12,958. RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,109

RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,109

(king kong never came to perth amboy)

I was in the seminary with some

wacky Polish kid named Stanley.

Actually it was Stanislaus, which

name I did like better. His last name's

not important, so I won't use it, but he's

still around and here's the Catholic

story. And it's sad  -  poor old Stanley

got the short end of the stick, and for

years it was on my mind; whatever

had happened to him, etc. Once or

twice, at St. George Press, he'd

stop in to see me and we'd talk a

bit. He was sort of aimless, and it

was near-to-sad, each time. The

regular seminary people had strung

him along, apparently, and then at

the last moment dropped him, for

having poor command of English.

He was Polish, for goodness sake,

and had a heavy accent, and drawled

a little too. More just 'sloppy' talk

or bad enunciation really. Nothing

tragic or horrid, but he was wounded

and pretty shattered, by what they'd

done to him, and how it was all

handled. He was adrift. I used
to chuckle anyway, because back
about then  -  our seminary days  - 
all that church and Mass stuff was
still in Ecclesiastical Latin, and
to think back on that and compare
it to sloppy talk or even bad
enunciation, was a wicked and
devilish joke. 'Introibo ad altare
Dei.' and all the rest of that claptrap.

-

Years have gone by and, glad to

say, I've found out now that Stanley

has been a priest, as his wish had

been, for many years now, in the

nearby Trenton area  -  apparently

he's switched to a seminary run by,

the Serbian church on W. 42nd

street, Sts. Cyril & Methodius, I

think it's called. That's the same

church, any old-readers here may

recall, where I finally found my

father's and his NYC family

records, from back when (1924 era),

that had all been a thriving Italian

community. The church, and that

entire neighborhood and community,

had been destroyed, and all the

people moved out, (mostly up to the

e116th street area, an Italian part

of Harlem, as it were). The Serbian

church nearby to the destroyed church

had them, stored, salvaged, and kept,

all the records and photos and log

books of that Italian community.

Which I found out about only by

accident after some digging. I

arrived one day at the Serbian church

and, to the sexton outside, I explained

my plight and search. He brought me

inside, to meet the lady secretary and

keeper of the church records, etc. They

had, in an old wooden closet, which

she opened, all the old fountain-ink

ledger books that recorded baptisms,

confirmations, weddings, deaths, etc.,

from the old, no longer there, Italian

church, from the old neighborhood

days. We, by date and search, were

able to find 3 of the 5 kids in my

father's family  -  baptisms, etc.,

and a few other family notices. As

I said, the old streets and buildings

are all gone now  -  at this time it was

the ramps and entry streets, etc., to

the Lincoln Tunnel swirl of traffic,

there were one or two females going

car to car in the traffic-jam mess, and

some car dealerships, most emphatically

a large Mercedes-Benz dealer right at

the church and corner. So, it had all

existed, once, and hordes of people

and immigrants had lived and died

there. Then the  nice, Serbian, lady  -

as heavily-accented, and grave, as

Stanislaus had ever been. but no real

problem (take note: Catholic church) -

began showing us sheaves of photos

from the old days! Street festivals,

parades and vigils for saints and

martyrs, crowd scenes, old church

processions, banquets, etc. All as

another world indeed!

-
Now this isn't to say that people
shouldn't outgrow things  -  most
especially in this case that horrid
medieval quackery of religion and
dogma and church ritual. I'd rather
go stare at and talk to an oak tree.
If you can still find any; in most
'civilized' places now the enlightened
inhabitants of Erewohn have mostly
had them all torn down and removed,
to be replaced by two, more-modern,
Gods  -  Macadam and Lawn. Big-time
deities, these days. Stanley, I guess, had
forever stalled in that old pattern of
thought which still gave him validity
by reining in his impulses and
replacing them with the slow and
tired obeisance of 'Church.'
-

But, somehow, Stanislaus had found

a way to enter the Slavic seminary

run by this Cyril & Methodius outfit.

They ran a seminary for their own

rite of Catholicism  -  sort of like,

as I recall now, and unbelievably so,

an old episode of Seinfeld wherein 

this conversion/rite gimcrackery takes

place too as George falls romantically

head over heels for some Serbian nun

and they wish to convert  -  she from 

the church, out, and he, from his Jewish 

faith, in. Truly a bungled mess at humor,

but, here it's apt. The thing is, many a

truth is said in jest, and the real world

haunts everyone  -  every glimmer and

attitude of action and faith bears some 

some sort of fruit. It's how we deal

with that that counts, and, for many

years, I thought, Stanislaus had given

up and taken the foul-ball right to

the head. I was wrong. He'd instead

gotten up, brushed himself off, and

strode right back into the game : much

like King Kong, on that lofty perch

of the Empire State building, swatting

down planes and attackers, one

swat after the next. He finally

falls? Stanislaus did not.