My Grandfather’s Funeral

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This post is not one of the seminary reflections but took place here chronologically.

The school year proceeded about the same as the first one had. Advent arrived with preparation for Christmas.  In the last week before Christmas, I was summoned for a phone call, not usually a good sign.  My mother was on the phone and told me that my grandfather, her father, had died suddenly that morning. He had a heart condition and was taking nitroglycerine tablets. He decided to go out to shovel some snow and had a heart attack.  He was not able to get back inside for his pills and had died suddenly on the way into the house.

My parents were about to leave for Dunkirk and had arranged to pick me up after supper to go to the funeral home. I was stunned. All four of my grandparents had been alive up to then and I had never experienced the death of a close relative.

I had lived with him and my grandmother and mother while my father was away in World War II. I had little recollection of those early days except for the trains.  We would hear a train whistle in the distance, and from its direction could tell if it was the New York Central, running along Lake Erie or The Nickel Plate which stopped at the end of Park Avenue, about half a block from my grandparents’ house. My grandfather  and I would bundle into the car, rush down to the tracks and watch freight trains pass or passenger trains stop briefly to load or unload passengers or packages. I especially liked to watch the train start up again.  A billow of smoke rose from the smoke stack and the train let out a single chug while the wheels moved only slightly.  After several of these starts, the train began its forward movement and was underway.  We would also go to the other end of Park Avenue  to the dock to watch the fishing boats come and go.

When I was older and we had moved to Rochester, I would sometimes stay with my grandparents for a week during the summer. I would go with my grandfather to his drug store, watch him sort pills and go down to the cellar with him for supplies.  I would also help sweep the floors and dust candy cases. I wished he had a soda fountain like some drug stores did at the time. His candy counter had jars of various penny candy.  The simplest, but in my eyes, the most exotic, was a jar of rock candy.  I knew it was just sugar and water, but somehow it fascinated me.  When it was time to close up the store for the day, he would always ask me if I wanted to pick out some candy before we left, and I always picked out the rock candy, a band of clear crystal sugar on a string.

I recalled these memories on the way to the funeral home.  He had been retired for about five years and had enjoyed every day of his retirement as he had his earlier life. It was hard to find a parking place. He was loved by everyone and it seemed everyone had come to say good bye.

Inside were my uncles, aunts, cousins and people I had seen coming and going at my grandparents’ house. Some I knew and some I did not. Near the casket sat my grandmother, uncharacteristically quiet and sad.  She was usually the one making sure everyone had what they needed.  This time everyone was hovering over her in case there was something she needed.

When I finally reached her, we stood and hugged each other for quite a while, sharing our tears for my lost grandfather and her lost husband.  Despite all the people there, it was as if we were alone in her kitchen for a few moments with no one around.

My tears continued as I approached to kneel before his casket surrounded by what seemed like endless  flowers.  He looked like himself although a little powdery.  I had never seen him that still.  He was always telling a story or laughing at someone else’s story.  Even when asleep in his chair he always snored to let us know he was still with us in his own way.

Later in the evening at my grandmother’s house, everyone told stories about my grandfather and his observations about life. He did not have the literary gifts of Samuel Clemens, or at least never showed them if he did.  However he did have a quick wit and knack for comical observation of human foibles which kept us all entertained. 

Someone wondered whether my grandfather had ever become angry in his life.  Everyone stopped to think but had trouble coming up with anything. My Aunt Helen did recall once when he had told my uncles Dick and Charlie to stop running through the house.  When they kept it up, he got out of his chair to chase them, but then broke into his usual laughter, realizing he could not catch them anyway.  That seems to have been the closest he ever came to being angry.

Despite his placid nature, he must have been quite determined. He was born one of eight children to immigrant Irish parents who originally came to the coal fields in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania.  They made their way to Belfast, New York, building a farm house on top of a rocky hill where it was difficult to walk.  I could not imagine how they ever broke the soil to grow anything. I think they had mostly cows.

My grandfather somehow made his way to the University of Buffalo Pharmacy School from which he graduated. He worked in a drug store in Niagara Falls where he met my grandmother and eventually bought a drug store in Dunkirk.  He provided well for my grandmother and their six children. I think the best thing he left them was his sense of humor and ability to manage whatever came his way in life without the smallest complaint.

I was grateful that I had a chance to be with him, especially on the afternoons in his drug store.  I never really knew what he thought.  I don’t know whether he worried about his health or about his family, what he thought about current events or whether there was anyone in the world he did not like.  He never spoke ill of anyone.  He did see foibles, his own as well as everyone else’s, and had a way of seeing their comical side, his included, without ever being critical of anyone.

I went to the funeral the next day, Christmas Eve.  My Uncle Dick, my grandfather’s second son said the funeral mass solemnly and with more emotional control that I could imagine, especially knowing we were saying good-bye to a family treasure. I served as an altar boy with my brother and had to fight back tears several times during the Mass. At the cemetery, my uncle repeated the words from the last hymn at church, “In Paradisum, Deducant Te Angeli”- May the Angels lead you into Paradise. I no longer had control of my tears.  

We had dinner at Rusch’s Restaurant, owned by my father’s cousins, and returned to my grandparents’ house where Christmas Eve had lost its charm for me.  I did have my traditional beer with my grandmother in the kitchen.  Neither of us could think of anything to say.  After we were done, we hugged and shared our tears for our mutual loss. Later we opened our presents as usual in the front parlor, but no one sat in my grandfather’s chair.  I glanced at it from time to time, always saddened by its emptiness.

I returned to the seminary for collation although I supposed I did not have to. I could have stayed to eat with my relatives the many foods left by neighbors and friends. Since it was Advent and the eve of a feast day, it was not yet time to celebrate Christmas.  This collation consisted of hard boiled eggs, baked beans, string beans, bread and butter with milk to drink and fruit cocktail for dessert. I decided I had made the wrong choice and should have stayed with my relatives for dinner.  Before eating, Father Brendan asked everyone to keep my grandfather, me and our family in their prayers.  My tears returned and I decided I was not very hungry anyway.

The midnight Christmas Mass was again quite a production.  Afterwards, I went back to my grandmother’s where she was cooking bacon and eggs as if nothing had happened, although I knew that inside, things were not the same for her and never would be.

The next night I was back at the seminary, and most of the week managed to get lost in the Christmas week festivities and seemingly endless games of euchre and hearts. Classes were soon back in full swing and I was back to reading for class when I had to and reading war novels when I had the chance. 

From my book, Young Man of the Cloth, available in paperback or digital format from Amazon

Fourth Seminary Reflection

I had completed one year of my seminary training and was gearing up for the next year. I had expected to be living in a religious community focused on prayer. That was no surprise.

I was surprised by the isolation from the rest of the world with no radio, television or newspapers. I would not say I was much of a cosmopolitan. In the seventh and eighth grades we had often been assigned news stories to listen to, watch or read to make us aware of world events and the larger context in which we lived. Now we were being told to ignore all that and concentrate on what we were spoon-fed by our teachers. It seemed a little odd and restrictive to me. I could not understand why we needed to be sheltered from the world and its ways which we had been exposed to up until we entered the seminary. I was not much of a rebel and accepted the explanation of our superiors as their view, keeping my own thoughts to myself.

Their efforts did not keep me from discovery of my sexuality which did not seem to fit into their plan from what I could see. There was general reference to sexuality in discussion of the commandments with vague allusions to mortal sin. From my experience, sexual feelings seemed quite natural and nothing I actively pursued. Quite the opposite. But they occurred persistently as did other urges-hunger, thirst and the need for sleep. I was confused about why giving into your sexual urges was made out to seem so bad. Then again, other mortal sins such as missing Mass and eating meat on Friday did not make much sense to me either.

I had learned what was expected of me and complied for the most part. What was missing was an understanding of why we had to do things a certain way or think in certain ways. We were told how to act and think which I accepted on the surface. Still there was that part of me, “Joey Why”, which made me question everything.

Although I did not get satisfactory answers to my questions, none of the things I wondered about seemed earthshaking and worth antagonizing the superiors over. That is with the exception of sexuality and mortal sin, topics which seemed taboo. I thought I might be able to figure out these mysteries on my own eventually. I recalled my father’s words when I asked too many questions at home. “Because I said so.”  

Third Seminary Reflection

Although I had not thought much about growing up, I was suddenly faced with the prospect of moving in that direction. I was starting to gain some competence in sports and had learned the value of practice and perseverance. I was finally starting to master something I could feel good about. I was also starting to face issues of morality. Up to recently, religion class had just been a series of memorized lessons. I had never done anything I saw as having serious consequences. Suddenly, I was faced with the moral consequences of my newly discovered sexuality. I had never thought of my actions as having much meaning before, but now a brief act could have eternal consequences.

It was also starting to dawn on me that my former life was gone. I was suddenly no longer a child with the freedom and lack of responsibility of childhood, I was torn away from everything I was use to, even though I was here through my own choice. There were times I wondered what made me think I was capable of making such a serious choice at age thirteen.

Second Seminary Reflection

Mass

The Seminary introduced new ways of doing things. The biggest difference was the degree to which our time was scheduled compared to life at home. As time went on, I felt further removed from the outside world. Other than family visitors, we seldom encountered anyone who did not live in the seminary. There were no intrusions from TV, radio or magazines. We were told the reason for these restrictions was to keep us from being distracted from seminary life. I found the isolation difficult at times. I had always been curious about everything throughout my life. My parents had always encouraged my curiosity other than when I took things apart which I could not put back together. I was suddenly confined to a very limited world. I found it hard, but there were enough experiences, especially in sports to keep me interested.   

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This is a selection from my book, my book, Young Man of the Cloth, available at Amazon in paperback and digital format.

Leaving Home

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I left my home and life so far in September 1956. I stayed overnight with my grandparents and all the relatives who stopped by to wish me luck with my new adventure. The next day I rode with my family the several miles to Holy Cross Seminary.

I debated about whether to continue the adventures and highlights of my life. Several years ago, I wrote a book, Young Man of the Cloth, detailing my nine years of life in the seminary and monastery. This book offers a fuller account of these years than would be found in trying to summarize them here. I did stop for reflections on my adventures in the book. I have decided to share these reflections regarding my religious life.

For a fuller account of these years of my life I refer you to my book, Young Man of the Cloth. It is available for sale in soft cover or as a digital book at Amazon. I just finished rereading it and think you might enjoy it and its account of a bygone era. In the meantime, here is the first reflection from Young Man of the Cloth.

First Seminary Reflection

I got into bed, feeling tired after the day’s adventures, hoping to get to sleep.  Still I found myself with eyes wide open, a lump in my throat and stomach and feelings I could not identify.  I eventually realized I was lonely, sad and homesick.  I had been away to boy scout camp and to visit relatives, but never had to sleep among complete strangers.

I missed the comfort of my family and the familiarity of my room and belongings as I lay in the cold anonymity of the dormitory.  I had a top bunk because one happened to be open when I arrived and I thought I might like one for some reason. It provided me a good view.  Some students slid quickly into bed while others stayed up in the dark to practice their exercises.  A couple of more developed exercisers included one handed push-ups in which they held one wrist with the other hand and sidled down into a sideways pushup.  Others came up quickly and clapped their hands together in front of them and landed back on them for the next pushup.  Still others were content with regular pushups.  I did not see the point and was satisfied going to sleep with no pushups.

After falling asleep, I dreamed of home and everything I knew there.  Nothing here was familiar and each hour seemed to hold new expectations of behavior which were quite foreign to me.  I supposed I could get used to it.  I seemed to think I would just be a priest magically and did not consider all the steps of going through high school, college, the novitiate, and monastic seminary for philosophy and theology before ordination.  A long road and I had only completed one day.  Maybe I would be more at peace with the reality of what I had chosen in the morning.

Playing at Mass

At one point I realized that going to the seminary was not just a fantasy. But speaking of fantasy, I played being a priest saying Mass. My mother helped me with this fantasy and sewed vestments to wear while I practiced celebrating Mass. Several of my friends played along with my fantasy as well and attended my “Masses”. I never asked what they made of this. None of them volunteered an opinion but went along with it as they did any other game anyone suggested.

Most of the friends I knew realized I was serious about the seminary and would soon be gone from the neighborhood. They all had questions about what the seminary was like and I told them the best I could based on my visits to Holy Cross in Dunkirk. I had no way to know what daily life would consist of once I arrived but did not spend a great deal of time thinking about it. As eighth grade progressed, I began to realize that life for me would be quite different and that all my friends would be headed in a different direction. They were busy choosing a high school, most choosing Aquinas, the Catholic high school closest to home or one the public high schools if they were not inclined for more Catholic education or if the Aquinas tuition created a problem for their families.

The boys in my class were busy looking for girlfriends but I did not know whether any were interested in Rose. It occurred to my that having a girlfriend in the seminary would not be considered proper. To say the least, it would be frowned on. I said goodbye to Rose and did not know if I would ever see her again. I overheard a few boys talking about her and suspected some of them might want to pursue her. I was too intent on my future plans to think about what might have developed between us. I never forgot her and in later years thought of her from time to time.

Before leaving for the seminary, I needed to have a physical. I had always been in fairly good health. I was somewhat overweight. There was some question about whether I might be inclined toward diabetes and tried to watch my sweets. My paternal grandmother was very affected by diabetes and the concern was that I might inherit this from her.

I had to sew nametag labels into all of my clothes since wash was done in bulk in the seminary. I also needed a black suit. I never had a suit before and my father took me to a menswear store for choice of appropriate seminary wear as well as final fittings. This took some doing on account of my being “chunky.” The salesman asked me if I was interested in buying a bra in light of my weight. I was quite embarrassed by this question and could not decide whether he was trying to be helpful or making fun of me.

Finally, I said goodbye to my friends and packed an old trunk which had been in our attic for some time. I was ready for my new adventure. A new life awaited me.  

A Major Decision

Holy Cross Seminary Chapel

I became quite involved with my duties as an altar boy. I got out of class for funerals which took place during school hours. As I mentioned earlier, I was also receiving tips for such special events as funerals. In the process I also became familiar with the assistant pastors in St. Charles Parish. They were easy to talk to, kind and appreciative of the altar boys including me.

In the meantime, I wondered what happened to my father. When he came home from World War II, he was finally more that a picture in my grandparents living room. We never traveled too far from home in Rochester. We visited relatives in Dunkirk and also found fun things to do such a sledding in winter and visiting parks and the fish hatchery in the summer.

After we moved to Maiden Lane, something changed and I never did quite understand why. My father gradually changed from the fun person I enjoyed spending time with. He became irritable and quick to call me to account for my indiscretions which seemed many. My chief indiscretion was leaving his tools somewhere besides where they belonged. Being the oldest, I felt that I bore the brunt of his complaints. Yet my younger brothers and I made a point of making ourselves scarce at 5:20 P.M. when he arrived home from work.

Although I never discovered all that was responsible for his personality change, I did arrive at a few possible contributors. Our growing family meant more mouths to feed and bodies to clothe. I know that he barely missed being laid off from Kodak which must have worried him. I don’t think he had any problem with my mother whom all agreed was the nicest and kindest person they knew.

Whatever the reason, I grew tired of being the butt of his criticism and often wished I did not need to face his ire quite so often. My becoming an altar boy endeared me to the assistant pastors as well as to my two uncles who were priests. I saw the parish priests and my two uncles as kind and supportive and caring about me more that my father did.

Over time I started thinking about what I wanted to do with my life. The possibility of becoming a priest entered my mind. Of all the adult men in my life, the four priests I came to know led me to consider the priesthood as a way to do something positive with my life as well as get some distance from my father.   

Several other boys in our parish also started talking about going to the seminary. This ambition gave each of us a little more status although going to live at a seminary was not high on the list of priorities for most of the other boys in my school. I visited Holy Cross Seminary in Dunkirk where my Uncle Bob, one of my idols, taught physics in the past. I also had ideas about being a doctor and once asked my mother if it might be possible to be both a doctor and a priest. She thought it might be possible since my uncle was a priest and also taught physics. I talked this over with our parish priests and found them very helpful in understanding what living as a priest might entail.

Nothing was final. I had to get recommendations from the St. Charles School principal and the pastor. I also had to visit the seminary and be interviewed by a number of priests there. My uncle had moved on from teaching physics but was highly respected by priests in the Passionist Order. The wheels were turning.  

Making a Contribution

As I moved to the upper grades, I started to think that there must be something of consequence I should be doing. At the time, I had no name for this feeling and could not have replied intelligently if someone asked me about it. I had a sense that I should be making some sort of contribution to the community in which I lived.

The only expected contribution of people my age was putting some money in the collection basket. My parents always made sure that I had something to put in the basket at Mass. As I recall, this amounted to loose change I might have had in my pocket. Yet I had a sense that more was expected of me although this was never clearly stated. I wondered what I had to offer. In the higher elementary grades, two possibilities occurred to me.

One was being a safety. This involved wearing a white belt with a white shoulder strap. My job would be to stand in the middle of the crosswalk while children crossed the street on Dewey Avenue to and from school. This would be the first time I ever had any public responsibility. I signed up and took the responsibility seriously. There was no compensation for this job other than a little extra status and a safety picnic at the lake at the end of the school year. I felt good about the job and about myself and it gave me a sense of importance I had never felt before.

During the same year, the pastor came into my classroom to announce that he was looking for some young men to serve as altar boys. This job consisted of helping the priest on the altar with various functions such as Mass, weddings and funerals. I was chosen and wondered whether my  two uncles serving as priests affected my being chosen.

The biggest challenge for me was learning the Latin responses for various parts of the Mass. That was a time when Mass was conducted entirely in Latin unless there was a sermon included. This was at a time when girls and women were not allowed to have any role in conducting the Mass. Not even nuns. Memorizing Latin responses was a challenge. I eventually memorized what I was supposed to say. Yet I had little sense of what the Latin words meant.

  Being a safety and an altar boy gave me a sense that I was making a contribution to society in some small sense. I also felt a little more important in the community. Also, as a nice aside, it was the custom to tip the altar boys at weddings and funerals. A little extra pocket money was always welcome.

Old Friends

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When I lived on Rainier Street, I saw an older woman sitting on her front porch. I walked past her house on the way home from school and said hello to her in passing. Over time I continued to greet her. I knew her as Mrs. Muckle. She invited me to sit on the porch with her which I did. We drank lemonade and I shared with her my limited adventures as a young boy. She seemed interested in everything I told her although I had not experienced much of note in my short life. I don’t think it mattered much what I told her but she was very happy to have company. Her husband had died a few years before I met her and she was glad to have any visitors.

I lost track of her when I moved to Maiden Lane in Greece, NY. I thought about her from time to time and eventually the memory of our visits faded. One day I had some business at the St. Charles rectory. Surprisingly, the door was answered by none other than Mrs. Muckle.  I never had much time to spend with her then since she was busy in her job as receptionist at the rectory. She had also moved to Greece although I never discovered quite were she lived. Still, it was nice to see an old friend again.

From time to time, we visited my uncle, aunt and their growing family in Newark NY. I mentioned earlier the few months we lived with them. It was not just a visit. My uncle was a dentist and took care of our family’s dental needs as well.

One time I was playing with a ball in their back yard and it managed to fly over the fence. I decided to retrieve it. I went over and introduced myself to Mr. and Mrs. Slater. They invited me to stay a little while to talk which I was happy to do.

The next time we were in Newark, I announced that I was going next door to visit the Slaters. I got the sense that they were not in favor with my aunt and uncle but never discovered why. That was not my problem. I went over to see them every time we were in Newark. They always had lemonade and some sort of treat for me.

They had a cat which did not favor strangers. Whenever I entered their house, I saw the cat scoot behind the couch and stay there. If I visited long enough, the cat might come out to see what was going on.

The Slaters also had a very large old book called Land and Sea. It talked of and showed land and sea creatures, real and imaginary. I was never quite sure if some were real or imagined such as the Narwhal with its single long horn growing out of its forehead. I could look through the book for hours without losing interest. When I got a little older, they decided I was responsible enough to take the book home and they gave it to me. It was my favorite treasure and I got it out from time to time and fondly remembered my visits with the Slaters.

The Cat Lady

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One day after school, my friend Gene and I spotted a kitten with the same markings as one which had gone missing from his house. We followed it down a side street and into the yard of a house several doors from the corner. We could not see where it went, so we decided to check with the resident of the house.

We rang the doorbell several times and eventually the door opened to reveal a rather old woman. She apologized for taking so long to answer the door but she found it hard to get around lately. We told her about the kitten we were following and described it. She told us it was one of hers. She invited us in and we told her about our trouble finding Gene’s cat.

She told us that she had many cats and we could look at them in the cellar if we wanted to. As we neared the door to her cellar, the odor of cat urine became stronger. As we went down the stairs, the odor became overwhelming. In the darkness we could see the heads and bodies of many cats almost filling the basement.

We were not about to progress further down the stairs and decided to take her word for the identity of the kitten. We were quick to get back into the kitchen and close the cellar door. She wanted to know about us and we sat down in her parlor. We filled her in on where we lived- down the street on Maiden Lane, our school and what we did after school. She invited us to come back.

We did a few days later and she showed us two mandolins which we plucked. She was vague as to where they came from, perhaps a relative. She had several other curiosities. Our favorite was a collection of U.S. State Flag reproductions upstairs in a small trunk. We visited her on occasion and kept her company for a while. We also took our wagon a few blocks to fill it with groceries from the supermarket for her. In addition, we stopped at the corner store to get beer for her which we added to the groceries. My mother and Gene’s mother were good bakers and from time to time made treats for us to take to the cat lady.

Since we attended a Catholic school, we were well versed in the requirements, chief of which seemed to be attending Mass on Sunday. We were taught that it was a mortal sin to miss Mass on Sunday without a very good reason. If we committed a mortal sin and died before confessing it, we would end up in hell for eternity rather than landing in heaven. She told us that she did not like going to Mass on Sunday. Instead, she attended Novena, a prayer service on Monday night. We worried about her soul and tried to discuss this with her but did not get anywhere.

We visited her from time to time and treated ourselves to plucking on the violins and looking through her flag collection. I wondered how the cats in the cellar survived. She never asked us to get cat food at the store. Somehow the cats took care of their own needs.

One day she appeared at my house wanting to talk with my mother. I don’t know how she figured out where I lived. She accused the two of us of stealing her flag collection. My mother asked me about it and I told her we did not do any such thing. I asked Gene about it and he said he had not taken them. We did not know what to make of the accusation thinking that she must have been confused or could have moved the flags and forgot where she put them. In any case, we reached the conclusion that she was not in her right mind and did not visit her again. Another chapter in our adventures closed.