THE PASTOR

On Sunday in our church the parishioners had a choice of the eight or ten o’clock Masses. In order to receive communion you had to attend at eight o’clock. The priest never offered it at the later Mass, but visitors from out of town who didn’t know any better would approach the altar. I remember thinking “boy, are they going to get into trouble” so I was surprised when he served them.

Ten o’clock Mass was always, always followed by Benediction.  At the end of Mass, our priest would turn to face the congregation with his perpetual sneer daring anyone to leave.  Making sure no one did, he spouted some Latin and in the midst of his incantations he sang “bring it out” which was the clue to the alter boy to carry out his ornate cape and place it on his shoulders. I always listened for those words and wondered why the altar boys always had to be told when to “bring it out”.  Father was a short stout man, imagine Dick Cheney garbed in a heavy white robe embroidered with gold and wearing his own famous snarl and you can picture what we all saw on Sundays.

I know that the Priest had been a classmate and friend of the Bishop which may account for his longevity in our church. In those days people didn’t complain, they just accepted what went on because they felt they didn’t have any say in the matter. You couldn’t criticize or complain because “you would bring scandal to the Church”. When a priest got into trouble he was sent to that secret place for wayward priests. Such a place was always spoken about in whispers.

During the Second World War, theaters started opening on Sundays and showing movie matinees. We kids never went because across the street stood our priest watching to see if any of his parishioners dared to go in.  One thing I know is he never intimidated the older boys because they weren’t frightened of him.