One of the detriments of getting older is the sad realization that people who were (or still are) important to you in your life eventually pass away. On the day I headed north for a week at a lodge in northern Minnesota, the man who perhaps did more to save me from heading down life's wrong paths, passed away in his sleep.
Fr. Cullen was 94 and lost his sight a couple of years ago. He would probably be the first to say he was ready to go. he certainly had earned the right to rest forever.
Still, I couldn't help but feed a little sad at his passing.
Fr. Cullen ran the Residence Hall at Assumption when I was in high school. The boarders came from all over the place. There were guys like myself, a Detroiter who had been sent there to get disciplined in my studies. There were guys like Marc Boisvert, a wonderful hockey player who hailed from the tiny fishing village of Chapleau, Ontario. And there were a ton of guys in-between.
Running that group alone would be more than enough work. But Fr. Cullen also was the head of the English Department at Assumption. He was also the head coach for hockey and baseball while I was there. No man ever ran his team with a tougher but fairer stick.
The stories are, of course, endless and could fill up a rainy week.
Today, though, I prefer to remember what the man did for me. He pushed me hard in the areas he knew I had skill in. He gingerly guided me away from things I liked but either didn't know how to do or simply wasn't very good at.
I wanted to play hockey in the worst way. Unfortunately, that is exactly how I played the game. My wife met Fr. Cullen once and asked him what kind of player I was. He smiled and said, "He meant well."
But he saw that there was a way I could contribute to the team. So, he made me the team manager. When we started playing games in the old Windsor Arena, he told me that I could run the clock and do the public address work. He gave me no direct instructions as how to do this, though. (His only advice: "Listen to that guy who does the games at Maple Leaf Gardens. Be that precise." It's advice I have never forgotten and try to emulate to this day.)
That was Fr. Cullen's genius. He wanted you to figure stuff out for yourself.
As a coach, he ran his team hard. As early as 1970, we taped games. I remember one day going in to watch the tape of a 6-0 win over rival Brennan High School. Fr. Cullen kept stopping the tape and pointing out plays that could have gone wrong. The fact that they didn't wasn't important. He wanted his team to get a little better every game.
After a tough loss, he never berated anybody. He understood this wasn't the time or place. I remember a playoff game at Galt. Tom Morse, our goalie, misplayed a puck and turned what should have been an icing into a goal. We eventually lost, 4-3. There was no need to rip Tom a new one. Later on (after we could smile about it) he simply said to Tom, "I bet you will never make that mistake again." I'm betting Tom never did.
He was a man of sharp opinions and could tear your head off is you screwed up. At the same time, he could be gentle. One fine Friday in May, he pulled me out of a classroom. He told me I needed to go home right now. Bob Spillard, a neighbor and a family friend (who, ironically, had attended Assumption himself), was there. He would tell me what was going on. As I was getting into the car, I heard Father say to Bob, "Don't bring him back until you think he is ready."
My mom was dying in a hospital. I went there for one last visit. She passed away early the next morning. When I returned to school a week later, Father simply pulled me aside and said, "If you feel the need to break down, go to your room to do so." At the time, I thought it was callous. Later, I realized he said this because (at least this was true in 1969) high school boys simply don't like to see other boys cry.
The man was often ahead of his time.
I stayed at Assumption the rest of my high school career. When it was time to pick a college, Father knew of a small school in Minnesota I had never heard of. He had a friend who was Dean of Admissions there. It had an up and coming Journalism department. To deal the deal, he sent me to Reno Bertoia, a History teacher at our school who had played baseball in Minnesota in 1961. (Want to win a bar bet? Ask somebody to name the Twins' original third baseman. Throw in the hint he homered off Whitey Ford in the first game in team history. The answer, of course, is Reno Bertoia.)
Mr. Bertoia told me some of the nicest people he had ever met were in Minnesota.
End of deal. I have basically lived in Minnesota ever since.
There is more I can and probably should say about how much Fr, Cullen did for me. I wasn't alone. Thousands of kids at Assumption were guided one way or the other by him.
We'll save more remembrances for another day.
I am grateful I was able to get back a few times to thank him in person. I am grateful he was able to know I acknowledged him in my book on the Twins ... and that he was told about it.
Which leads me to one last thought. The last time I saw Fr. Cullen I thanked him for all he did for me. He gave me a genuine smile in return, a firm handshake and said, "You're welcome." I will remember that sequence forever.
Do the same thing for someone who helped you along the way. They will appreciate it and you will cherish their look back at you.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Monday, July 12, 2010
At the Lake
When I was a wee (and, later, not so wee) lad, Mom used to take us for a week's vacation to Grand Bend, Ontario. It was a wonderful hamlet that had a population of 500 in the winter but 5,000 in the summer. For a week, we would stay in a cabin that looked out on Lake Huron. As I recall, we didn't actually DO much. We usually went over to Stratford for a Shakespearean play. We did a little fishing and golfing. We swam in Lake Huron. Our meals consisted of such things as a healthy breakfast of peanut butter crackers.
If we were feeling particularly ambitious, we would go into town.
Downtown Grand Bend only stretched three blocks or so. But it included an area that various games such as SkeeBall and the old bumper cars. I remember my brother Frank (I think brother John may have helped him) won 37 tickets at SkeeBall so he could get a hotplate that Mom used in the cabin.
I can't tell you how big the cabin was but I remember it had a big picture window. One night, I saw am amazing sight. The moon was shining but a storm was rolling across the lake. I can still see the vision of the rain coming in from the right while the moon shone brightly on the left. It was a visual that, even if we had captured it on video (or film in those days) would not have done it justice. It was a sight meant for eyes only.
I mention all this because my wife and I are at a cabin on Lake Winnibigosh in the metropolis of Bena, MN this week. Bena's population is listed as 110. I think that includes the folks who work here, at the general store down the road and perhaps a few dogs I have seen around.
Although it is only a four-hour ride from St. Paul, you feel as is you are million miles away. As a result, the pace of life is ... well ... different. You get up when you want to and go to bed at whatever time seems right. Boy, do you really sleep well, though - even the other night when a rainstorm swept through here. You shave if you feel like it. (Some things have changed at the lake. For example, they now have satellite TV so you can keep up with the world.As this missive shows, Wi-Fi exists ... even in the woods of Bena.)
You grill anything you can. You sit on picnic tables and watch the lake. You play card games. You go out in a boat and fish. You read books. You simply stare at the lake in wonderment. This morning, I am going golfing with the son of an old family friend and two people I met for the first time the other day.
It is such a peaceful feeling here. The pace is so much slower. The folks I am golfing with today are friends of our family friends. The two families have been going to lakes for (depending you talk to) anywhere from 22-24 years. The actual number doesn't matter. The feeling of calm for all of them, however, does.
It is, like the picture of that rainstorm years ago, something meant for the eyes, ears, nose and personal memory bank only.
I understand this type of lifestyle is, for most people, a temporary respite from the real world. To those who don't get to experience it, however, I say "Too Bad." Sometimes, simply moving slowly (or not at all) beats the hell out of racing to the next appointment to make the Deal Of The Century.
If we were feeling particularly ambitious, we would go into town.
Downtown Grand Bend only stretched three blocks or so. But it included an area that various games such as SkeeBall and the old bumper cars. I remember my brother Frank (I think brother John may have helped him) won 37 tickets at SkeeBall so he could get a hotplate that Mom used in the cabin.
I can't tell you how big the cabin was but I remember it had a big picture window. One night, I saw am amazing sight. The moon was shining but a storm was rolling across the lake. I can still see the vision of the rain coming in from the right while the moon shone brightly on the left. It was a visual that, even if we had captured it on video (or film in those days) would not have done it justice. It was a sight meant for eyes only.
I mention all this because my wife and I are at a cabin on Lake Winnibigosh in the metropolis of Bena, MN this week. Bena's population is listed as 110. I think that includes the folks who work here, at the general store down the road and perhaps a few dogs I have seen around.
Although it is only a four-hour ride from St. Paul, you feel as is you are million miles away. As a result, the pace of life is ... well ... different. You get up when you want to and go to bed at whatever time seems right. Boy, do you really sleep well, though - even the other night when a rainstorm swept through here. You shave if you feel like it. (Some things have changed at the lake. For example, they now have satellite TV so you can keep up with the world.As this missive shows, Wi-Fi exists ... even in the woods of Bena.)
You grill anything you can. You sit on picnic tables and watch the lake. You play card games. You go out in a boat and fish. You read books. You simply stare at the lake in wonderment. This morning, I am going golfing with the son of an old family friend and two people I met for the first time the other day.
It is such a peaceful feeling here. The pace is so much slower. The folks I am golfing with today are friends of our family friends. The two families have been going to lakes for (depending you talk to) anywhere from 22-24 years. The actual number doesn't matter. The feeling of calm for all of them, however, does.
It is, like the picture of that rainstorm years ago, something meant for the eyes, ears, nose and personal memory bank only.
I understand this type of lifestyle is, for most people, a temporary respite from the real world. To those who don't get to experience it, however, I say "Too Bad." Sometimes, simply moving slowly (or not at all) beats the hell out of racing to the next appointment to make the Deal Of The Century.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
A day to remember
Today is a national holiday. Oh, not here in the good ol' Aux Etats-Unis. I mean in my former stomping grounds.
It's Canada Day - their version of Independence Day. To my old Canadian comrades, have a good day, eh?
I always remember this day with fondness for another reason. In another life, I worked at a wonderful place called Columbus Boys' Camp. It was located in Orillia, a small hamlet about 100 miles north of Toronto better known as the birthplace of Gordon Lightfoot. I worked as a counselor there for three years before moving to the Senior Staff as Evening Entertainment Director.
I have said this to other people but I need to do it again: Although the most money I ever made there was $500, it was the best job I have ever had.
July 1 was always the start of the first session. You would get to camp a week or two in advance to get the place ready. We would put the dock in Lake Simcoe (amazing how cold the lake could be at that time of year.) Then you painted the cabins (if they needed them) and cleaned up everything. There would be a day or two of prep and getting to know your new co-workers. There was usually a night in town where you would discovered there were two places a fellow could get a drink. One was the local Chinese restaurant (you had to order some food to do it) and the other was a small bar down the street. They often had music there.
(For some reason, the only band I can remember is Jeremiah Peabody and His Funky Little Three-Piece Band. They had a blond chanteuse who was ... well ... hot. But I digress.)
Back to today, though. There was always an extra air of excitement and nervousness as the first group of campers came. (It was often said that the first group dictated how the summer would go. I have no idea if that proved out to be true. Sounded good, though.) You would stand there with new guys you barely knew, getting ready to greet kids who were, for the most part, cutting loose for the only vacation they would have all summer. The first group would arrive and it was like opening the doors to a Justin Bieber concert. Kids poured out from buses everywhere. Getting them to go sit under the big tree where the camp director (Leo Campbell and Don McLeod) would start to give them the drill for their 10 days there was difficult. The pent-up energy of the kids was exciting but nervewracking to watch.
Somehow, the kids would get shephered into their cabins and we were off and running. For whatever reason, I was assigned a lot of Papoose cabins. Most of the kids were seven or eight. They were squirrelly because they wanted to take off and investigate the whole camp in, say, 10 minutes. Getting them to put their stuff away, find a bunck bed to their liking and then listen to us counselors go through our routine was exhausting.
Dinner couldn't come fast enough. Later that first night, there would be another entire camp meeting for a Campfire. There was the usual sorts of entertainment and storytelling. July 1 in Orillia is often a bit brisk. There was something special about a fire set against the backdrop of Lake Simcoe on a chilly night. By the time we headed back, the lads were ready for sleep.
But there was one more task left for counselors and staff. Often, we had a late first night meeting (sometimes at what was left of the fire) to give first impressions of our new cabins. We would trade names of past campers we had been with for the benefit of others. Truth be told, we were probably more tired than the campers. But there was such an adrenalin rush that sleep was still impossible.
The next day, we were hit the ground running for the 10-day adventure.
I think of CBC often. Although it has been nearly 40 years since I was there, I remember the wonderful nights there. I remember sitting with other Americans listening to George McGovern's acceptance speech at the 1972 Dem convention on a transistor radio ... at 3 in the morning. We sat by the flag pole in the middle of the camp to get the best reception.
I remember a few kids' names here and there ... and some of the adventures we had with them. I remember fellow counselors and the great priests and novices that taught me so much about life.
But what I always will remember the most about CBC was an intangible - a feeling that the world could really be a peaceful, simple place at times. We were far enough away from civilization that all the nastiness that was out there really did seem to be in another world. I understand this type of Xanadu can't last. We only get one childhood per customer. On every July 1, however, it is nice to sit back and remember a time when about the biggest care in the world you really had was making sure the kids in your cabin know where City Hall was (you went there to pay your taxes).
It's Canada Day - their version of Independence Day. To my old Canadian comrades, have a good day, eh?
I always remember this day with fondness for another reason. In another life, I worked at a wonderful place called Columbus Boys' Camp. It was located in Orillia, a small hamlet about 100 miles north of Toronto better known as the birthplace of Gordon Lightfoot. I worked as a counselor there for three years before moving to the Senior Staff as Evening Entertainment Director.
I have said this to other people but I need to do it again: Although the most money I ever made there was $500, it was the best job I have ever had.
July 1 was always the start of the first session. You would get to camp a week or two in advance to get the place ready. We would put the dock in Lake Simcoe (amazing how cold the lake could be at that time of year.) Then you painted the cabins (if they needed them) and cleaned up everything. There would be a day or two of prep and getting to know your new co-workers. There was usually a night in town where you would discovered there were two places a fellow could get a drink. One was the local Chinese restaurant (you had to order some food to do it) and the other was a small bar down the street. They often had music there.
(For some reason, the only band I can remember is Jeremiah Peabody and His Funky Little Three-Piece Band. They had a blond chanteuse who was ... well ... hot. But I digress.)
Back to today, though. There was always an extra air of excitement and nervousness as the first group of campers came. (It was often said that the first group dictated how the summer would go. I have no idea if that proved out to be true. Sounded good, though.) You would stand there with new guys you barely knew, getting ready to greet kids who were, for the most part, cutting loose for the only vacation they would have all summer. The first group would arrive and it was like opening the doors to a Justin Bieber concert. Kids poured out from buses everywhere. Getting them to go sit under the big tree where the camp director (Leo Campbell and Don McLeod) would start to give them the drill for their 10 days there was difficult. The pent-up energy of the kids was exciting but nervewracking to watch.
Somehow, the kids would get shephered into their cabins and we were off and running. For whatever reason, I was assigned a lot of Papoose cabins. Most of the kids were seven or eight. They were squirrelly because they wanted to take off and investigate the whole camp in, say, 10 minutes. Getting them to put their stuff away, find a bunck bed to their liking and then listen to us counselors go through our routine was exhausting.
Dinner couldn't come fast enough. Later that first night, there would be another entire camp meeting for a Campfire. There was the usual sorts of entertainment and storytelling. July 1 in Orillia is often a bit brisk. There was something special about a fire set against the backdrop of Lake Simcoe on a chilly night. By the time we headed back, the lads were ready for sleep.
But there was one more task left for counselors and staff. Often, we had a late first night meeting (sometimes at what was left of the fire) to give first impressions of our new cabins. We would trade names of past campers we had been with for the benefit of others. Truth be told, we were probably more tired than the campers. But there was such an adrenalin rush that sleep was still impossible.
The next day, we were hit the ground running for the 10-day adventure.
I think of CBC often. Although it has been nearly 40 years since I was there, I remember the wonderful nights there. I remember sitting with other Americans listening to George McGovern's acceptance speech at the 1972 Dem convention on a transistor radio ... at 3 in the morning. We sat by the flag pole in the middle of the camp to get the best reception.
I remember a few kids' names here and there ... and some of the adventures we had with them. I remember fellow counselors and the great priests and novices that taught me so much about life.
But what I always will remember the most about CBC was an intangible - a feeling that the world could really be a peaceful, simple place at times. We were far enough away from civilization that all the nastiness that was out there really did seem to be in another world. I understand this type of Xanadu can't last. We only get one childhood per customer. On every July 1, however, it is nice to sit back and remember a time when about the biggest care in the world you really had was making sure the kids in your cabin know where City Hall was (you went there to pay your taxes).
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