Thursday, June 16, 2011

Reflection #17 (Only 1059 to go!): The End of Times

     Do you recognize the name Harold Camping? If not, he is the man who predicted that the world would end on May 21, 2011. Actually, he said that the "rapture" and Judgment Day would be on that date. While I didn't believe that it would happen, I also didn't write my June 1st blog until May 22...just in case.
     Harold seems like a genuinely nice man who truly believed what he predicted. Afterward he expressed embarrassment and apologized for the miscalculation. My thought was, "No apologies necessary; I'm pretty happy that it didn't happen." I think for most of us, life is like a poor restaurant; no matter how bad the food was, the worst complaint is that there wasn't enough. (FYI, he has since had a stroke, as a result of stress that followed his prediction; for that I feel a little sorry for him.)
     Harold's prediction and its failure to materialize prompted this recollection. In October of 1962, we had our own brush with "The End of Times". If  anyone reading this blog is old enough to remember that month, I want to bring you back to the "Cuban Missile Crisis".  I was in my 2nd year of teaching at Saint Ignatius High School...not College Prep.
     The set-up: At the end of World War II, the U.S.A went from being a nervous ally of Russia to being the vanguard against Russia's apparent desire for world domination. For four years, there was a contentious relationship between Russia and the U.S.A., Then one day in Sept. of 1949, we found out that the Russians had “the bomb”. Through the early ‘50’s, there was paranoia, the "red scare", bomb shelters in homes, the Strategic Air Command and, perhaps most terrifying of all, the "Dooms-Day Clock"...always set a couple of minutes before midnight.
     By 1962, the Russians had already launched rockets capable of carrying atomic war-heads long distances, and they were starting to erect them in Cuba, which was the first official Communist country in the western hemisphere. There was no question about their intent. Those rockets could reach every city in the U.S.
     [Me being a smart a--: Luckily, we had mastered the technology of atomic bomb-resistant school desks. In case of a nuclear attack, the students were to get under their desks. We can only imagine how much longer the War-in-the-Pacific would have lasted if the Japanese had developed that technology.]
     The Result: The story is longer and more complex, but toward the end of October, 1962, President Kennedy ordered a blockade of Cuban ports. For seven days, Russian cargoe ships carrying rocket parts approached Cuban waters.  The long-awaited war was at hand. There had been no bill-boards warning us of the end, or radio preachers to tell us how to spend our waning moments, but we all knew we were all going to die. The "Dooms Day Clock" had mere seconds to go. Both sides had enough nuclear weapons to wipe out humanity many times over, and this was it.
     On October 28th, the Russian leader, Nikita Khrushchev offered to remove their missiles from Cuba if we would remove ours from Turkey.
     The Ignatius connection: During one of those days, as I was teaching one of my classes, there was a sudden loud "booom" from the direction of the lake. That's it. It's all over. Then we were told that naval pilots were practicing their super-sonic flights over Lake Michigan; it was a so-called sonic-boom. I know that the story sounds like it "fizzles", but, to those of us who experienced it, it was a high-anxiety snap-shot moment that illuminated our mortality.
     Some have said that the reason the good old days were good was because we know that we have survived them. I survived the missile crisis, but I don't feel those days were all that good. At 23-years-old, I wasn't ready to "leave this vale of tears", if you get my drift.  Ya know! At 72, I'm still not ready. As with the poor restaurant, life isn't perfect, but there still hasn't been enough.

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Blog #16 (only 1060 to go): On Being German

     There is usually some basis for truth to ethnic stereotypes. I was raised in a 100% German family. My family liked cabbage, dumplings and beer. Another stereotype that was grounded in reality in my family was that emotions were to be kept in check. That was especially true on my father’s side of the family. There are other cultural anomalies, but that will suffice for what I am about to write.
     I must admit that, German-wise, I am a washout. I really don’t like cabbage; I’m not crazy about dumplings, and the only beer I like is Guinness. Most of all, I am emotional. I get choked up seeing little babies in TV ads, and don’t get me started talking about my grandchildren. By the end, you may well have to help me to a chair and use a cloth to dab my tears.
     Actually, this blog is not about being German; it is about my emotions during the end-of-the-year Mass in Holy Family Church on Tuesday. I’m not sure I can explain why I “choked” up. Certainly some of it was that the church was filled with the glorious sound of the St. Ignatius’ wonderful orchestra and choir, but my emotions were spurred by the recollection of some heart-tugging...at least for me...memories.
     Very close to 50 years ago, on the first Friday of the school year, I stepped into Holy Family for the very first time to join in the celebration of the Mass-of-the-Holy Spirit. In those days, there were many priests in the school, and during the masses, most of them were at the altar. That was a majestic sight. The church was filled with the voices of 1150 young men as we prayed for God’s blessings for the coming year. Daily lunchtime masses were held in Holy Family, and they were pretty well attended. In those days, the boys walked through the “tunnel” to church, passing what is now the Treasures Office and the room occupied by the maintenance staff. They did not go outside to get to church, and, of course, they walked in total silence.
     On Tuesday this year, there weren’t as many priests, and the student body is now co-ed, but, despite those small differences, the memories of those 50 years, with all of their accompanying emotions, washed over me. Holy Family Church is a gold thread that runs through the fabric of my life at Ignatius.
     I can recall Father Moosbrugger giving what was to be referred to as the “greener pastures” homily, in which he said that the Jesuits had decided to stay at “1076” and not relocate on the south-west side, near where St. Laurence High School is now located.
     The Baccalaureate Masses were held In Holy Family, and there was always some emotion to seeing the students that I taught as they headed out into the “cold world”.
     As the church was falling on hard times, one day Carmen Pintozzi (a great teacher and coach, and a very good friend of mine) and I climbed to the choir loft when the church was empty. As we walked towards the front of the loft, we could feel it begin to sway, and we scampered (as well as two 200-plus pound men can “scamper”) back to the stair-well, trying not to shake the loft any more than necessary, nervously laughing about our “near-death” experience. In itself, it wasn’t a big deal, but a short time later, I stood at the lectern, reading the petitions at Carmen’s funeral mass. (That was tough.) As a side note, the “Junior-of-the-Year” award is named in Carmen’s honor. This years honoree is Robert Nolan, so if anyone who reads this blog knows Robert, please be sure to congratulate him on his award.
     A few years ago, my daughter, Jill, was married in Holy Family, and a week later, I attended my last Baccalaureate Mass as I prepared to retire. No single event would explain why I felt as I did, but the sum total of these and many more brought back the nostalgia, both joyous and painful.

     There were quite a few years in the middle of that time period when the masses were held in the school gym, because Holy Family had deteriorated so badly, but, thanks to the efforts of Fr. George Lane, SJ, and the generosity of many people, the church has saved.
     I have a ghost story that is a part of the Holy Family tradition, but that is saved for a later “reminiscence”