by Conti, Gene;
Day by day the nation was drifting further away from its roots, which our Founding Fathers had planted almost 250 years ago. Our public schools and public university system had been co-opted by the liberals many decades ago. Even many of the Christian and Catholic colleges and universities had become acolytes of the progressives, socialists, secularist, humanists—which are all just communism lite.
He explained all this to me one hot autumn afternoon as we walked under a canopy of red maples that lined both sides of our path on his new campus of Immaculate Conception College (ICC). I had just started to teach there several weeks earlier, with Father’s influence and encouragement. The tree colors had just peaked, and the autumn reds were incredibly vibrant that year. The mountains in the distance were displaying a radiant rainbow of their fall foliage.
“He alone, who owns the youth, gains the future,” Father Ed stated, quoting Hitler who understood very well that the youth are the key to the future. “The Hitler jugend, or youth, that Hitler had carefully fostered in the pre-war years became his most fanatical followers once World War II commenced,” Father Ed continued as he pulled his handkerchief from his back pocket to wipe a bead of sweat that had started to drip from his forehead. “If one can train youth for evil, why not for good. As the Good Book says, ‘Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.’ Seems ol’ Hitler understood the Bible better than most Christians,” he added as we entered the student center, which had vending machines, on the ICC campus. I sprung for some bottled water; and as I was putting my dollars in the machine, I turned and asked “Proverbs?”
“22:6, Solomon was no slouch,” he immediately responded as he reached for the bottle I was handing him.
“I recall he was also quite the stud muffin, with what … seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines?”
Father didn’t reply.
CHAPTER NINE
THE MONKS
I continued my packing. The books were finished. Next I had to pack the DVDs, and then the tedious job of wrapping all the delicate fossils, which I was not looking forward to. As I worked I reflected back to how Father Ed had come to start Immaculate Conception College.
He had great reverence for the Blessed Mother. It was her Basilica he was drawn to those many years ago before he became a priest. He often prayed to her to intercede for him when he was in some tough spot.
“Who do we run to first when we are in a jam?” he once asked me. As he answered his own question: “Your mom, she will always listen to you.” He recounted the times he would approach his own birth mother when he really needed something or had a peccadillo to answer for. “Better me mamm than me tad, who meted out the more rigorous discipline if needed. We were required to go out in the field and cut our own switch from a shrub or tree.”
I remembered it had been Father Ed’s goal to save the country by helping the youth. He had been praying to the Blessed Virgin Mary (BVM) for what seemed like an eternity with no answer in sight. He had decided to get in his car and just drive. “Hey, it worked well another time and I became a priest,” he confessed at another of our mastermind meetings over beer. He swore that a Guinness actually helped the brain to think better. Now I know that alcohol is a vasodilator, but think better?
He headed out on Interstate 66 driving west out of D.C. As he approached Front Royal, he decided to turn off and head into the Blue Ridge Mountains since it was such a beautiful calm day with just a hint of a mild breeze. Not caring what country roads he was taking, he had the windows down and the radio off and was just soaking in God’s creation.
It was getting late and the sun was just above the crest of the ridges when he came upon what appeared to be a complex of old stone buildings, probably from the late 1800s. He drove through the entrance, which had an old, faded wooden sign identifying an abbey. He recalled he initially didn’t even take close note of the name, as the paint was almost completely flaked off anyway.
The entrance took him to the main building, which was sorely in need of repair, as were the other buildings. Before he reached the top step an elderly thin monk, Brother Stanislaus, opened the main front doors, which were made of solid oak and massive by any standard.
Contrary to being quiet and sullen, Brother Stanislaus had a big smile on his face and greeted Father Ed with a big bear hug, which set him mentally off balance for a moment. Then Brother Stanislaus grabbed Father Ed’s arm and virtually dragged him inside before Father knew what was happening.
The friendly old monk pulled a long, heavy, knotted rope that ran up into the tower, apparently attached to a large bell which was out of sight. The clanging that echoed off the stone walls was deafening and almost disorientating. Father Ed had to cover his ears. Several monks came running from different directions, appearing out of nowhere. They ran directly to the old man vigorously pealing the bell like there was a fire to be extinguished. Everyone was shouting at him and one another, wanting to know what the emergency was all about, totally ignoring Father Ed.
Once the calamity had settled down, Father Ed was invited to dinner. The monks wanted information as to what was happening in the outside world almost more than they wanted to know about their guest. These were Carmelite Monks and had a special devotion to the BVM. Their heads were shaved, save a small ring of hair that appeared like a halo on their heads called, a tonsure. They wore the classic tunic (habit) of brown wool with an attached cowl or capuche and leather cincture in lieu of a belt. On their chest was a large wooden cross with a metal corpus of the crucified body of Christ. Their feet were shod with sandals.
The food was excellent, grown by hand in their own gardens. No pesticides, no herbicides, no insecticides and no GMOs, either. I remember Father Ed chuckling that he didn’t think they even knew what Roundup was. The various vegetable and fruit flavors virtually exploded on your taste buds, and he wanted to savor every morsel. There wasn’t a course that he didn’t relish, and he ate each one heartily.
These monks knew how to eat. But they also knew how to work. There wasn’t a fat one in the lot. No junk food was consumed here. I remember Father Ed mentioned in passing that the monks brewed an excellent dark lager.
From sunup to sundown they were either praying or working the land or doing both. This sacrifice was a true labor of love, and it showed on their faces; they were by and large a happy lot. Relating this story to me, over his usual pint of Guinness and a very large corned beef sandwich, we both agreed that at the end of a work day, these monks had absolutely no problem sleeping—no need for a sleeping pill.
Contrary to many of my patients who do not work other than lift a bottle of booze to their lips or to snort some cocaine up their nose, and need a pharmacy of pills to function daily and still can’t sleep at night. These are the same bad habits that put them on government disability and welfare programs in the first place. Only now they are using tax dollars, instead of their own money, to continue to feed their same destructive lifestyles. What a deal!
The head prior did most of the talking with Father Ed. It seemed that the main monastery for the order was located in the Rocky Mountains of Wyoming. This abbey was a branch of that Carmelite Order and was struggling financially. Ever since the government truly became secular, all religions were in effect outlawed.
The first amendment became “freedom of worship,” rather than “freedom of religion.” The difference being that one could practice their religion all they wanted, sing all they wanted, praise and worship all they wanted—but only within the confines of government approved buildings, facilities, or complexes, but not beyond them. Use of private homes as churches or for Bible study was expressly forbidden by law. To add insult to injury, all churches and religious institutions had lost their tax-exempt status.
Evangelizing, therefore, was taboo. Anyone caught proselytizing outside the bounds of designated worship centers was subject to immediate and indefinite detainment. The government was careful not to use the term “arrest.�
� No trial, no legal representation, no judge, and no jury. The word on the street was you were processed directly to a FEMA camp; you do not pass GO, you do not collect $200. You were not heard from again. People had forgotten about the updated National Defense Authorization Act (NDAA), which was signed into law by President Obama in 2016, authorizing all of this.
As a result, contributions to many charitable causes went begging, the abbey being one of them. Yes, they were able to sustain themselves by growing their own food and fostering husbandry of livestock; however, land taxes for large properties and estates had increased dramatically. The government was constantly looking for ways to fill their empty coffers since the dollar and all fiat paper currencies worldwide had become essentially worthless.
The lapdog press that supported the government’s decisions at every turn always bought into the “soak the rich” mentality. However, not all large estates belong to wealthy people. The abbey and many small farmers were hit hard. The small farmer had now reverted back to becoming a sixteenth century serf for the large agricorporations that had gobbled them up.
CHAPTER TEN
A DREAM AND A PLAN
Father Ed listened very attentively to the prior as he laid out his woes. When he was finished, Father Ed presented a possible solution. “Let’s create a college with the abbey being the central focal point of the enterprise.” The name came to him instantly. “We can call it Immaculate Conception College.”
“Student tuition will cover the operating funds. We’ll find investors whose initial seed money will fund the restoration of the buildings and upgrades to the property. The operation would be small but sustainable enough to get it off the ground. The college could expand as net profits permitted. We could add additional buildings as we grow and prosper. St. John’s University in New York, on Long Island, is a great example of how this will work.”
The prior and other monks sitting around that rustic wooden dinner table were ecstatic and could barely contain themselves. They all admitted they had been praying to the Blessed Mother, their patroness, for a miracle. This was to be their last year, and they were mentally preparing themselves to close shop and sell off the abbey and its property. The name of the college, the name that Father Ed had proposed was perfect because it honored her as well.
The prior, being a bit more level headed than the younger monks, asked Father Ed with whom he expected to develop such fiduciary relationships to underwrite this project to get it started.
Father Ed, his mind racing with solutions, was already two steps ahead of the prior. He explained to all the monks that he had made many contacts throughout the years. He knew many men of integrity who despised what the government had devolved into and who would jump at the chance of establishing a biblical college. They were not stupid people who would just fork over money willynilly and watch it go down the drain. The time was ripe for this kind of investment. With every crisis comes opportunity—the yin and yang concept. Pagans had also been created by God and came up with some very profound concepts and ideas at times. Confucius had always maintained his popularity for sound reasons.
The rest is history, to use the hackneyed expression for what then transpired quickly. Father Ed was focused like a laser beam from then on. He plowed through all his contacts and sold his vision to the majority of them. He was pleasantly surprised by how many wanted a piece of the action. Other associates and investors of his were able to cut through the maze and morass of red tape to get the permits, licenses, charters, and a fog of other concessions that were necessary for the project to succeed. Father Ed didn’t want to know the details of how they accomplished it; he just wanted to expedite the creation of the college. Within four years it was a reality way beyond his initial expectations. The entire abbey and property transformed into a beautiful campus, with a couple of new additional buildings designed to blend with the original European monastic ones. The grounds, walkways, and gardens all manicured with flora indigenous to the Blue Ridge. It felt natural and not overdone.
The students felt at home in this lush setting; sitting on the grass, others under shade trees, and some on benches that occasionally lined the paths and walkways.
The jewel at the center of it all was the abbey. Totally restored and refurbished inside and out, it was a beautiful place for the monks to continue to live and pray. A section of the land was set aside for them and the agricultural students to continue to labor.
The local Bishop dedicated the chapel, which needed to be almost totally rebuilt, to Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception on commencement day. Father Ed could have done without the pomp and circumstance put on by the numerous religious actors who were present that day. He would have preferred something more staid, solemn, and reverent. His dream was fulfilled, but not totally complete. The icing was not yet on the cake. He was on the board of directors, the executive committee, the course selection and approval committee, taught some courses, and worked alongside the monks and students in the fields to stay in shape. By then he was pushing ninety. Little did I know, but I was to be that icing on the cake.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE JOB OFFER
The sneaky dog invited me out to the campus the spring before I was to begin the fall semester. Father Ed had been giving me progress reports regarding the remodeling and alterations to the abbey, chapel, and grounds. He deliberately timed our meeting on campus when everything was in full bloom: the forsythias, mountain laurel, daffodils, rhododendrons, azaleas, and the Bartlett pear trees with their delicate white blossoms floating down on us like a gentle rain. It was a veritable Garden of Eden. The infinite spectrum of colors and fragrances just overwhelmed ones senses. The tour couldn’t have been planned better. He must have placed an advance order for the picture perfect weather, which just added to the overall aura and ambiance of the entire setting. Talk about setting one up for the kill.
As we were walking along one of the pathways through the campus complex, he asked me straight out, “Joe, have you ever thought about teaching college?”
Now Father Ed knew I had taught high school science decades ago, prior to my going to medical school. I didn’t answer him directly, other than to request he elaborate. I believe I simply said, “Why do you ask?”
By now we had entered the campus’ main quadrangle, a large wide-open area of beautiful rosé colored paving stones. The quadrangle was like the hub of a wheel, with walkways radiating out from its center. One could turn in almost any direction and get a snapshot of the entire campus. At the very center of the quadrangle was a massive forty-foot gleaming white flagpole, the base of which was surrounded by a charming colorful bed of flowers encased by a circular stone wall of paving stones about two feet high. The bed compassed out about twelve feet or so from the pole’s cement platform. The monks asked to be engaged in caring for the flower bed, as well as many of the landscaping projects.
The top of the pole was capped off with a golden globe and an eagle mounted on it. This golden eagle was positioned with its wings swept back in a dive attack mode. Old Glory was fluttering intermittently when a gust of wind would hit it.
“I have never seen an eagle on a flagpole like it Father,” I commented. “Who designed it, who made it?”
“Great little story behind it,” responded Father Ed, and he went on to unfold the tale. “One of our investors is former Air Force, as well as a design engineer. He is the one who came up with the idea. We found an artisan in fine metal work right here in Front Royal who actually fabricated it,” he beamed proudly as he placed one foot on the ledge of the wall and lit up a Camacho Ecuador cigar, one of his few immoderate vices that he allowed himself.
He persevered with his little saga.
“Which direction to place the eagle? Facing down the path toward the abbey, down the walkway looking upon the chapel, toward the social sciences building, or gazing forth at the mountains? After some minor bickering, the squabble was settled. It would face down the path to the abbey.”
“A myth was concocted, no one knows by whom, which spread like wildfire the first year. It was said that if ever one of the brothers performed a nefarious deed, the eagle would come alive, swoop down upon the errant monk, and carry him away to God knows where.” Father Ed then gave a hearty laugh as he produced a perfect smoke ring.
To one side, on the edge of the quadrangle, a magnificent new pearly white marble statue of the Blessed Virgin had been placed on a pedestal surrounded by clusters of knockout rose bushes in a semi-circle behind her. The roses directly behind the statue seemed much taller and were attached to a trellis of sorts, which appeared to almost frame the statue. The statue, standing on a half hemisphere of the earth, including its stanchion, must have been about eight to nine feet high. She was standing in a simple prayerful pose, head slightly bent, and her hands together close to her chest and pointed toward heaven. We stopped momentarily to admire it.
I turned to Father and conjectured as I looked him straight in the eye, “I’ll bet dollars to donuts that you were the prime instrument of having this statue commissioned to be carved and placed in this exact location.”
All he could say is, “you win,” as he smiled, chuckled, and gave me a wink. “Let’s grab a cup of coffee and talk about your future,” he said tilting his head in the direction we were to go.
In short order we arrived at the coffee shop, appropriately called Holy Grounds. Decorated as a medieval castle eating hall, the coffee shop was complete with heavy wooden straight-backed chairs and hefty tables. The windows were faux stained glass with heavy draperies. Coffee was appropriately served in ale-style tankards. The waiters and waitresses (working students) were clothed in period attire. The coffee was excellent, but not cheap.