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Michael McLeod

Love the "lunch bunch" story.

Sounds like something we would do.

But alas, no, Dave, I do not recall it.

I'm glad you do, though.

Something I do remember is, as a grade schooler, asking a priest "Why can't women be priests?"

His reply: "Because they're not men."

So much for the spirit of inquiry. No wonder we wound up doing crazy-ass things. We were brought up in a crazy-ass world.

Janie Albright (Blank)

I love how now and again someone new jumps in with a response. I'm sure we have many silent readers seeing as this goes out to about 175 of us! 

John I clearly remember Barbara Bowers! I'd forgotten that name! 

David Mitchell

Mark,

It probably is "creepy" to us now, but back then it was just one of those odd little incidents that you didn't give much thought to. I think he only did it a few times, but yes, that would certainly raise some eyebrows today. In Father Fortkamp's case however, I really beleive it was just his eccentric personalilty. He was a highly motivated, and extremely intellgent man. (but boy, could he get on the OLP parishioners nerves when he would get really radical from the pulpit on Sundays. You never went home without some strong reaction to his sermons)

Unfortunately my dad was aware of some much more serious "goings-on" with a couple of other priests in the diocese, and used to write to the Bishop to complain. The few responses he got were usually complete denial. 

Two of Dad's most serious "concerns" were found to be correct years later, but too late to save some people from being seriously hurt. Dad felt guilty for years that he hadn't made a bigger "stink" about it when he first suspected. How sad that whole history has become.

Sorry I even threw that in. The intent was to share a funny lighthearted story. I hope we can move the conversation back in that direction.

_________

*** But let me get one more thing off my chest - a little more serious  "Diocesan history lesson" 

Dad was the Allergist to what seemed like half of the nuns and priests in the Diocese (and a few of our classmates - Bonnie, are you listening?), and was on close terms - not always good terms - with a several of the Bishops. He got along well with with Bishop Issenmann (one funny story about him I may add later), but in almost constant conflict with Bishop Ready (who was a pompous control freak of the highest order). Dad used to have to ask Bishop Ready for assistance staffing his personal charity "Brother Martin's Home"  (named for Martin de Porres of Lima, Peru) - downtown on Rich Street. An old Italianate house dad had bought and renovated to house about a dozen men with Cerebral Palsy - mostly dad's patients. It took a lot out of dad's time and money. Our famlily was down there doing stuff for them an awful lot of the time. I still remember several of the guys and their names who I used to push around in their wheelchairs while they laughed like fools. (two actually came back as older men to dad's funeral - and recognized me!) 

Dad would get volunteers to help take them out to movies, or "Jet" games, or picknicks and so forth. (Tommy Litzinger's dad helped out at times) Dad would call Bishop Ready to ask if he could send help, and the Bishop would always place conditions on it - constantly telling dad how to run it. He sent two Irish religious "Brothers" (not priests) to live in and help for a while, but those two were, at times, almost worse. They used to threaten to walk off the property if dad didn't agree with their demands, and they actually did one time - leaving dad to have to leave his office over in the Beggs building (State St. & High across from the Statehouse) and go over there himself until he could call one of his own personal volunteer freinds to come over and help. Dad got so sick of depending on the Bishop's "charity" (and Mom reminding him that he had a family and a full time medical practice - ahem!) that he finally decided to just give it to the Diocese. He had his personal attorney (who I beleive was also the Diocese' attonrey) prepare a deed, and wait in the office of the clerk and recorder's office. He then called Bishop Ready, gave him a piece of his mind - "You've been telling me how to run this place for years - well now you can run it your own damn way. It's all yours." And called the attorney back and said "Record the deed. I'm done with it!"

Sadly, the Bishop started mixing other people (with other handicaps) in the home and actually "farmed out" several of Dad's original guys to places far outside of Columbus. Dad was sick about that and we would drive out to visit several of them in their new locations for years after. 

Years later (about junior year maybe ?) My homeroom's charity "project" for that part of the year was, you guessed it, Brother Martin's Home. Of course we always had to have 100% participation on these projects, but I refused to agree to go. Everyone in the classroom was pretty preplexed at me. I think I really upset the nun (Sister Constantius?) - but I held my ground and even more frustrating to everybody, I refused to give a reason. I just was not about to be any part of that project out of loyalty to my dad, or the original group of guys.

So after 51 years, this is both my explanation and my apology for keeping my classmates out of the competititon for 100% participation. 

Thanks for reading this - it's been a thorn in my side all my life. "Now back to our normal programing".

David Mitchell

OMG!

Jonny Shaeufele! You gotta be kidding me!  How the hell are you?

Do you remember our first day of first grade? Sister Bernadette Marie. You and I and Tommy Litzinger all sat next to each other in the front row and were laughing at how cool it was that we all three had on shorts?  Man, we were cool!

David Mitchell

Speaking of all the famous and near famous people who grew up in or near Colonial Hills, didn't I recall the Wright Brothers had their first bike shop up near Niklaus Pharmacy on High Street somewhere? And I heard somewhere that Mark Twain had his first newspaper route up in that area too. And it is a fact that some rich lady found Moses floating in a basket in the ravine down behind Park Blvd. Now I know das' right! 

Janie Albright (Blank)

Dave, could we be bragging a little too much about growing up in such a kid friendly neighborhood as Colonial Hills? So many came back after the war and bought their new $10,000 house wth a VA loan and started a family there. Many moved on as the family or the finances grew and many stayed like us and the Fredericks.  David's mother, Bonnie, just passed away this past winter at age 95 still living in the same house they built in 1947 before David or  I were born. 

Some others i can think of who passed through there then moved on only to meet up later at Watterson were Mary Ann Benedetti and Ruth Thomas and the Kiener twins. Some of you may be able to think of others.  

Sylvia DiSabato (DiCello)

Mary Clare,  l remember well the incident in eight grade. The two altar boys has gotten the giggles in church. I did think they tried to muffled the laughs, but Sister was livid, and had them kneel in front of all of us, and then backhanded both of them, twice. The boy closest to the class was Tim McCauley, and, at the reunion,  someone told me I hat the second person was Richard Florie. Dave, your mention of Father Fortcamp brings to mind the basketball rally he led  where the entire gym stood and gave the Nazi  salute while yelling "Vatterson". I am sure he got grief for that. It certainly scared the Ready players at the game that night.

Sylvia DiSabato (DiCello)

So shocked to see'amazing' as the autocorrect for 'Nazi'in my post that I missed the two other grammar and spelling errors! 

Mary Clare Hummer (Bauer)

I well remember that pep rally--like we could beat anyone when we walked out of there. Wonder if he was really conducting some type of psychological study on us. Seems like my parents were horrified when they heard about it. On another note, Sylvia, when eveyone was talking about all the great Italian restaurants & food, I had no restaurant reference because we (the Hummers) like many families then NEVER went out to eat. However, one evening several of us IC girls got to eat at your house. Your Mom fixed gnocchi with homemade sauce. It's one of those memories I can still taste!!  First & best Italian food I ever had!!  Clare

Sylvia DiSabato (DiCello)

Thank you, Clare, my mom and all my relatives on both sides of the family were amazing Italian cooks, so I didn't miss going out. The few times we did eat out it was at the wonderful fast food White Castle. Still love the idea of them, but when I was home for the reunion I did indeed stop for a small slider but could hardly swallow it. Not as I remembered, but I will keep trying every time I come home. Also, there was the Jai Lai restaurant, with that magnificent silver gravy boat in which they served their salad dressing. And someone mentioned E. Broad Street, and there was a Chinese restaurant there that my mom loved, but we stopped going there after we read in the paper that they were cited by the health department for having cat carcasses in their dumpster. Since that article, I no longer eat any meat served 'cubed'.

Timothy Lavelle

So many of you have asked "Tim, how do you deal with the fame and fortune" since I won the Conde Nasty prize for best chef on Deer Park Road, Mossyrock. Rather than some long winded, incredibly boring reply I will simply thank you for your interest and pass along a favorite recipe, "Wassup Soup".

First you get your significant other to prepare pot roast in a crock pot and then that person is required to leave town for a foreign country for say one month but to leave behind a good portion of that pot roast, hidden in the back of the freezer. This may take awhile so I'll wait........

Step One: Eat everything else there is in the frig.

Step Two: Locate the frozen remians of the pot roast.

Step Three: Put the frozen remains in a large-ish pot on the stove on High.  Go play Xbox for quite awhile until you smell something burning, then turn down the heat.

Step Four: Multiple steps here so pay close attention. Look in the freezer, panty and old shed for anything else to throw into the pot. My personal chooice was: frozen asparagas stems (marked "good for soup") and single cans of corn, green beans, stewed tomatoes, black beans and cannellinni beans. You will notice that the mix is watery so add as much uncooked rice and also linguini noodles - as much as you think might would do it. "Do it" is not a high school joke here but a technical cooking measurement term meaning "the cook hasn't got a clue".

Step Five: cut up all the carrots that you were suppsed to eat (say the following in a bitchy little voice) "cause their healthy, that's why" like the short girl on Big Bang might say. Cut up an onion of large or small size depending on how much you like onion...but you knew that. Then chop more celery than any sane person would want and throw all of this in the pot. Then, find that huge-ass Idaho potato...size is important here...that you didn't know what to do with and chop it into pieces about the size of the first joint of your thumb. Put the potato into the pot. If you don't have a thumb, request a photo of one from Jim Hamilton. Again....I'll wait.....

By now that largish pot is full. Probably way too full but that's fun, isn't it?

Step Six: Play Xbox some more until you smell something burning again, even though you previously tuned down the heat. Say "Wassiup with that" as yiou use a strong spoon to reach way down to the bottom of the pot and scrape away the burned portion from the bottom so it can mix in with the rest. 

Step seven: Go back to step four and wonder aloud how you could have won a prize for cooking while forgetting that fresh ground pepper is necessary for life here and on any planet we may populate. Grind the pepper, use as much as you like but certainly no more than is necessary...add to the bubbling mass that seems to be winking at you, wink back, cover and let cook/burn/cook some more until you have beaten the game on Xbox.

When you can't stand the smell any more, invite your friends over. As they enter and say "Wassup" simply hand them a bowl of your famous "Wassup Soup".  You'll never have to feed them again.

Antonia Borean (Kaiser)

Dave  

Omg! I did not know your Dad started Brother Martin's home!!!  My Mom and my Aunt Ilda volunteered there for years!  I wonder if they knew your Dad?  I also remember how upset they both were when the Brothers left! I wonder if they ever knew why?  Do you remember a boy named Russell? He was one of the kids they farmed out.  He was really close to my aunt...and kept in touch with her until he died.                                                   Your Dad must have been a wonderful man with a kind and generous heart. 

Oh...and I don't remember going "out" to collect money for the gym floor...probably because I was scared to death!  But, I am honored that I was your "first"...and  proud to say that you were mine!

Mark Schweickart

You all are probably tired of me mentioning the slightly fictionalized memoir I wrote called "The Hat Fluffers of Buckingham Palace" which has nothing to do with B.P. and little to do with hat fluffing, but it has everything to do with growing up Catholic in the 50's and 60's which is what these forum posts have all been about, and therefore I would like to encourage the more wordy-playful of yo, as well as those of you with unlimited-memory-storehouses to perhaps consider tackling a more long-form piece of writing.  Yes, I am looking at you, Tim Lavelle, and you Dave Mitchell, and you Jim Hamilton, and you Mike McLeod, and everyone else for that matter. I have to say that writing my memoir was one of the more pleasurable projects I ever set for myself--but here's the kicker. I didn't just do this on my own, but fell into it via a weird little piece of serendipity.

I was leaving a local bakery shop one morning and noticed a little sign had been taped to the door that said, "Join us Friday nights for NaNoWriMo." And in the corner it said "www.nanowrimo.org."  I stopped for a moment thinking, "Well, that is certainly a weird word, what the hell is a NaNoWriMo? And this place isn't even open in the evening, so what are they talking about?"  The staff looked busy, so I sloughed it off, but when I got home I looked it up on-line and found that there is an organization called, "National Novel Writing Month,"  and each year they encourage would-be writers to challenge themselves to crank out 50,000 words of a rough draft in the month of November. They do not actually read what you are writing, but they are full of encouragement, and organize things like meeeting at a local spot, as evidenced by the sign in my bakery. You also upload as you go, so they keep track of your word-count. You don't win anything from them by accomplishing this task, but you do gain a great deal of self-satisfaction, especially if you wind up liking what you wrote. At the time, I said to my wife, I kind of like the idea of this challenge, but I don't have a novel in mind. She replied, well, you always enjoy regaling people with anecdotes from your childhood, why not string a bunch of those together? So that is what I did. and I thank NaNoWriMo and my wife for the push.

So now it's my turn to push. Here we are, days away from the start of November. Time to get cranking.

P.S.   If any of you do manage to slog through my memoir I would love your feedback  . You can send it to me personally at sparto@ca.rr.com, or schweickartmark@gmail.com  (It is available on Amazon as an e-book or paperback, ca-ching)

Timothy Lavelle

Mark  Dude,

You know I aways appreciate your encouragement BUT I am already a member of a very small writing club - co-oincidentally using a Gmail address - we encourage each other to write what I am very proud to say is incredible action-packed pornography. We send it in for editing and...well whatever comes after editing is probably nunya.

Nunya bidness.

So far there are only two of us in the club but she is a Nigerian Princess I met online yesterday. I even have a great photo of her and her eleven grandchildren.

Fred Clem

No horror stories @ St. Andrew.  We had Fr. Michael A. Nugent, or "Fr. Andy" as his niece Mary Clare and the rest of the Hummer clan called him.  My Mom, Dad, Brother & I had the highest respect for him.  His first residence was on Fishinger Road just 3 blocks east of the Clem's store and home.  So we were one of the first families he got to know when the parish was founded in 1955.  I remember lots of classmates at BW talking about Foley & Byrne, but I never experienced that type of treatment.

James Hamilton, M. D.

David Mitchell

Wow this is getting interesting.

First Tony;

What a small world. I was not aware of your Mom's involvement with Brother Martin's Home. It is still one of those bittersweet memories. I remember three or four of the guys really well but not Russel. My dad was a complex man. A small time legend to many in both his practice and at OSU hospital, and his community, and church. But he set the bar for my two sisters and I so high, it was almost impossible to achieve any approval. But he was also a guilt driven son of a very kindly, passive older father (who sold men's clothes at the downtown "Union" department store for 52 years) and a very unhappy Irish Catholic bitch of a mother who didn't seem to grasp the concept of love, affection, or joy of any kind. (fortunatly, my mother's Methodist mother - first house up from High street on Oakland Park Ave - was all about hugs and kisses and love and laughter).

**You should have been there when my meek, kindly, saintly father unloaded his temper on Father Foley - once over the phone (enough to scare me onto the back porch till I knew he was off the phone) and once in person at the OLP sacristy along with Doctor Frank Donley. Fr. Foley had threatened to publish a list of all the parishioners names along with their annual total of contributions. Dad and Dr. Donnley were number one and two on that list, and they warned him never to do it - never to embarrass all the hard working faithful families who couldn't give that much. When he finally did it they went over to the church together and ripped him up one side and down the other! The damage was done but Fr. Foley never did it again.

And finally,,, Gee, I hope Fritz isn't reading this. LOL

Jim,

I think there is a middle ground for discipline. There is a lot of room beween watching Father Foley pounding someone's head against the wall and seeing blood run from their nose - and wathcing my own grandkids get threat after threat of "time out", but never any real consequences. My mom used to calmly walk me by the hand into the living room with her belt in hand, make me bend over the (dreaded) yellow chair, and with my pants lowered, give me three hard wacks on my bare bottom. Then after having to sit still in that chair for 30 whole minutes (without talking - much worse than the belt), she would kneel in front of me and have me slide down into her ams and hug me and tell me what a good boy I "was going to be" - and that she loved me. 

Frank Strange made an intersting comment on this one time when we were at lunch together at about age 40. He said something like (if I can quote him accurately?). "If Mouse and Sister Frederick hadn't hauled me into the office and and given me a good wacking several times, I might be dead right now. I would be out on the street, looking for trouble, and I sure found it on more than one occasion." 

Mark,

I am sorry I have not gotten into your CD yet. I live a very disorganized life and have not even looked into my gift bag since I got home. After I returned from Columbus, I got one good night's sleep before I had to drive down to St. Simon's Island, GA for a "Marked Men for Christ" retreat and then only a few days of work before  escaping and returning (to four more days without power) from a visit from "Matthew". But you and I obviously share some compulsion to "relate" our experiences. I have heard of that writing contest you mentioned (and even bought myself a copy of "Scrivener" to begin my "book" with), but progress on these personal matters is slow in my life. 

And finally  - Tim

You are cracking me up!  I am encouraged to know that you are still crazy after all these years.

David Mitchell

Fred,

I forgot about Father Nugent, and that really strikes a special chord with me. This is a sweet story.

Clare's uncle, Father Andy Nugent was a very politically "liberal" priest, and my dad was very "conservative". For years they clashed and could not stand one another (by their own mutual admission to me years later - laughing about it as they related this to me).

Then they had both gotten heavily involved in the Catholic Charismatic Renewal (read; Catholic Pentecostals) movement back in about the '70s. They had separately driven to one of the big annual, national charismatic meetings at Notre Dame. Coming out of the football stadium (where those were held), they bumped into each other in the parking lot where Father Andy had a dead battery or some such problem. Dad offered to help him and they ended up praying together right there in the parking lot and made a promise to God they would be enemies no longer, but brothers (in His name). I know this sounds corny as hell, but they actually became best friends and realized they even enjoyed one another.  They found out that they both loved to ski, so Dad would take Andy and cover his lift ticket cost (which was free anyway since Dad was a stockholder in Snow Trails).

Father Andy Nugent was my Dad's first and only choice to say his funeral Mass. It was over at St. Timothy's church, and Father Andy broke down for a moment while giving Dad's homily.  

I don't even know if Father Andy is still with us?   Clare??? 

David Mitchell

Okay while I'm hogging the converation again, here's another story about a classmate's Priest uncle.

I was back from Vietnam and married Mary Hughes (St. Joe's '64). She was in Our Lady of Victory and the pastor was Father Favret (Johns uncle).  I had seen John somehwere and mentioned that I was going through my pastor's marriage interview classes with his uncle. John laughed out loud and said, "be careful. He's our family's "vatican nazi." Father Favret had the reputation of being quite an anal retentive control freak. And my mother had explained to me that he had twice balled out the bride and groom (right then and there on the altar) for kissisng after the ceremony.

So my father-in-law to be (Doctor Tom Hughes) had arranged for his old Notre Dame buddy, Father Jack Antin to fly in from Chicago and perform the actual wedding service. Moments before the weddding, standing back in the sacristy with my best man (Keith Groff and Tom Litzinger were ushers too) and Father Antin, Father Favret walks in and asks Father Antin, "Have I seen your license to marry in Ohio, father?"  I was stunned, and scared! But Father Antin calmly glared at Father Favret and said, (and I'm not making this up), "Buzz off old man". And turned to us and said "let's go boys" . We walked out to the altar and left Father Favret behind.

John laughed at that one years after the fact - at one of our reunions.  

Fred Clem

Fr. Andy gave the homily  at my mother's funeral back in 1993.  He told a story that neither my brother and I had never heard before.  Sometime in early 1956 Bishop Ready and his driver (a young priest) had come out to check on the construction of the St. Andrew church/school building.  They stopped at the rectory and got no answer at the door.  They then stopped at our store where the young priest decided to fill the car with gas.  The bishop came into the store and asked my mom if she knew Fr. Nugent and where he might be.  She told him that we were members of the new parish and Fr. Nugent had gone to New York for a few days.  Well it seems that Fr. Andy hadn't mentioned to the bishop that he was going out of town.  Bishop Ready was a little upset with that and mom's comment got Fr. Andy into a little hot water.

Fr. Andy did pass away, I believe it was less than 10 years ago.  The last time I saw him was at a doctor's office around 2005.   

David Mitchell

Hey gang, just a general question here. Earlier, somebody mentioned "Come day, go day - God send Sunday". My question is:

Did anybody else get through Sister Norbertine's algebra class - -  and live to tell about it? 

Michael McLeod

Dave:

That's a very compelling story you have about your dad, and an insight into so many things, good and bad, about growing up Catholic, and having parents who taught us by example, and learning the difference between posturing as good people and actually living life as such. I'm glad you stood up to da man when you did. It sounds like you had a father who showed you the way.

Michael McLeod

Hey, did any of the guys go to Camp St. Joseph? I think that was its name. I'm not sure. And was there an equivalent Catholic summer camp for girls?

The camp I went to was out by Sciota Downs, the racehorse track. My parents sent me out there for a week at a time over the summers when I was in grade school. The little wooden cabins were named after indian tribes - Chippewa. Pawnee. The counsellors were priests in training, I think. (Whatever they called priests in training in those days.) I remember they would perform a passion play for us in the woods, complete with a crucifixion scene. For kids our age it was very compelling. I remember they served us watered-down kool aid at lunch; we called it, for some reason or other, "bug juice."  

Janie Albright (Blank)

Tim- Wait! I think I've made that soup! I'm very creative with leftovers and whatever's in little containers in the freezer. Hate to waste! It's that starving children in China guilt thing again. Yours sounds better though. I'll have to remember the burning part. Adds flavor. (I love burned popcorn!). Is there a spice called "burned meat"? But I'd be playing Words With Friends instead of Xbox. Thanks for the recipe. 

Janie Albright (Blank)

Mike, the girls camp was Camp St. Rita. I went only once when I was 8. Colleen went with me but got to leave mid-week b/c her family was going on a vacation. I was so homesick after that and apparently cried. Although I do remember the campfire and singing The Ship Titanic. The chorus went something like   "oh it went down, it went down, down to the bottom of the sea". I never went again and left with just this one memory. Lol