RUDIMENTS, pt. 710
(let them pray...)
It's always been something
strange for me, about shovels.
When I first arrived at the
seminary, it was still August
and the actual 'school year'
hadn't yet begun. Early arrival
kids, from farther-away places,
were dribbling in, and, like
myself, others just simply came
early to get the feel of the place.
That was fine, and the one real
surprise that cropped up was
that there were some there who'd
remained the Summer, or most
of it. When I looked out the rear
windows of the dormitory, to
the near field, I saw 5 or 6 guys
with shovels, all laboriously at
work, digging a trench. It was
a kind of straight-line trench,
out to somewhere, into which,
as well, the large conduit pipes
which were strewn about, were
being placed, secured, sealed,
and made water tight, etc. And
then, from the other end, it was
all being covered over again. I
was astounded by the sight -
the guys involved in doing the
work were enjoying it, there
was banter and laughter, and
shouts and talk - as in some
old-time Navy movie, when
you see all the goofy guys on
deck, swabbing and clowning
around, it was a scene from
some overly-lit land of happiness.
Or so it seemed. I guess the
seminary - being what it was
- relied more on 'brawn (?)
than machinery for work like
this. Frugality, perhaps. But
maybe too just a way of
promoting brotherhood and
team. Doing things together.
It was not here, I should add,
only students doing this work
- I saw a few of the priests
and brothers there too, working.
It was hot out, and there wasn't
a tree around. Yet they kept
winding through it; heat, sweat
and straight sunlight.
-
When you're in the midst of
something like that - working
at the task - I'd claim that you
don't see it as an outsider sees it.
In this case, I was the outsider,
and what I saw was a strangely
near-mystical and medieval
scene of men, hard at work,
scouring through a task that
involved the most basic aspects
of life. Digging. Dirt. Removal.
Replacement. And not a complaint
was heard - only the running
jocularity of 'this hard task, this
crazy work, these nutty guys!'
Perhaps THAT was how Chartres
was built? I looked at this entire
scene as the outsider that I've
always been, but in this case it
was more like a living tableaux
you'd see in some natural history
museum or something - squat,
bulky men, at work, bent and
laboring, like a Bruegel scene
from one of those paintings. I
was no longer in the real world,
and my mouth was probably
agape. (Strange about that word,
'agape.' It did originally connote
wonderment and religion, but only
later, in the 1970's was it readily
adapted by born-agains and the
evangelizing crowd to denote
modern 'religious' work).
-
As someone outside of this
scene of work, I remained a
detached observer - watching
through a screened window.
Funny, isn't it - 1962, and no
air conditioning, in an army-like
spread of barracks used as
freshman sleeping quarters,
how no one gave that a second
thought. It was hot inside too.
And, watching the scene, I was
able to get all the sounds in
real-time, as if right next to
me, which they were. If you
think about it, the entire 'Catholic'
thing is medieval, ancient, and
archaic enough to bring thoughts
of bricks and mortar and the
hammering and chiseling of
forms and bricks and great piles
of things to make the churches
and cathedrals of France's and
Europe's old countryside.
That's what all this reminded
me of, right off. A hand-hewn
everything, being dug and
shoveled, and for some greater
glory of 'God' somewhere.
Someone told me today, earlier,
about Saratoga, NY - how much
they loved their Augusts there,
how old and out of time the town
was. He said something like,
for directions, 'You take the road
north, and go about 170 miles
above New York City, make
the left up there where it's
marked, and then you drive
110 years back in time.' That
doesn't read as well as it was
heard, but you get the idea,
how well he produced the
sensation of a place that was
way back out of time. That's
what all this felt like to me.
Shovels, like I said, shovels.
-
When I first viewed this group
of ditch-diggers, I didn't know
who they were, nor any of them.
I later did get to know a few of
them; Joe Vouglas, from Plainfield,
was about the friendliest. To me,
he was a kid of local guy too, (and
older by two years), Plainfield
being not that far from Avenel.
He was a very physical guy;
brawny, tough - in the strength
and endurance way, I don't mean
thuggish. We had none of that.
There were two definite camps
of people in the seminary - the
physical, baseball and pole-vaulting
sorts, like Joe - who you'd then
immediately recognize as a natural
type for the ditch-digging task, and
then - I'd learn - a entire and other
cast of squeamish softees - always
praying, way overdoing the piety
stuff, walking in an almost girl-like
softness, and getting all clean and
soapy always. You'd never find
one of those banana-peelers
digging a ditch. In my years
there, I had to put up with both
of those slates of characters. I
learned what to steer clear of
(Egads!), and who not to get
chummy with. Let them pray.
(That's a joke - it was always,
'Let us pray...').
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