I'll Love You Tomorrow Read online

  Cosimo charged his proud horse ahead of the surging army, brandishing his broadsword as a dagger, and they fought back the startled defenders. But then a lone archer, standing on top of the great Sienna tower…a lone assassin, loosed a shaft that sliced the great Cosimo full in the chest.

  Neither breath, nor breeze… dared to stir, as Sister Mary Como would tell her children, all were caught by the mortal plight of the great Duke in the very city that would give birth to the holy nun, St. Catherine of Sienna. There, into the heart of Sienna, at the Duomo, Cosimo’s officers carried their beloved leader and gently laid his dying body on the black and white marble floor beneath the great dome, inside the piazza… so he could receive the last rites of the Catholic Church. But with a wounded gasp, the noble Duke abruptly stopped them… It was at this point that the good Sister Mary Como would pause for a moment…just long enough to raise the level of interest in these wide-eyed children, and she knew they were hers.

  Just as everyone in those days had heard the tales of the tiny monastery hidden somewhere on the coast of Tuscany, so too had the great Duke. This monastery, ostensibly… had been built on that spot because of the many miracles worked at that place. And according to legend, a certain powerful miracle still resided there. And Cosimo sensed, that if he could only survive long enough, to get to the blessed site, he might yet live to fight another day.

  Cosimo’s devoted soldiers rode for three days through the heat of the Tuscany summer… while the poor man’s life teetered between this world and the next. Finally, they arrived, at the blue Tyrrhenian Sea and climbed the steep cliff crags to a tiny, almost inaccessible monastery perched on the farthest point of a sheer promontory.

  When the humble Franciscan monks saw the Grand Duke, of course they took him in… and, laid his dying body on a cot in front of their hallowed shrine…But poor Duke Cosimo, even in his feverish state, he was able to look across the courtyard and give respect to the shrine. All through the night, shinning out of the darkness…an inner light…a divine miracle worked its magic while the holy friars held their vigil, over the warrior with prayers and secret medicines.

  Can you imagine how shocked the loyal officers must have been… when they came to the chapel in the morning and found that their Grand Duke’s fever was all gone, and the infection of his wound was healed? He would live. St. Francis of Assisi had come to him in the night and kissed his wound…returning him… from the brink of death.

  The lobby with all the laughing children would be silent for the longest moment as the children fixed their gaze upon the benevolent monk…the lover of animals and small children, working his magic for another generation.We were met that morning by Sister Mary Como, the faithful and endearing holy woman, and member of the Sisters of Charity community. Sister Mary Como saw to the day-to-day operation of the orphanage, including the twenty other nuns and five laymen who worked at various chores. Including overseeing the population of 250 boys who also had their daily chores, including cleaning the dormitories, hallways, carrying laundry to and from the large laundry facility, which was located a quarter of a mile from the main building, in the rear, near an orchard and the farm’s massive dairy barn. The boys also worked in the dining rooms, called refractory, located in the basement, which also housed the large kitchen where all the meals were prepared and carried by the boys to the three refractories, as well as taking the food up to the first floor dining room for the nuns.

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  “Father Scanlon,” The large nun said as she smiled at me… and held out her hand. Sister Mary Como was over six feet tall and her floor length “habit” covered her ample body. She dwarfed both the priest. She had a rather shrill voice with a hint of her native Roanoke, Virginia. She also had a hair-lip, but her speech was impeccable and her manner pristine and in control. Though, on this day there were certain signs of nervousness, as she fingered the long black beads hanging from her waist… like the weapon of a desperado, ready to spring into action on a moment’s notice.

  “Sister Mary Como, may I present Father Louis J. Hermann…who has come out from Christ the King Church to have a go at working with you, and the other good sisters in the running of an orphanage, and Father, she is the single most important person in this operation, dear Sister Mary Como.”

  She took his hand in hers and held his elbow as well…“Welcome Father…but I must hasten to point out, contrary to the wonderful introduction, I am the least important here at St. Joseph…you will soon find that no one runs the orphanage except the boys themselves…and Joseph Tough runs them!”

  “I do not believe I know this young man.” Father Scanlon said.

  “Oh in due course, but first let me show Father Hermann to his new quarters where the two of you may freshen up a bit, and then we can have a little lunch before the grand tour.

  We walked down the long corridor past the front office, and I saw the angelus tower out back to my right and a parking lot to the side of which there was a beautiful rose garden, meticulously manicured and in full bloom.

  “This is where you can park Father,” She said pointing to a black-top paved lot sufficient for two cars and the orphanage bus, near the angelus.

  Just across the hall from the long line of windows, she stopped at a door, inserted the key and opened it displaying a comfortable living room, which looked to be about 12x12. We followed the good nun as she pointed to the dining room, then down a small hallway, she pointed out the bath and toilet and then, on into a well-appointed bedroom which contained a double bed, overstuffed chair, small desk and chair as well as a large closet. The bedroom had a window with a view of the front drive, as did the living and dining rooms.

  “I’ll leave you now to freshen-up and when you are ready, we’ll have lunch waiting in the Sister’s Refractory, which is next door…just follow the smell of delicious food.” She smiled…“I know all the Sisters are very excited about meeting you Father Hermann and having the opportunity to discuss any questions you may have about the orphanage.”

  “Thank you sister,” I said smiling at her…“We will not keep you waiting long.”

  Father Hermann went to the bathroom while I checked out the living room. It had two windows facing the front of the orphanage… a small sofa, two wing-backed chairs, a desk and chair and a radio, which I turned on and tuned to WLOU, now giving the noon time news and farm report including the price of all the crops.

  Father Hermann relieved, I took his place in the bathroom…wondering if Father Hermann would have to clean the apartment or if Joe Tough would see to it?

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  Lunch was served in the dining room, we smelled it as Sister Mary Como indicated we would…the smell was inviting as we made our way into the large room. It looked to measure some 20x40 and had four windows fronting on the main road. There was a great table, seating black habited nuns with black veils mounted on stiffly starched white bodice framing the faces of twenty nuns of various ages from twenty-five to ninety. When Father Hermann and I arrived they all stood respectfully on either side of the table, with heads bowed and ready for prayer. A seat at each end remained empty and Sister Mary Como directed me to take the one at the furthest end of the room, which I did, smiling at all the wonderful little “brides of Jesus,” as I made my way to the seat.

  After the introduction of each of the sisters, there was no conversation during the meal…a sister read from the gospels as we enjoyed a hearty beef stew and coffee. It was refreshing and helped to carry us through the tour carried out perfunctorily by Sister Mary Como. From the Sister’s Refractory we were shown to the basement and into the kitchen, which easily covered a square area of approximately 40x100. It appeared to be well-designed and efficient with commercial stoves against the back wall with vents, ovens were located beneath the stoves, walk-in coolers and large freezers to accommodate the weekly requirement for meat and poultry. There were large stainless steel sinks, potato peeling machines, large commercial mixers, carts, milk c
ontainers, can openers and waste containers… and a pantry that resembled a Winn-Dixie grocery, except all the items were of a large commercial variety.

  There were four refractories for the boys. They contained sixty- boys in each, broken down into age divisions for two grades from the first to the eighth. There were ten tables in each with six boys to a table. The food was served from the kitchen, brought by cart in serving bowls and placed on the tables. A Captain, was elected by the boys, at each of the tables, and, it became his responsibility to see that the table was set for the meal; that the blessing of the meal was properly and reverently recited; the food served in equal proportions; and, the dishes washed at each table. In each of the Refractories, five boys were chosen by the Sisters, to mop and straighten the tables and chairs after each meal before they were permitted to join the rest of the boys in the recreation area…outside. These boys were permitted to have their meal in the kitchen with the staff, as a special privilege for their effort on behalf of all the other boys.

  April to November… the boys entertained themselves outside… and in Horney Hall on the first floor during cold or inclement weather. All the boys, regardless of age, utilized the same recreation area at the same time.

  During each of these functions a Sister was selected on a rotation set-up by Sister Mary Como, to preside over the boys, stop fights, serve as the traffic cop to the bathroom, visit with the lonely and depressed (represented most often by new kids) and make certain the smaller children did not get trampled to death by the older, rough-neck boys, who delighted in taking their games to the feet of the nuns, hoping that she would join the game which Sister Penelope’ often did.

  The boy’s day began at six o’clock. If it was a school day, Monday to Friday, they dressed in appropriate school clothes, which was handed out weekly on Sunday evening, along with a set of play clothes. At six-thirty they were marched from the dormitories the length of the corridor (at least 100 yards) in double file to the chapel at the other end of the building. Father Hermann would soon start his day there, as well, by offering up the Mass. Two lucky boys would serve the priest, after learning the Latin for the Mass, but never permitted to serve before the fifth grade. This was pre-Vatican II when the priest performed the ritual and the alter-boys brought up the rear…it was a beautiful thing to behold, as were the homilies offered by Father Hermann, a truly great preacher who mesmerized the children, young and old with wonderful stories of hardship, of hope and fulfillment.

  After Mass, the boys marched out of the Chapel and back to their respective dorms. Each had a chore, which had to be accomplished every day before breakfast served at eight: carry dirty clothes to laundry on Monday; pick up clean clothes on Tuesday, dust mop the halls, dust mop the dorms, clean the toilets and sinks, clean the bathtub, dust all window sills and furniture. School started at nine o’clock…. ran until eleven-fifty, started back at one-thirty, ending at four and study hall at six-thirty until seven –thirty. The boys were permitted to run and play in the gym until eight-thirty and then it was back to the dorms, wash, brush teeth, get into PJ’s and ready for the rosary at eight-fifty, where each boy knelt at the foot of his bed on the marble floor. After the rosary, it was straight too bed to listen to the radio until nine-thirty and lights out for the night.

  Each week a new boy was selected to ring the giant angelus bell at six, twelve and six. This was a real honor because it meant that the boy was free to do his own thing after the ringing of the angelus, a small freedom…unappreciated by those who are free to come and go as they please…but for the institutionalized, any moment to be called your own was a moment to be savored.

  We visited the nursery, located on the first floor, near the office of the orphanage nurse. The little children clung to both Father Hermann and myself…many calling us daddy. The only disconcerting moment of the day for me…but it would be Father Hermann who would have to get used to the routine, and in time I guess they would just call him father.

  Last in the tour after we had visited the class rooms and the Chapel was a tour of the laundry. It was there that we saw the shocking revelation of the infamous Joe Tough. I must say that I wasn’t at all prepared.

  “Sitter…” a large black man came running toward Sister Mary Como as we opened the door into the laundry, a building of approximately 40x60, lined with shinning commercial sized washers, dryers, large sheet pressing machines and smaller ironing boards for slacks and shirts.

  “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Tough,” the nun said, looking at both priest for reactions.

  “Say Heh… and I know the batting average of Joe DiMaggio and Ted Williams…and I love to eat macaroni and cheese and bubblegum!”

  “I know you do Joe…you are a very smart boy, with a big appetite.”

  “Do I get gum?”

  “Have you been working hard today Joe?”

  “I run…I run the washers, and I pressed the sheets.” He said in a rapid staccato, as if to expect that someone was going to interrupt.

  “Well Joe, I am so very proud of you and I want you to shake hands with Father Scanlon and Father Hermann… like the big boy I know you are, and then I have a surprise for you.”

  “Oh good…I like surprises…and bubble gum.” He smiled, showing his beautiful white teeth against his ebony black face.

  “How old are you Joe?” Father Hermann asked.

  “Three…but after I was seventeen, and I could drive a car too.”

  “Now Joe we have to go, but look what I brought you.” Sister Mary Como removed a comic book from her pocket and two pieces of bubble gum.

  Tough’s face lit up like a child at Christmas…“Oh sitter…thank you, thank you too much.”

  As we left the laundry, Joe was deep into the comic book and the gum.

  “Joe Tough came with the orphanage…he was five-years old…real name is Marshall…as you can see he is mildly retarded…strong as a bull, and I fear a real challenge for you Father Hermann.”

  “How so?” I asked.

  “Despite the age and size difference, we have never had a problem with Joe. Thank the good Lord he is good natured and docile…would not hurt anything or anyone that I have ever heard of. But Joe is very sexually driven and masturbates himself quite often, whenever and wherever he takes the notion. We also have not heard of any attempt on his part to attract younger boys, you know…into sexual activity. But this is an area that is of a growing concern because he has attached himself to a couple of boys who may lead Joe…you know into activities which would not be healthy for them.

  “Yes, well I will need to spend some time mentoring Joe and giving him some guidance on what is acceptable behavior and what is not…we will all need to work closely together to make certain that we do know what is happening with the boys…a good deal of which I will hear at weekly confession.”

  “That is a load off my mind…thank you Father.”

  “By the way Sister Mary Como…Why isn’t Joe at Holy Family Orphanage…which takes a number of black children?”

  “Joe is so innocent…he doesn’t know that he is different… and he just sort of became the project for the orphanage, and Father Eldon…before he died, he loved Joe and just sort of took him under his wing…that is why Joe is such a fan of sports, Father read the Sunday paper to Joe religiously.”

  “Yes, I heard him say that he knew the batting average of Joe DiMaggio.”

  “Yes, and everyone else in the major league. He is quite amazing that he doesn’t know his name but when it comes to statistics, the boy is a genius.”

  “You mean man.”

  “Yes Father…I forget that Joe is a young man.”

  Joe Tough was quite a challenge. He had very little formal education, but he worked hard at the laundry and stayed out of trouble. The sisters did not know what to do with him… and had decided to leave well enough alone, until he started to flash them…after which the nuns began going to laundry duty… in pairs.

  Father Hermann and I drove silently back towa
rd the city, a good ten miles at the Epp Stitch Sinclair Station, I stopped for gas and a pack of Camels. I got out to stretch my legs. The attendant recognized the clerical collar and struck up a conversation with Father Hermann.

  “Been out to the orphanage, Father?”

  “Yes, and I will be going back next week…will be stopping by occasionally for service.”

  “Appreciate the business…I am Epp Stitch.”

  “Father Hermann.”

  “We don’t get many regulars out this way…you know just traffic headed east and west, but we been selling parts and gas to the orphanage since they opened out there…got an account here, so come in any time Father.

  “Thank you Mr. Stitch…it is so nice to know who you are doing business with.”

  Historical Review

  I stand here, almost at the end of the twentieth century, an Irish European! Not for nearly 2000 years, since the days of the Roman Empire, has anyone in my small village been able to make such a claim. A European! People could be Danish, Irish, Sicilian, Lapp, Belgian, Austrian, Welsh or Ruritanian, but until recently it was impossible for any of us seriously to think of ourselves as citizens of Europe. We were not Europeans as others were Chinese or Americans. We shared no collective purpose or conscience. Europe was not an object of loyalty, only a geographical definition, and the notion of European unity seemed a pipedream, or an absurdity-or a nightmare, for only conquerors had ever seemed likely to achieve it.

  It is true that in the past Europeans often felt themselves integrated by a common superiority to the rest of the world-by the fact of their civilization, which was to them the only civilization. Europeans meeting in distant parts would greet each other as comrades. As the French navigator, La Perouse observed, when he arrived uninvited and not much wanted at the infant British settlement on Botany Bay, Australia, ‘all Europeans are countrymen at such a distance from home’. Edward Gibbon, the eighteenth century historian, thought there was in fact, a kind of European republic, permanently in alliance against the ‘savage nations of the world’. There was, however, no real sense of commonality to these sentiments. Gibbon’s republic was a scholar’s fancy: French and English might be polite to each other on the other side of the world, but would be at each other’s’ throats at home.