Saturday, February 11, 2017

Isaiah's Brilliant Instructions for How to Live Our Lives

This was the first reading we had last Sunday at mass. When I'm at my best, I live my life this way:

Reading 1IS 58:7-10

Thus says the LORD:
Share your bread with the hungry,
shelter the oppressed and the homeless;
clothe the naked when you see them,
and do not turn your back on your own.
Then your light shall break forth like the dawn,
and your wound shall quickly be healed;
your vindication shall go before you,
and the glory of the LORD shall be your rear guard.
Then you shall call, and the LORD will answer,
you shall cry for help, and he will say: Here I am!
If you remove from your midst
oppression, false accusation and malicious speech;
if you bestow your bread on the hungry
and satisfy the afflicted;
then light shall rise for you in the darkness,
and the gloom shall become for you like midday.

Thursday, February 2, 2017

The Passing of the Great "Sazz"--Gary Czyzynski

I found out yesterday, from Jane Ely Williams, that Gary Czyzynski died a couple years ago (July 23, 2014) on his ranch near Sheridan, Wyoming. As I understand it, Gary went out to do some chores on his ranch and never came back. At some point his wife went out looking for him, and found Gary dehydrated and close to death. Gary died soon after that, either at home or in the hospital. [Jane Williams has recently told me that I have the story of Gary's death wrong. I'll try to get the facts right and then I'll correct this blog post.]

I located an obituary for Gary. Click this link: Gary Czyzynski obituary. The obit has a photo of him. The only photo I would have of Gary is from our 1966 St. Joe's yearbook, when he was about 17-18 years old. Like most things of my childhood and growing up years, there are absolutely no photos. Back then we just lived our lives; we didn't live them at a distance via social media or photography.

Gary went to St. William's grade school with me and St. Joseph's High School. He was from a very Polish family and lived in my neighborhood. Gary lived on Drakefield Avenue, maybe 1/4 mile from me. I remember he had a sister, Gayle. And I remember his mother and father. I was once told that his Dad worked on a crane at a junkyard and was from a gigantic family--maybe 20 children. Now Gary was an exaggerator and a mythologizer, a lot like me. So whether this "20 children" number is exactly true, I don't know. Let's say Gary's Dad was from a large family. Also, I remember Gary's Mom very well, very fondly.

Gary was energetic and fun. And he was a pretty good athlete, especially at football. He and I were ferocious competitors, almost always on opposing teams. This was a kind of informal sandlot football, played at Upson School or Mudville (Willow Playground). Occasionally we would play at other places--I remember a particularly bloody game at Memorial Park in Euclid. Gary and I would both play running back and he would end up tackling me and I would end up tackling him. It was a tough, bruising game--and we loved it. For a couple years Gary and I played Muny Football for the Northeast Warriors. We'd practice at Humphrey Field, across from Euclid Beach, and play our games throughout Cleveland.

There was a kind of loose gang around Gary that involved Jay Neidermeyer, Jim Allsip, and about 10 other guys off and on (Jim Turner,  Pat Quinn, Wayne Starkey, Tim Homan, Dale Kovatch, many others). For a while we would hang out in front of Upson Delicatessen or "Uncle Willy's" little grocery store, next to Upson Drugs. Nobody remembers the real name of that store or the proprietor, but Gary, who was a fun mythologizer and storyteller, called him "Uncle Willy." I have a vague memory of Gary or another one of the guys stealing a bottle of Boone's Farm Wine from Uncle Willy's store--and drinking it in Jim Turner's garage on Shoreview Avenue. A little time in Purgatory for that I guess.

I remember driving to St. Joe's with Gary between 1964-66 in his old bomb of a car. One time, in bitter cold weather, Gary's car lost a wheel (or the axle broke in half) on the way to school. I remember another time Gary was driving like a maniac on the Freeway, Route 2 in Euclid. He was going about a hundred miles an hour. I was in the back seat--and terrified. I started choking Gary, demanding that he slow down. Not a great idea, but it worked. I also remember Gary eating a hamburger on a Friday at the McDonald's on Lake Shore Boulevard, across from Villa Angela Academy. I was absolutely shocked that he as a Catholic was eating meat on a Friday! I thought Gary had committed a mortal sin--ha ha.

Gary Czyzynski was full of life and fun. He was a great competitor, a great football player. I didn't see him much after high school, but I thought of him often. The world will miss the Great "Sazz."

A Poem I wrote after the January 21st Women's March

After the March

We went home,
feeling exhilarated, glowing
From a sense of community,
Solidarity, purpose—

The thugs in power—they
Returned to their big desks,
Fancy offices, huge staffs, big budgets,

To the levers of power,
To their perfect confidence
That they could crush us,

Annoying protesters.

[Bob Coughlin / January 22, 2017]

The Women's March was so exhilarating, so full of hope. But the next day we found ourselves in a country ruled by Donald Trump and what seems like gun thugs. I hope I'm wrong characterizing them this way--but it sure looks like it!

Thursday, December 29, 2016

A Poem for Robby on His Third Birthday



Robby's Third Birthday

"Here I am!" you announce,
Climbing out of your crib,
Surprising us in the family room.

Yes, here you are!
And we are so happy to celebrate
You, on your third birthday.

You, so full of joy and energy,
You so full of love for Mommy and Daddy,
Your big brother Colin and baby sister Ava,

For your Grandmas, Nana Gigi, Nana Linda,
Your Grampas, Bumpa and Brrr,
Aunts and Uncles, cousins and friends.

You, lover of music, running,
Trains, trucks, diggers, eating, napping . . .
We celebrate your joyous life!

Happy Birthday, Beautiful Robby!


Grampa Brrr / December 30, 2016


Wednesday, December 21, 2016

The Light Shines in the Darkness . . .

. . . and the darkness has not overcome it."




Christmas Gift at Solstice

If I could give one gift to you,
It would be an infusion of Hope,
Which, powered by your great Love,

Would energize this world,
Pouring Light into this darkness.

We will do this!

Bob Coughlin / December 21, 2016

Saturday, December 17, 2016

"Christbrand"--a Poem for Christmas--by Frank O'Malley


Christbrand

By Frank O’Malley

Let the Christbrand burst,
Let the Christbrand blazon.

Dartle whitely under the hearth-fire,
Unwind the wind, turn the thunderer,
And never, never thinning,
Forfend fear.
Flare up smartly, fix, flex, bless, inspire,
Instar the time, sear the sorcerer,
And never, never sparing,
Save all year.

Let the Christbrand burst,
Let the Christbrand blazon.

(Frank O’Malley was a beloved English Professor at the University of Notre Dame)

I was a student at the University of Notre Dame from 1966 to 1970 (with my sophomore year spent in a Notre Dame program in Austria). Frank O'Malley lived from 1909 to 1974, and taught at Notre Dame for about 40 years. O'Malley's word choice in this poem is unusual and you might need to look up some of these words. For example, I take "brand" here to mean "fire." The word "blazon" sounds like "blaze," but means to proclaim publicly. I take "forfend" to mean "fend off." So many of the words in this poem relate to fire--the Christbrand. I love the lines, "And never, never sparing, / Save all year." Yes, save all year!

My Notre Dame friend Ron Weisenberger, may he rest in peace, was a student of Frank O'Malley and first shared this poem with me.

A Poem for the Great Darkness and Silence

Winter Solstice

The chill creeps into the bones:
December 21 and sun gone long before 5 o’clock;
huge gray clouds roll in off Lake Erie
riding the Witch’s gale, spitting sleet and

fears as real and as organized as the swirl
of pin oak leaves down Lakeshore Boulevard.
This day, shaken by nameless fears,
seems to last forever:

I wonder how I will get through the next minute,
and the minute after that,
and the minute after that,

wonder if I can make it
until hope returns

until peace-which-surpasses-understanding,
as mysterious as winter solstice’s fear--
my heart standing still, turning cold,
my spirit abandoned--

until peace returns like grace like unexpected

gift.


Robert M. Coughlin