On Sunday morning, September 19, everyone converged again on St. Boniface parking lot. This time, Jason and Nate arrived on their own, in an old but serviceable vehicle belonging to Nate. They all greeted each other, with everyone paying special attention to the newest member of the group, Peter Charles Sandoval, now all of nine days old. Kathy said he had been very good, but if he began crying she would take him out. She did not appreciate having her prayers interrupted by crying children any more than anyone else, and speculated that parents who ignored the crying were not praying anyway, but were just there as a matter of habit.
As they entered, Jason immediately noted that there was a different organist than the previous Sunday. A consultation with Deacon Jeffers confirmed that another candidate for the position was being tried out that morning. Jason identified the piece being played as Bach’s “Ach, bleib bei uns, Herr Jesu Christ – Abide with Us, Lord Jesus Christ” (BWV 649) even before any of them noted the designation in the Ordo, or order of worship, collected as they entered. This was followed by the processional hymn, “All People That on Earth Do Dwell,” which most of the congregation seemed to know, and in which they joined with the choir. As the first words of the first verse began, so also did the entrance procession start down the central aisle. First came the thurifer swinging his thurible, then the crucifer holding high the cross. As the cross made its way toward the sanctuary, individuals in each row bowed or genuflected as it passed. Then came fourteen more altar boys carrying candles, like the first two clad in black cassock and white surplice. Following them came Deacon Jeffers carrying the lectionary, which was good news in a way, as it indicated that he would be preaching this Sunday, and not Deacon O’Malley, who followed. Finally came the celebrant, Father Fenwick. The two deacons and the priest were in full clerical vestments, of course. As far as Bryce was concerned, this was a good start, as compared to his experience in Chicago the previous Sunday.
Once again, there was the traditional ‘Kyrie’ and ‘Gloria,’ in which Nate joined this time. He had prepared by studying the words. Although he knew no Greek, as there were only three words, he figured out what they meant, and his Latin carried him through the ‘Gloria.’
When Deacon Jeffers mounted the ambo to read the Gospel and give the sermon, he had a satisfied look on his face. He read out the words of Holy Scripture, then began his homily. His cause of satisfaction soon became manifest. Somehow he managed to insert into the Gospel message the news that the St. Vincent de Paul soup kitchen had received a grant from the state Knights of Columbus Charitable Foundation which would provide financing for a new oven. This particular charitable activity obviously had a special place in the deacon’s heart. It became clear why this was so when he added, “As some of you know, many years ago, when I was only twenty-three years old and a new father, I lost my job and was in bad shape. Had it not been for the soup kitchen, I don’t know what we would have done to get through those hard times. Now, my grandson is here among the altar boys, right over there not paying attention.” At that, the congregation broke out laughing, and the unfortunate boy was poked by the boy next to him as everyone focused on him for a moment.
During the offertory, the choir performed “Salut d’amour” by Elgar, with a solo violin part performed by a member of the Clifton Symphony who was also a member of the congregation. This provided the kind of meditative background appropriate for this point in the Mass. Later, during the communion, the choir led the congregation in the hymn, “O Lord, I am not Worthy.” Then, while the remaining members of the congregation were still receiving and while the deacons purified the vessels, the choir presented the Gregorian motet, “Ave Verum Corpus,” followed by Palestrina’s “Ego Sum Panis Vivus,” as meditations. Finally, after Father Fenwick pronounced the blessing, the altar boys reassembled with their candles and the cross, and the choir broke into the recessional hymn, “Holy God, We Praise Thy Name.” Bryce smiled as he remembered a bit of trivia, actually a footnote in a work he had studied on the reign of the Empress Maria Theresia of Austria (1740-1780). The first printed version of this hymn in the original German (“Großer Gott, Wir Loben Dich”) was in Vienna in 1776 on order of Her Majesty. Bryce remembered it because it was one of the many things happening in that memorable year.
After the scramble in the parking lot and then the busyness of getting seated at the Olive Garden, Jason Todd broke out in extended praise of the musical offerings this morning. Bryce reminded him that the organist was another candidate for the open position in the parish, and Jason immediately replied that he deserved the job.
“Deacon Jeffers told me there were a total of six to be given an opportunity to perform, and this was the third. Evidently, there was one while we were in Chicago. So maybe you should reserve judgement,” Bryce cautioned.
But Jason remained sold on today’s candidate, praising him in terms which most of those at the table could not follow. Evidently, he (or she, they did not know who the organist was) had done some things which only a musically trained person like Jason could appreciate, but it all contributed to the overall performance.
Another major topic of conversation was praise of young Peter Charles Sandoval. His mother did not have to take him out even once. He did try to sing along with the congregation during the rousing recessional, but he was obviously singing, not crying. Kyle proclaimed that his son was absolutely perfect. At that, Kathy handed him to his father, and told him to take him to the changing room. “Your perfect son just created an offense to the nose,” she noted.
“That,” Kyle replied, “is what babies are supposed to do.” But he disappeared with the child and the diaper bag.
Kathy was praised for taking such good care of the boy, and bringing him to church. Everyone agreed that it was a parent’s responsibility to see to the religious upbringing of an underage child, just as much as it was to care for the child’s physical and educational needs. Kathy responded that she hoped she would do a better job than her parents along those lines.
There was also talk about the donation from the Knights of Columbus Charitable Foundation received by the soup kitchen. Only Mike among those at the table was a member of the Knights, so he explained that in each state the K of C had a charitable foundation which was incorporated as a non-profit, and which received donations and distributed them to deserving groups. This is distinct from the annual Tootsie Roll drive, which is specifically for the mentally or physically handicapped. Isobel noted that she remembered when that collection was called one for the mentally retarded, but that was changed because some people objected to the term. Then they talked for a time about the silliness of thinking that reality was changed by changing what it was called. Ignorant and thoughtless people would still make fun of the unfortunates, regardless of what they were called.
Damon spoke up, saying that was perhaps true, but he still appreciated people saying “black” instead of “nigger.”
That then led into a tongue-in-cheek discussion of whether Damon was actually black. He wasn’t of course. He was more brown. Somehow, it did not seem right to call people “browns” though. And the term “brownie” was already taken. Terry said she had been a Brownie when younger. Damon said some people of equatorial Africa really were black in color, or close enough that when Europeans first came across them that’s what they called them. The term “negro” is simply the Portuguese word for “black.” He then turned the tables, and asked how many of them were actually white. Laughing, Nate held a white napkin next to his face. “If I were this color, I think I would be dead. Actually, if you want a group identification, I’m a Kentuckian. I don’t know about the rest of you guys.”
That led Bryce to relate the discussion in his Medieval England study group about the uniqueness, or lack thereof, of the English. He was asked by Nate, who adopted a hostile Irish persona for the purpose, whether he was entirely English. Bryce laughed. “I think I’ll be safe, and copy you. I’m a Nebraskan.”
“But you are of English descent, right?” Jason asked.
“Well, my mother is the family genealogist, but as I understand it, I’m more English than anything else, but there’s a little French Huguenot, some Scottish, some Scotch-Irish, some Welsh, and some New York Dutch in there somewhere.”
At the mention of the Scotch-Irish, Nate resumed his Irish persona long enough to shout, “An Orangeman! I knew it!”
Bryce ignored him, continuing his thoughts on ethnic identity. “In that Medieval England class, Dr. Dickinson spent some time on the origins of the English people. Evidently, the English are a mixture of whatever was there originally at the end of the Ice Age joined to a series of later invasions, including Celts, Romans, Saxons, Vikings, and Normans. There is no such thing as a ‘pure’ English ancestry. Oddly enough, the same is true of the Germans, despite all the Nazi propaganda. Today’s Germans are a mixture of pre-Indo-Europeans with Germanic, Celtic, and Slavic peoples, and with a light dusting of Romans as well. It’s probably true of everybody that we’re of mixed origin.”
“Where did the Nazi’s get their ideas?” Isobel asked.
“Racism was everywhere in the later nineteenth and early twentieth century,” Bryce replied. “I found that the Catholic thinker Orestes Brownson rejected Darwinian evolution, and especially the survival of the fittest theory, specifically because it was so widely used to justify theories of racial superiority or inferiority.”
“I remember reading a book called The Mismeasure of Man by this dude named Stephen Jay Gould,” Kyle contributed. “It was for our honors humanities class last year. He is, or was, a professor at Harvard. Anyway, he talks about all the attempts to measure humanity in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. All of them, including the IQ test, were originally devised to prove whites were superior to American Indians, Africans, Chinese, what-have-you.”
“I don’t think there is such a thing as an objective test of intelligence, just as there isn’t of racial purity, or of beauty,” Mike said. “Look at us. Hispanics, at least those like us originally from Mexico, are a mixture of Spanish, American Indian, and African in various proportions, and yet we are clearly the most handsome people on earth.” He struck a pose.
Everyone else, even his brother, hooted. But then Kyle said, “You’re obviously wrong about beauty, Mike. Here’s the standard by which all others are judged sitting across the table from you.” He kissed Kathy, and she returned the favor as the others ooooh’ed.
“Our Western standard of beauty was set by the ancient Greeks,” Bryce the historian commented. “It’s based on balance and proportion. I think we can agree that a building, or a person, that is definitely out of proportion is not beautiful, at least not in a physical sense. But people carry that too far, just like they do everything else.”
“Are you saying,” Damon asked, “that some people are unbalanced and get out of proportion in their defense of balance and proportion?”
At that, everyone decided it was time to adjourn.
Jason and Nate came back to the apartment with Bryce and Damon, as they had two weeks before. Following their excellent Sunday dinner, they had a Bourbon to encourage conviviality, but, as there was no special occasion, this was Old Forrester, not Woodford Reserve.
Seated in the common room, Jason proclaimed that he did not mind attending church if the music was as good as this morning.
“I can’t promise that every Sunday, Jason,” Bryce said. “Remember what we told you about the organist last month.”
“Well, so far everything’s fine. Knock on wood.” Saying which, Jason knocked on Nate’s head. Nate in turn attacked Jason, which resulted in some spilled Bourbon. Abashed, the two of them rushed to clean it up.
“Tsk, tsk, children,” Damon admonished, as he handed Nate a towel.
Once they were resettled, Jason continued, “I’m almost tempted to attend the service at the Newman Center to see what the two of you found so objectionable.”
“Oh, don’t do that,” Nate pled. “If you do, I’ll have to go with you, and I really don’t want to go back there.”
“I’m fascinated that both of you are so turned off,” Jason persisted. “Connecting to Bryce’s comments about the Greek canon of beauty, you know there are some people who are absolutely fascinated by the ugly, sort of the anti-beautiful.”
“Yeah, they’re called Hollywood producers,” Nate replied.
“Are you saying those actors and actresses we see displayed in almost nothing on a regular basis are ugly?” Damon asked.
“Not physically, but as far as the content of their movies is concerned, yeah,” Nate insisted.
“That’s a whole new topic,” Bryce insisted.
Rather than tackle that one, Jason inserted the information that his boyfriend had an appointment with the Newman chaplain, thanks to Bryce.
“Oh, you do? Good. When?” Bryce asked.
Nate laughed. “Alternate Mondays at four o’clock. Seems my esteemed cousin thought that appropriate. I see him for the first time, other than making the appointment, tomorrow.”
“Good for you. And I do appreciate Father Miller’s sense of humor,” Bryce said. “If I might give some advice, having spent a good portion of last fall semester with him, it’s be completely honest. I know you might feel awkward or embarrassed sometimes because of the family association, but my experience is that he is completely professional. Besides, if you’re not, you won’t get the results you want.”
“Actually, we got along fine for the five or so minutes it took to make the appointment,” Nate said. “And I do want that satisfaction, that peace between the two parts of me, that we talked about, so I’ll work at it.”
“Do you guys really think that those of us without a religion are less than complete?” Damon asked.
Bryce and Nate looked at each other. “I’d rather not answer that. It could lead to unnecessary conflict,” Bryce said.
“I guess that does answer the question,” Jason said.
“I don’t want to argue,” Bryce insisted.
“Can’t we discuss it?” Jason persisted.
“In my experience, those discussions get very personal, and end in arguments, no matter what the original intention was,” Bryce said. “It’s one thing to state my own beliefs, and another to say that I think everyone should do this or that.”
“And I’d rather not get into that until I’m more certain of my own position,” Nate added.
“Okay, we’ll drop it. For now,” Damon stated.
Then pandemonium broke loose. Bryce’s wrist watch and his phone started sounding, and so did Damon’s. An alarm clock went off in the bedroom, and a radio alarm started broadcasting. A timer sounded in the kitchen. The Black Forest cuckoo clock announced that it was three o’clock.
Bryce looked at Damon. Damon looked at Bryce. The two broke into loud laughter. Both of them, it seems, had taken precautions to prevent Bryce forgetting to call his mother.
Once all the noise was silenced, Bryce retreated to the library and put in the call. Martha congratulated him on remembering, and he laughed, relating what has just happened. They discussed the trip to Chicago, as Bryce actually did miss calling last Sunday, although that had been agreed beforehand, and he had sent an e-mail on Monday. Martha was pleased to learn about Nate’s appointment with Father Miller, as she knew how much that had helped Bryce the year before. Then there was some discussion of the close relationship between Bryce’s sister Nan and her boyfriend, Brian Maguire, and the hope that this did not result in a situation like that of Kyle Sandoval and Kathy Collins. Finally, Martha asked to speak to Damon. While Damon was talking to Martha, Bryce made a note to himself to write to his sister, and relate in detail the situation with Kyle and Kathy.
Then the four of them departed to the soup kitchen. As they were in two vehicles, DeShawn and Malcolm did not have to squeeze in like they did when Jason and Nate were with them. Bryce teased by asking how they survived while he and Damon were in Chicago.
“Just fine. We rode with the Sandovals, just like we did in the summer,” DeShawn replied.
Bryce sighed, “I guess Damon and I are just useless. Now, tell me about that interesting … uh … spot in your hair.”
DeShawn harumpfed and pulled up his hoodie.
Malcolm laughed, and immediately betrayed his buddy. “DeShawn went to the hair salon and asked them to color his hair. Like Nate, you know. He had the name of the dye Nate used. He wanted it the same color as Nate’s. But the women at the salon told him it would not turn out the same beginning with his black hair. The baby practically cried, so they agreed to try it out, but they were kind to the poor misguided idiot. They insisted on only coloring this front area to see what it would look like. The result is this vomit-producing color you see before you.” With that, Malcolm quickly pulled DeShawn’s hoodie off his head.
DeShawn yelled, and quickly pulled it back, but Damon got a good look at the forelock on the boy’s head. It was a truly repulsive color, neither blue nor black, but looking like a bad bruise a day later, somehow with shadows of green and brown.
“I hope you didn’t spend all your savings on this,” Damon said.
“No,” a subdued DeShawn replied, “the ladies didn’t charge me. But they laughed.”
Damon did his best to suppress a snicker. “We won’t talk about it anymore,” he promised.
At the soup kitchen, DeShawn hid out in the car, and kept his hoodie pulled up. He even kept it on when he ate.
Inside, Deacon Jeffers was listening to Jason laud the music at St. Boniface this morning. He replied that lots of others shared his opinion. When he went by the rectory to pick up another worker who lived nearby, he found Father Fenwick in a much better mood than a month ago. There had not been the swarm of telephone calls, but the response to this candidate was definitely positive.
The deacon also noted that there had been a significant increase in boys from Bryce and Damon’s fraternity working at the kitchen except for Labor Day weekend. Bryce attempted to explain about rush, but was not certain the deacon understood. When Mike and Kyle heard this, they asked about it, and Damon explained that, last year, they had discussed the soup kitchen at a meeting of Sigma Alpha Tau, and the fraternity voted to add working there to their list of civic volunteer works. As a result, brothers of SAT turned up at various times during the week to help out. After all, the soup kitchen was open for the midday and evening meals seven days a week. A lot of volunteers were needed. The Sandoval brothers looked at each other. Then Mike asked, “You won’t think we’re stepping on your toes if we do the same at our place, will you?”
“No way,” Damon asserted. “The need is still there. Any additional help will be appreciated. Just remember, SAT was here first.”
This rivalry just might rebound to the benefit of the soup kitchen. Bryce decided to work up something along those lines once he knew for certain that Mike’s fraternity was on board.
While he was having his supper, an older black woman came up to Bryce and laid her hand on his. “You boys are doing the Lord’s work,” she proclaimed.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Bryce replied. It flashed through his mind that he was adopting Kentuckian ways of expressing himself.
She patted his hand, and said, “Thank you.”
It was so simple, and yet so moving, that Bryce felt his eyes sting with tears. “You’re welcome,” he said.
When the work at the soup kitchen was completed, Bryce and Damon, Mike and David, and Jason and Nate all decide to descend on Pat’s Tavern for the evening. They entered, and were met with a questioning look from Pat behind the bar. Four underage guys Pat had accepted, but six was pushing things. Bryce approached him and said, in a low voice, “These guys and I just came from working at the St. Vincent de Paul soup kitchen. I know all of them. No one will create a problem.”
Pat grinned. “I guess we can ignore some things for the guys who do such great work. I put in some time there myself at lunch time on Wednesdays.”
And so it was that they all got served without being asked for proof of age. In fact, when Pat saw the K of C emblem on Mike’s lapel, he brought them a free basket of munchies as well.
The six young men sat at a table in the rear of the tavern, drinking and talking, not creating any kind of problem for Pat or anyone else. They were just being friendly, reviewing the day, and talking about things of mutual interest on campus.
Bryce was congratulated, or received condolences, depending, on his re-election as secretary of the LGBT Club, and Mike on his re-election as a member-at-large of the Executive Committee. They discussed the next meeting, and the program which was still unsettled, a week and a half after the meeting. Jason and Nate had not attended that first meeting, and were encouraged to do so.
“The programs are sometimes not all that inspiring,” Bryce admitted, “but we do need to show the campus that we’re here, and we count.”
“Good point,” Jason agreed. “I’ll be there next month.”
“So will I,” Nate promised.
About that time, there was a disturbance toward the front of the tavern. They had been so engrossed in their own conversation, that none of them had noticed the entrance of Mack Campbell, Bick Lomax, and Buck Lomax. These three looked around, decided they liked a particular table, and Mack said to those already there, “This is our favorite table. Move elsewhere. Got it?”
The guys already at the table in question declined. “We like this table, and we were here first.”
Bick, who was the largest of the three intruders, grabbed the speaker by the throat and lifted him from his chair. “We said, move elsewhere. Don’t you hear well?”
But the commotion caused by this action attracted the attention of Pat Flaherty behind the bar. He moved quickly for a man of his size and age. At the disputed table, he said, “Is there a problem here?”
That led to a complaint by those in possession, and a counter claim by the Lomaxes and Campbell that this was their table.
Pat replied, “There are no reserved tables at Pat’s. First come, first seated. If you want to have something, find another seat.”
Mack curled his lip. “I think we can do better elsewhere.”
“Then go elsewhere,” Pat said.
“What if we don’t want to go elsewhere?” Bick asked, making threatening gestures.
Pat grabbed him, and quickly had his arm behind his back, pulled up toward his shoulders. “I suggest that you do go elsewhere. In fact, I suggest that none of the three of you ever come in here again.” He began to move Bick towards the door.
“We’ll sue you for every penny you have,” Bick’s brother threatened.
“You do that,” Pat answered, obviously not concerned.
Amid much bad language, the three were ejected. When Pat turned around after seeing them through the door, the entire place burst into applause. Pat took a bow, then returned to his place behind the bar.
Back at the table where the six men from the soup kitchen sat, Jason said, “I see why you like this place.”
“Pat’s great,” Bryce confirmed.
“It’s the Irish. We are clearly a superior people,” Nate grinned.
“Oh, come off it,” Bryce challenged him. “After three and a half centuries of intermarriage in Maryland and Kentucky, you’re only a small fraction Irish.”
“Ah, but that’s all it takes,” Nate replied with a grin.
Bryce sighed, and abandoned the field to a more determined combatant. At least Nate was being humorous, unlike the supporters of English superiority in the study group.
Jason suggested, “Maybe this would be a good place for that discussion about why people need religion.”
“Maybe, but not tonight. I’m too tired,” Bryce excused himself.
And so, the six friends spent the night in convivial discussion, without more disturbing intrusions. All in all, it was a pleasant way to end a pretty solid Sunday.