RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,373
(where am I going, where have I been? pt. 4)
The first Winter at the seminary was
also interesting for other reasons. The
'Freshman' dorm, as it was called, was
off in its own little building - one level
high, certainly more shack-like and
primitive that then others. Also, it was
made of wood, was old, and had a little
porch-entry of its own. A long, low
building across from what would be
called the 'Quad' I guess, it also was
connected - as the long, low building,
to the ever-present chapel building and
then the general entry area, from that
entry side, to the 'Refectory', which is
was the large, general room we thrice
daily dined in. There was a grassy
lawn all about, and a paved concrete
walkway went all around, towards a
decorative and circular little fountain
off to the side. (All of this is gone
now, the whole place has been
removed (razed) to become a
local college). To me, it had a
certain majesty - and one I can
still see and sense in my mind.
It was, after all and when you
think about it, the first purposeful
place, built around and for its
own function and meaning
- except for the hospital - I'd
been in. The rest were all ad hoc
places and merely visits. This, on
the other hand, was a farther and
more distant place and landscape,
in a strange, piney part of south
Jersey. More on that in a minute.
-
The chapel was simple, like an
old Army outpost chapel. It was
always quiet, and unused except
when the herd of us came tramping
in. We pretty much filled it up, 360
of us, roundabout. Only 7 did
eventually become Priests or
Religious of some sort. No one,
of course, early on knew where
they were really headed (except
maybe Chuck Waddell, and Michael
Alliegro. Mike was a friend, in the
town I ended up living in (Metuchen)
when the Diocese there became the
Diocese of Metuchen, and Michael
became the Monsignor there, working
with the Bishop (name forgot).
Michael died, of leukemia, in the
1990's. He grew up in Fords, NJ.
The two of them, in those days, were
very quiet souls and very pious; always
praying.
-
I opened this chapter noting one of my
first impressions and memories: that
was a Winter snowstorm we had to
brave. It was illustrious and memorable
to me, and I still can't say why. Each
morning at like 6am, we'd all be awakened.
Everyone had to prepare for the day, arise,
wash, get dressed, etc. The entire school,
not just this Freshman dorm, all did this at
the same time. Then each class would try
to get together and traipse over to the chapel,
for Mass, and then next door to eat, in the
previously mentioned Refectory. This
particular day, overnight, it has snowed
some 12-14 inches - there was white,
windy and drifted snow everywhere,
with not a path nor a footprint to be
seen. It was stunning and majestic; a
different world for me for sure. The
silence itself was an uplift. All I can
recall is a thin line of quiet boys
churning their way through the new
snow, in their shoes, dress pants,
coats and the rest, (yes, the stupid
dress code had us in shirts and ties
and jackets each day, like bankers or
businessmen). We all arrived into the
basement chapel area, dripping snow
and melt, and filed in for the morning
mass. (Pretty good word there, for that).
-
A lot of guys, in that first month or so
were gone, as quick as a flash. Well,
maybe 10 or 12 anyway - the place
wasn't to their liking, it didn't suit them,
or they were just instantly homesick and
didn't like being away and sequestered
as we all were. There was an all-out
assortment of guys, from different
places and upbringings, as I've mentioned.
Mostly maybe 4 states around : All of
Jersey, parts of Delaware (David Kane,
from Dover, Del.), the wealthier Jersey
Shore area, Pennsylvania, (Kirk Hallett,
Harrisburg/Camp Hill), and other places.
And Brooklyn. Good old Brooklyn (John
Guerrasio). Another guy, from Brooklyn,
who only lasted maybe the first month and
I forget his really Italian name - let's say
Antonio. He was 1st generation Italian,
maybe even imported himself. He talked
fast and nervously, heavily accented, and
from Day 1 somehow presented a problem.
No one seemed to get on well with him. We
all sensed it wasn't going to work out. In
these tight-quarter Freshman dorm rooms,
we bunked maybe 4 or 6, I forget. He had
deliveries, from home, of Italian salami
loaves, not sliced or anything They kept
coming, and he kept them in his top dresser
drawer. He'd cut them with a knife that he
had, and they'd be in that top drawer, and
eat them by the pieces, offering them around
too. But he 'stored' them in that top drawer,
and they really reeked - garlicky and spicy.
We chided him over that, but he wouldn't
budge, and we just gave up. He'd say,
'Ah no, the salami not a'stink and it can't a
go bad, already is preserved and spiced'a.
You no worry.' He solved the problem for
us - and was gone pretty quickly, claiming
homesickness. Back to Brooklyn in a
salami cart.
-
In the 'chapel' it was always an interesting
turn. To show what a beleaguered bunch we
were, while we were jammed in there, besides
the church stuff, there were other things we'd
concentrate on - like boys who are bored do
when they count ceiling tiles or the cracks along
the walls. In this chapel, small and wooden as
it was, there were nice, good-weather and
open-window views across the lawns, front
and rear (actually right and left), and they
were at least something to view outside. But
inside, it often seemed like there were 30 or
40 tall candles, in tall, gold-metal, floor stands.
Each week (I forget how the selection process
went, and I'm not sure if I myself ever did it),
one guy was selected as the candle-lighter
and candle snuffer. He would come out, while
we were sitting there (supposedly praying) and
with a long pole light the tall candles, and then,
after the mass and stuff was over, he'd come
back out with a tall candle-snuffer stick and
extinguish all the candles, and that was our
signal to beat it and go eat, next door. Within
the school community it was always a highlight
when the new guy came lout for that week (at
Sunday's bigger-time Mass). Catholic priests
have to say a mass a day, and with about 30
staff-faculty priests, it was useful to them, I
guess (they were rotated too), to find priests
among the community to say all these masses.
The kid with the candle-pole for that week
would be critiqued, any trip-up or goof would
be ridiculed, and God-forbid a candle that
wouldn't extinguish easily, or worse, one that
would light back up!! Everything was up for
grabs on this guy - his shoes, the way his
mass-clothes were gather or were being worn,
how fast or how slow he went, his look, his
attitude and bearing, etc., etc. It was like a
comedy routine to pick this new guy to shreds
while we ate. 14-year old boys can be brutal.
We were, in those respects, pretty normal.
-
In the Refectory (I never knew what was up
with the word. It was more like a tidy mess
hall. Is that a 'contradiction', I wonder?
There's a funny Latin word too - contradiction.
It means, if you break it apart, a compound
word made up of 'against' and 'speaking' -
meaning an awkward or incorrect phrase).
That was what I enjoyed about those years
of studying Latin - not really a dead
language at all; it's everywhere in the
words we speak every day. All you
need to do is listen.
-
I made a world for myself in the seminary -
had to, in order to get by. I got to know a few
of the upper-class guys, some of that came in
handy too. The 'Drama' Department was my
mainstay, and I got a few friends out of there
with whom I spent time; older ones too. Try
as much as I did, there were still a few guys
I just couldn't bear - overly fluttery types,
big-mouths, drama queens. A few boffo
sports-hero types, always with the pole vault
or the basketball or football - today's world
calls them 'jocks', I suppose. There were a
few just plain fat guys who didn't do much
of anything, except hang around the ice-cream
sandwich machine and the vending machines
for snacks. (We each had to keep a small
bank account, somehow replenished from
home, for vending/spending money, or
schoolbooks and whatever else. There was
a little bank, and a bank window and a
perfunctory banker-priest at that window
where we'd go and withdraw or deposit
transactions etc. I usually had about 12
cents in mind; other guys were loaded).
-
One other note before I close this chapter:
You're probably wondering why I opened,
3-chapters back, with that stuff about
Lee Harvey Oswald. I'll be getting to that
and his Mannlicher rifle. Suffice it to
say, for now, that early on in my stay, his
interesting story made him my own,
secular, saint. More later; sit tight.
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