REST IN PEACE

It was my first, and frankly I was nervous. Jerry Murray, my partner had done this kind of thing before, and so reassured me with visions of money dancing in my head. I peaked out the sanctuary door and saw people coming in, and yet the church was dimly lit, just what I expected.

When I looked at the altar-boy assignment sheet that week, there it was, Del Bloggolo/Murray –Tues. 8:00 am Mass, 9:00 am Funeral Mass. Reading it made me jumpy, a lump was in my throat, after all what does an 11-year old know about dead people, being in the same place with them and crying people?

I remember the last time I was at a funeral Mass, my first-grade teacher, old Miss Langon had died, and I went to the funeral parlor with my older sister Tess (Much older) on our way home from Our Lady of Lourdes School one afternoon. I went to the Mass the next morning to make sure that she was indeed dead and wouldn’t be yelling anymore, besides, I had to go because the school made us go. She was a cranky old maid about 150 years old, with a grey bun and thing legs in floral dresses. She carried a ruler around with her like a cop carries a nightstick, but used it more often on little first-graders.

Once the old witch accused me of talking in class, even though I didn’t and sent me to the wardrobe room and closed the doors on me! I was mad, and decided to strike back! On the shelf running the length of the closet, or shall I say my cell, was a shelf stocked with writing paper. I opened one package and began to crumple up the paper and stuff all the pockets of the kid’s coats. As the noon bell rang in the hallway, I was released and we put on our coats to march off to lunch. In those days you could go home to lunch, but had to be back at 1:00 pm promptly. As the kids put on their coats, they discovered the paper and the look of bewilderment crossed so many faces that day I never ever forgot it.

The experience of the old bags funeral has left me un-nerved, and every time I smelled flowers I think about the dead, and how horrific it would be when I had to face someone I loved dying. I may have been young, but my imagination was very active.

Finally Father LaTour appeared and got us in line to go out to the altar. Jerry had the large crucifix and I had a lit candle. Standing at the foot of the altar, suddenly I see the casket! My knees start to feel weak, my stomach is in a knot, and I am staring at the casket as it comes closer and closer. Behind is the grieving widow and a bunch of old people, slowly following the casket as it is led up toward me. Closer and closer it came, when suddenly I am in great shock and pain! Something is crawling down my forehead! Hot wax! The melting wax from the candle is running down my head, it hurts, and the dead guy is getting closer! Father signals me to go to the corner of the altar to get the incense boat, which I do and now I have to follow him around the casket! To alleviate my fears, I think about the money I would be tipped by whoever was going to tip me. I tried to figure that one out, but everyone looked like they had money, they were all wearing suits! This might be a problem, but then I realized Jerry might know since he did this before. After smoking the dead guy up, we turned and went onto the altar, and I hope that that was as close as I had to get to the casket that day. Finally, the Mass was over and once more, life returned to normal. The funeral director or relative of the dead man on wheels came back to where we were taking off the vestments and paid us both: $5.00! This was incredible money? I was rich, God this was wonderful!

I checked the assignment schedule once more to see if maybe I was on another funeral that week. For $5.00, bring them on baby!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO A GREAT GIANT FAN: MY HANDSOME NEPHEW GREG SCHNEIDER, GREAT HUSBAND AND FATHER!