of the cart and you wondered how she steered the darn thing. I thought it best to stay at a discreet distance and observe her from afar. I was flabbergasted that Sister was placing items in her cart that were similar to those mother placed in ours. How could this be? We eat the same foods and use the same products as “Mighty Moe?” All of a sudden the theory of parallel universes made good sense because this Sister certainly was not sharing the same time and space as my mother!
Outside of school, somewhere around the third grade, my friends Bob, Skip and I decided to start a local newsletter in our neighborhood. We entitled the newsletter LuCinDa, which was named after who we believed were our ‘girlfriends’ at the time. My girlfriend was Lucy, Bob’s was Cindy, and Skip’s was Diane. I do not remember whether they were flattered or not, but I assume they were; or perhaps they preferred roses or jewelry.
The newsletter shared much about nothing that occurred in the neighborhood. There were no computers or copy machines at the time. So we typed the newsletter on our Smith-Coronas portable typewriters using 10-12 sheets of carbon paper. Now, for those of you who precede carbon paper, it had the interesting quality that the more you used, the fatter, duller, and less readable the type became. You were not sure whether you were reading something or analyzing psychological ink blots. We almost felt guilty about selling these latter copies of the paper to our neighbors for the full 25 cents… almost, for this would cut into our ice cream and soda money; after all, the “profits” had to be split three ways. The neighbors did not seem to mind and enjoyed reading about the going-ons in a very narrow slice of the community while they were working or busy being homemakers. The reader is spared the breaking news events shared in our neighborhood paper, as no known copies have survived the passage of time.
Beyond our community, more noteworthy events occurred in the world from 1957-1965 during our eight years of what was then identified as “grammar school.” Indeed, unbeknown to us at the time, we were living history as much as studying it. There were three chief executives serving our country: Presidents Eisenhower, Kennedy and Johnson. The coronation of three popes as heads of the world’s Roman Catholics also occurred: Popes Pius XII, John XXIII, and Paul VI. The Second Vatican Ecumenical Council (Vatican II), dedicated to The Immaculate, was convened. The First Vatican Council was adjourned way back in 1870. Vatican II was declared open under Pope John XXIII in 1962 and closed under Pope Paul VI in 1965. Pope John hoped that the Council would “…increase the fervor and energy of Catholics, to serve the needs of Christian people.” Locally, two of the worst disasters occurred in our state during that period: a gas explosion blew up the local Coliseum and killed 75 people; and 135 victims lost their lives to a tornado.
By 1964, we all entered our last year in grade school. We were now maturing into young adults—well, a good many of us anyway. This was a year of work that was to prepare us for high school. Boys finally discovered girls and girls seemed to like the idea. Being the less mature of the sexes, there were still some boys whose chief concern about relating to girls was contracting cooties.
At the end of these long eight years, I chose what I thought was my life’s calling and in all honestly had not thought about much else since the second grade. To my family’s surprise, I decided to enroll in a Catholic seminary with the intention to be ordained a Roman Catholic priest. How did I know that at age 13 I was too young to decide what to do with the rest of my life? Yet, it seemed naively simplistic, but so reassuring at the time.
As a young man with a pastoral focus, I spent almost as much time at the parish rectory as I did at home. The rectory is where priests lived and the parish business was transacted. My transportation back and forth to home, which was less than a mile away, was initially by bicycle, then by car when I became of legal age. This worked out rather well until one evening when somebody broke into my car and lifted my cassette stereo deck—right in front of the church! Such incidents were unheard of at the time in this neighborhood. Neither the culprit nor the deck was ever found; however, I suspect the person progressed to bigger crimes and is surely rotting in a jail cell or hell today. At least I hope so because I do not feel particularly forgiving.
Typical tasks that were entrusted to the seminarians at the rectory included answering the door and telephones during the evening hours, and printing the parish Sunday bulletins, newsletters, etc. In turn, we also had free run, more or less, of watching television and raiding the icebox. There was a group of five of us seminarians who were honored with these responsibilities. They were a large part of my life at the time, an important part of my forming