Poem Honoring the Retirement of Fr. Francis P. Walsh

Fr. Francis P. Walsh

I just heard that Fr. Francis P. Walsh, priest of the diocese of Cleveland, is retiring. Fr. Walsh is remembered very fondly by me and my brothers and sister for his years of service at St. William's in Euclid (1957-1962). My mother and father were also very fond of Fr. Walsh. Below is a poem I wrote some time back that mentions Fr. Walsh. The poem takes some minor liberties with historical fact:

Sr. Muriel’s Boys’ Choir—St. William’s Church, Euclid, Ohio, 1959

Solemn High Midnight Mass, near the end of an era

(one that would end in gunfire from a grassy knoll in Dallas,

In a hellfire of napalm and Agent Orange in Vietnam,

And a medieval Church damaged by patriarchy and the weight of time) . . .

There in that modest church on East 260^th Street,

In a working-class suburb of a city in its death rattle,

Right there, 28 boys led by an Irish nun of the Ursuline order,

Sang so beautifully it would make the angels weep.

In the hushed darkness of midnight, as Monsignor John Fleming

Processed into the church, with Fr. Walsh as deacon, and Fr. Praznik as subdeacon,

Behind a cross raised high and candles lit against the darkness,

The boys sang “Gesu Bambino,” in English:

When blossoms flowered 'mid the snows
Upon a winter night,
Was born the Child, the Christmas Rose,
The King of Love and Light.

The organist played softly as the boys’ voices soared:

The angels sang, the shepherds sang,
The grateful earth rejoiced;
And at His blessed birth the stars
Their exultation voiced.

And then the chorus, “Venite adoremus”:

O come let us adore Him,
O come let us adore Him,
O come let us adore Him,
Christ the Lord.

As Monsignor Fleming mounted the steps to the altar,

The church lights came on, and for the last time in the season, we sang “Adeste Fidelis.”

We sang it in perfect church Latin diction, following Sr. Muriel’s instructions for each syllable.

Fr. Fleming began the mass, “In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti . . . .”

Then, “Introibo ad altare Dei.”

Two eighth grade boys, in surplices and cassocks, responded,

“Ad Deum qui laetificat juventutum meum.”

The response was quick and natural—and not fully understood by the boys

Or the hundreds of people in the pews. In three or four years

This Latin would be obsolete, not to be heard again.

The medieval period, which stretched across hundreds of years,

Was ending. And yes, good riddance! Yet—

There was great beauty and pageantry there,

And to this little choir boy,

Mystery and power in the Latin,

The incense, the sincere prayers of so many of these people,

My friends and neighbors (so many of them now gone).

When it was over, about 1:30 a.m.,

I walked out of the church into the brisk, snowy night,

And walked, my 11-year-old self, the mile home,

Down East 262, to Forestview, to East 266, then home.

All was silence, that night so long ago, as I entered the dark house,

Past the darkened Christmas tree, the unopened presents,

Up the stairs to where Denny and I shared a room.

And I fell asleep, the last Christmas of the Medieval,

With “Gesu Bambino” dancing in my brain,

And hoping one of the presents under the tree was a pair of baseball spikes.

[Bob Coughlin. Chardon, Ohio. January 6, 2013]


My sister Mary Ellen sent me a photo of Fr. Walsh and his sister Maggie--from father's retirement party:

Fr. Francis P. Walsh and his sister Maggie

A Poem about Growing Up Catholic in the late 1950s

Sr. Muriel’s Boys’ Choir—St. William’s Church, Euclid, Ohio, 1959

Solemn High Midnight Mass, near the end of an era

(one that would end in gunfire from a grassy knoll in Dallas,

In a hellfire of napalm and Agent Orange in Vietnam,

And a medieval Church toppled by patriarchy and pederasty) . . .

There in that modest church on East 260^th Street,

In a working-class suburb of a city in its death rattle,

Right there, 28 boys led by an Irish nun of the Ursuline order,

Sang so beautifully it would make the angels weep.

In the hushed darkness of midnight, as Monsignor John Fleming

Processed into the church, with Fr. Walsh as deacon, and Fr. Praznik as subdeacon,

Behind a cross raised high and candles lit against the darkness,

The boys sang “Gesu Bambino,” in English:

When blossoms flowered 'mid the snows
Upon a winter night,
Was born the Child, the Christmas Rose,
The King of Love and Light.

The organist played softly as the boys’ voices soared:

The angels sang, the shepherds sang,
The grateful earth rejoiced;
And at His blessed birth the stars
Their exultation voiced.

And then the chorus, “Venite adoremus”:

O come let us adore Him,
O come let us adore Him,
O come let us adore Him,
Christ the Lord.

As Monsignor Fleming mounted the steps to the altar,

The church lights came on, and for the last time in the season, we sang “Adeste Fidelis.”

We sang it in perfect church Latin diction, following Sr. Muriel’s instructions for each syllable.

Fr. Fleming began the mass, “In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti . . . .”

Then, “Introibo ad altare Dei.”

Two eighth grade boys, in surplices and cassocks, responded,

“Ad Deum qui laetificat juventutum meum.”

The response was quick and natural—and not fully understood by the boys

Or the hundreds of people in the pews. In three or four years

This Latin would be obsolete, not to be heard again.

The medieval period, which stretched across hundreds of years,

Was ending. And yes, good riddance! Yet—

There was great beauty and pageantry there,

And to this little choir boy,

Mystery and power in the Latin,

The incense, the sincere prayers of so many of these people,

My friends and neighbors (so many of them now gone).

When it was over, about 1:30 a.m.,

I walked out of the church into the brisk, snowy night,

And walked, my 11-year-old self, the mile home,

Down East 262, to Forestview, to East 266, then home.

All was silence, that night so long ago, as I entered the dark house,

Past the darkened Christmas tree, the unopened presents,

Up the stairs to where Denny and I shared a room.

And I fell asleep, the last Christmas of the Medieval,

With “Gesu Bambino” dancing in my brain,

And hoping one of the presents under the tree was a pair of baseball spikes.

[Bob Coughlin. Chardon, Ohio. January 6, 2013]

Goodbye to 2011 and Greetings to 2012

I was traveling and otherwise busy as the year changed from 2011 to 2012 and didn't get to write any reflections about the passing and new birth.

I guess the words that entered my mind on New Year's Eve were "Deo Gratias." The old Latin phrase, first learned as a kid attending Latin masses at St. William's back in the early 1950s. Thank You, Lord God, for my life, our lives, my family, friends. Thank you that we have health, a good job, so many gifts. And prayers for those sick in body or troubled in spirit (I know many, as do you!). Prayers for those suffering from the Great Recession, those needing money and work, those without health care. Especially for those without hope. Especially for those without hope.

We got an annual Christmas card from a friend, Tom Liszkay, a Clevelander exiled long ago to Columbus, who closed it by reminding us to clothe the naked, feed the hungry, and shelter the homeless. Tom reminded us to live out the corporal and spiritual works of mercy, an injunction at the heart of our Catholic Christianity, and something I learned in my parents' home (where we fed the neighborhood kids, gave them companionship and love even if their parents neglected them, where my Mom and Dad offered a home to three alcoholic uncles and to my Grandmother in her old age); and learned from my teachers, both Ursuline nuns and lay teachers alike, in my Catholic grade school--St. Williams; and from our first pastor at St. William's, Monsignor John Flemming, who paid the family bills when my Dad was layed off from work; and from the wonderful teachers, both lay teachers and Marianist brothers and priests, at St. Joseph High School in Cleveland. All these wonderful teachers and models--who never saw what they wrought, the fruit of their works and their lives.

As Tom Liszkay said--Don't forget to practice the Works of Mercy.

And don't forget to say thank you to family, friends, and colleagues. And to the Lord--Deo Gratias.

My First Communion: 55 Years Ago Today

On May 20th, 1956--55 years ago to the day--I received my First Communion at St. William's Church, on East 260th Street in Euclid, Ohio. Sr. Ruth Marie, OSU [Ursuline], told us that this would be the happiest day of our lives. She was right.

I was born somewhat early in the Baby Boom, and Euclid was full of kids--and full of Catholics. I bet 60% of the residents of Euclid were Catholic back then (there were 7 Catholic churches in Euclid in the mid 1950's). Seven and eight-year-old boys were kept pretty separate: a line for the boys and a line for the girls, in order of height. I was fourth in line, being one of the shortest boys, and my partner was Randy Wohlgemuth (wonder where Randy is these days?). My cousin Tommy Fitzpatrick was much farther back in the line. I wouldn't be surprised if 200 kids made their First Communion that day.

Probably it was Fr. John Fleming who said the mass (the old Latin high mass). The church was packed to the rafters with kids, their parents, grandparents, and families. That old St. William's Church is now a gymnasium and sometimes bingo hall (sacrilege!)

We had a family party at my house on East 266th Street later that day--everybody came, grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles. I received $18 dollars in presents--I couldn't believe my luck!

First Communion Day, May 20, 1956--behind our house (655 East 266 Street, Euclid, Ohio):

Denny Coughlin, Susie Brock, Maggie Brock, Bobby Coughlin; in front of Maggie is Mary Ellen Coughlin). Allen Lane's house is on the left.

Pre Vatican II Lent--Some Memories

I have had the good fortune to bridge the old Catholic Church, pre Vatican II, and the new Church. The old church, the institution of my childhood, was still medieval in many ways, with an emphasis on authority and top-down discipline. The threat of eternal damnation was palpably felt by me and many other Catholics (if you want to get a feel for that era, read James Joyce's A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man). Of course there were many wonderful things about that era, and I still wax nostalgic about the Latin mass and the beautiful hymns, the mystery and majesty of the rites. My wife still thinks it odd that my favorite songs are "Tantum Ergo" and "Pange Lingua." I can still hear in memory Monsignor John Flemming's beautiful Irish tenor intoning these songs. He'd sing a capella, "Pange lingua, gloriosi," filling St. William's with the ancient words. And then the choir and congregation would join in. I was one of the few that seemed to understand much of the Latin spoken or sung at our masses before around 1962 or so.

Lent was serious business back then. It involved serious fast and abstinence, at least at our house. The abstinence was abstinence from meat (beef, pork, chicken, and the like) and anything made from meat--on Ash Wednesday and on all Fridays (all Fridays of the year, not just in Lent). The fast involved eating one meal per day with 2 smaller meals, and absolutely no eating between meals (this fast was mainly for adults, but not for small children or the elderly). In addition, everyone gave up something during Lent. It was usually something small, but this was taken seriously. Typical for a kid was to give up candy or chocolate.

When I was in 6th grade, I decided not to just give up something, but to do something. I promised the Lord that I would say the Stations of the Cross every day during Lent. That went pretty well for the first two weeks of Lent. And then I missed a day. I then promised the Lord to do 10 Stations of the Cross for a missed day. Then I missed another day, and promised to do 10 times 10 for any days missed thereafter. The missed days and the promises went on ond on until I was in the deep hole of a geometric progression! I needed not only a government bailout, but divine intervention itself to get me out of this Depression. Needless to say, I didn't ever make up my gigantic deficit and to this day I owe the Good Lord a bezillion Stations of the Cross! So much for my good intentions!

I found the lyrics to "Pange Lingua," written by Thomas Aquinas, on Wikipedia. Here they are with an English translation:

Latin text:

1. Pange, lingua, gloriosi
Corporis mysterium,
Sanguinisque pretiosi,
quem in mundi pretium
fructus ventris generosi
Rex effudit Gentium.

2. Nobis datus, nobis natus
ex intacta Virgine,
et in mundo conversatus,
sparso verbi semine,
sui moras incolatus
miro clausit ordine.

3. In supremae nocte coenae
recumbens cum fratribus
observata lege plene
cibis in legalibus,
cibum turbae duodenae
se dat suis manibus.

4. Verbum caro, panem verum
verbo carnem efficit:
fitque sanguis Christi merum,
et si sensus deficit,
ad firmandum cor sincerum
sola fides sufficit.

5. Tantum ergo Sacramentum
veneremur cernui:
et antiquum documentum
novo cedat ritui:
praestet fides supplementum
sensuum defectui.

6. Genitori, Genitoque
laus et jubilatio,
salus, honor, virtus quoque
sit et benedictio:
Procedenti ab utroque
compar sit laudatio.
Amen. Alleluja.

Englis translation:

Sing, my tongue, the Savior's glory,
of His flesh the mystery sing;
of the Blood, all price exceeding,
shed by our immortal King,
destined, for the world's redemption,
from a noble womb to spring.

Of a pure and spotless Virgin
born for us on earth below,
He, as Man, with man conversing,
stayed, the seeds of truth to sow;
then He closed in solemn order
wondrously His life of woe.

On the night of that Last Supper,
seated with His chosen band,
He the Pascal victim eating,
first fulfills the Law's command;
then as Food to His Apostles
gives Himself with His own hand.

Word-made-Flesh, the bread of nature
by His word to Flesh He turns;
wine into His Blood He changes;
what though sense no change discerns?
Only be the heart in earnest,
faith her lesson quickly learns.

Down in adoration falling,
Lo! the sacred Host we hail;
Lo! o'er ancient forms departing,
newer rites of grace prevail;
faith for all defects supplying,
where the feeble senses fail.

To the everlasting Father,
and the Son who reigns on high,
with the Holy Ghost proceeding
forth from Each eternally,
be salvation, honor, blessing,
might and endless majesty.
Amen. Alleluia.