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| | ������� �������� Harold Connolly |
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| ������� �� ����������� ������� The Journey for Olympic Gold ����� 22 |
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Chapter Twenty-two Hard as I tried I never won a single major collegiate competition; I simply was not good enough. But I did succeed in improving the school record in the hammer by five and a half feet and at least contributed that much to my Alma Mater, which I grew to love deeply. Boston College did not transform me into a profound scholar, a sapient philosopher, or a visionary entrepreneur. Like thousands of others, I received a fine basic liberal arts education, which prepared me for the professional goal I had chosen, that of a teacher**.** It took my association with the Jesuit Fathers and the atmosphere of Boston College to incite my quest for knowledge and my interest in teaching. Far more significant than the training for professional and material goals, which I could have received at any other university, was my teachers� spiritual influence. They convinced me that the adherence to definite moral standards in personal decisions and the existence of a concerned, supernatural Creator would sustain me throughout life, especially when it became trying. For the commencement I rented the customary black cap and gown; and the graduation gift, Mom and Dad gave me was the official Boston College graduate�s ring. To my mother, especially, the ring symbolized the grand finale of her determination to secure my higher education, and I dreaded disappointing her by not wearing it. Yet displaying the ostentatious jewelry clashed with my interpretation of the humility I learned from my Jesuit teachers. It seemed presumptuous to show off belonging to a higher educational bracket than did many of my friends who took differing directions. Despite mother's declaration that the ring manifested pride in my school, which I genuinely felt, the few times I didn't wear it were not to disappointing her. The solution to this dilemma eluded me, and I spent time after time pondering about a way out without hurting my parents. Then I had an idea. The next night I dropped by Uncle Jim�s. As usual, engaged with his string of nightly visitors, the Senator acknowledged my entrance with a motion of his hand towards one of the old wooden chairs strewn about his kitchen-office, and I settled down to wait for a free moment to get in a private word. The delay did not bother me - I always enjoyed listening to the Senator�s conversations, each time with greater admiration for his understanding of the needs and fears of the people in Somerville, and his ability to distinguish at first encounter, the credibility of the entreaties with which he was bombarded. This short, rotund man, whose childhood poverty had not permitted him to finish high school, could discuss any practical topic with keen perception never failing to uncover what was hidden under the surface of any issue. His inmate intuition and uncanny assessments of human character more than compensated for any shortcomings in Uncle Jim�s academic education and were directly responsible for his stable political survival. To me he was a graduate Magnum cum Laude from the University of Life, with practical knowledge that far outstripped anything that I had learned at Boston College. During the evening I noticed Uncle Jim glancing furtively several times at my new college ring, his eyes betraying a touch of melancholy which revealed to me what should have been obvious. This �Brick Bottom� Senator never had but always wished for the opportunity of a college education, like that he had helped make possible for his brother and sisters and probably many others. Jim was obviously acutely aware that his Senate colleagues, who rose to higher political leadership from more affluent backgrounds, were all university trained. Seeing him now with new understanding and recalling the innumerable occasions on which he helped or surprised me with his devoted attention, and just bursting with joy over finding my chance to reciprocate, I waited until the last visitor left. �Uncle Jim, I came to see you for a certain reason. You know how grateful I am for all you have done for me, and how highly I value your judgment and wisdom. You never studied in college, yet your advice has been the greatest source of my education. Now I�ve received a college ring, but I want you to have it and wear it. Please, Uncle Jim, accept the ring as a symbol of my love and respect for you.� He shook his head saying, �Dinny, I know you mean well, but you alone should wear that ring, proudly; you earned it.� �Uncle Jim, please, just try it on.� I removed the ring and put it on his finger. It fit perfectly. The Senator�s eyes filled as he fought back tears; he studied his hand in speechless astonishment. I put my arms around him. �So long, Uncle Jim,� I said and left him with his thoughts. I finally became supremely happy that my mother had given me such a wonderful graduation present. It was where it belonged on Senator Jim�s finger; something that should had been his a long time ago. My uncle never removed the ring from his finger. My mother soon recognized what I had done, but did not reveal her feelings on the matter, and we never discussed it. * * * Seven years later, on September 28, 1960, Uncle Jim got up as usual to get ready for Red to drive him to the Senate. He took his shower, stuffed his yesterday�s laundry in the basket his cleaning lady emptied twice a week, buttoned up in a new white shirt, and reached for his favorite heavy cufflinks, but never affixed them. Half an hour later Red, found him lying across his bed on his back, dead. �A stroke,� diagnosed Dr. Rubin, �I kept telling Jim he should find time to take care of himself. What a sad loss -- such a person!� Jimmy Gallagher, a dear boyhood friend of my uncle�s stopped at a gas station on his way to work, where he overheard the mechanics talking about �a terrible thing.� �What terrible thing?� He asked. �Haven�t you heard?� said one of the attendants, �Senator Jim�s dead. You know, he was too heavy, and no one could make him take care of himself. What a shame, the man had a heart of pure gold.� �What are you saying? It�s impossible! I talked to him only yesterday and he was O.K.� �Well, he�s gone today.� Gallagher drove directly to uncle Jim�s house, pushed his way through the gathered throng and walked in. He emerged a short while later and drove straight to the nearest tavern. Jim Gallagher had prided himself for staying on the wagon for over twenty years, but when he came to the crowded wake, he could hardly stand; only his lifelong conditioning enabled him to mumble the recitation of the rosary along with the other mourners at the wake. The rosary over, but all still kneeling in solemn quietude, Gallagher heavily raised his body to make the few steps towards the Senator where he slumped back to his knees at the open coffin. Tears streaming down his cheeks, he gazed at Senator Jim, and was heard to whisper, � Happy New Year in heaven, you big fat son of a bitch. We loved yuh.� The Somerville police department cordoned off four blocks to keep the four thousand people who attended the wake in line. Twenty- five persons at a time were allowed to file in to view the coffin. Men and women wept openly. They had lost their pal and best friend. The funeral was the largest the city had ever seen. The Speaker of the United States� House of Representatives, John McCormack, flew from Washington to be with his dear, good friend. The Governor of the State of Massachusetts, the Attorney General, the entire membership of the State Senate and House of Representatives, plus all the pages of both Houses, all the city officials of Somerville, all his old political opponents and friends filled St. Joseph�s Church and overflowed into the streets. Thousands of people to whom Senator Jim had devoted his life, the very same citizens who had voted him down when he ran for Mayor, and then turned around and gave him the greatest majority of his life, when he ran the following year for re-election to his Senate seat, lined the streets of Somerville, hats in hands and heads bowed for their Senator as the long funeral procession moved to St. Paul�s cemetery. Shortly after the funeral, my mother remarked: �They wanted to take off the ring, but I asked that he be buried with it on. I was sure that�s how you would have wanted it.� Copyright � 1999-2002 Harold Connolly www.pseudology.org |