RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,239
(aligned with the stars, and answerable to none)
I used to come home from the
seminary now and then - for
holidays and some Summer
days - and it was always like
another world. As I returned to
Avenel I was always somehow
startled and put off by what I
saw. One year, the gravelly
street we lived on, usually a
loose, bumpy mess but one
which because of that, kept
car speeds to a minimum,
mostly, had been slightly
widened, re-curbed, and
paved too. To my eyes, as I
walked up the late November
street, it was all new - wide,
flat, black-paved, and I
immediately saw too how
the passing cars (the street
led, out in one direction, to
Route One, both north and
south) made a new haste to
get to that junction. The speeds
had obviously changed because
of the new pavement. '25' had
easily become '45', no matter
what was posted (and nothing
was). I figured it was only a
matter of time before some
nitwit ran somebody down, or
a resident got creamed backing
out of their driveway in the
usual slumber-pace. All those
old habits were going to have
to change, and quickly. I was
only there a day or two, so I
never did find out any results.
-
There was some sort of bus I
used to take, from the New
Brunswick bus station and
taxi stand behind the train
depot. Usually my father or
someone else (I once or
twice went with another
seminary friend, whose father
would pick us up or drive us
back to the station. He lived
about a mile away, thus the
reason I was 'walking' up my
newly-paved street), would
get me to the station, or from
it. It was never a big deal. I
forget the fare and all that, but
I always enjoyed the2 hour or
so bus ride. For me it was yet
another solitary respite, cocooned
in a half-lit bus-interior, left
alone. Outside the window,
just past the rumbling noise
of the bus itself, ranged the
NJ Turnpike and then the
assemblage of all those crazy,
still country and farm, South
Jersey towns along the way
to Blackwood. I forget where
the bus dropped me, or us, but
there was a little walk involved
and it was never long or taxing.
It's funny, the things you recall.
-
Blackwood had a tiny little section
of stores along the roadway, and
one of them was a sub shop (called
'hoagies' down there, strictly). Once
or twice a year too, the seminary
would have 'Class Day' or something
like that, when Seniors or Sophomores,
whatever, would be allowed a 'day
off' and were free to walk the fields
over the hill, into Blackwood and
have like a little 'free day' of their
own. All it meant, really, was
pocket money and swarming this
dumpy little nowhere town, with
an obligatory stop at the hoagie
shop. It must have been a bonanza
for the owner, but it - just as much -
had to seem spooky for the town
to see 30 or 40, tie and dress pants,
with jackets, teen boys gawking
and sliding around their town.
I can't remember what else was
there; no stores or shops come to
mind. We only ever got as far as
Blackwood - which was walkable
for us - but there were other towns
around as well, never seen (by me).
Runnemede. Berlin, Clementon, and
Lindenwold. If you look at a map
now, there are towns showing that
didn't exist then - and now it's a
mass of condos, homes and highways,
as if some madman had taken over.
The seminary itself, now, is Camden
Community College; it long ago
(1968) having closed.
-
Granted, I can't remember that much
of the day-to-day incidentals of seminary
life outside of school and lessons, and
discipline and rigors; but other guys
claim it to have been lots of fun and
a real enjoyable atmosphere. Maybe
for them. To me it was more like
being sequestered in some Soviet
Gulag, having to learn by heart all
the points known about Stalin, and
having to believe them too. Religion
and Humanity don't really mix well.
Especially for adolescent boys.
-
Speaking of which, probably the
coolest thing about going to
Blackwood, Class Day, or even
the bus rides, was 'girls.' I somehow
always had an abiding interest in
what was passing me by, and the
dearth of 'girls' at the seminary
was quite harsh, dubious, and,
as well, noticeable and daunting.
The bus had girls! The stupid
town had girls! Heck, I used to
pray the local hoagie shop would
have a few! (Never happened, but
I heard stories). The silly priests
and brothers were always going
on to us our 'vocation' - the voice
of the 'Lord' within us that had
spoken to us and beckoned for
us to become priests. Huh?
They'd go on about how the
word 'seminary' was based on
the word 'semen' (I kid you not),
and how 'God' had planted the
seed of a vocation within us,
which must be given heed, and
grow and prosper. It all made
about as much sense as a donkey
with three heads. How were we
then supposed to guide individuals
and couples and families in 'family'
matters we know nothing about.
Sex notwithstanding, we never
even have a family by which to
give out any first-hand experience
or information! What kind of
slip-stirrup was on this horse I
was riding? I sure wondered.
-
Every so often, down at the little
town, or on the bus, or when families
would visit the seminary, I'd see a
girl, or someone's sister, near to my
age, and internally start swooning.
It was an uncontrollable urge to
burst free, experience the real world
and not this slimy, befallen Catholic
hovel of cowards and supposed men
hiding away. Everything began to
stink. By three years in, I knew I
was already done...aligned with
the stars, and answerable to none.
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