I'll Love You Tomorrow

by Welby Thomas Cox, Jr.

  Loughs (lakes) are a prominent feature of the Irish countryside. Lough Neagh though large, is shallow and was formed, according to legend when a giant scooped up a handful of mud to thrown at his English Protestant enemy. The mud fell into the Irish Sea and formed the Isle of Man while the hole filled with water to form the Lough. Five of the six counties of Northern Ireland share its shore and though stretches of its rim have become industrialized, most have been left to the fishermen who harvest the eels and unusual species of fresh water herring-the-pollan. More picturesque, because it is a sea lough and tidal, is Strangford Lough, almost totally land-locked except for a narrow entrance with the village of Strangford on one side and Portaferry on the other, with the tides racing between them.

  Most picturesque of all are the island-studded loughs of Upper and lower Lough Erne in Co. Fermanagh, stretching some 30 miles or 48 kilometers from Belick to Belturbet in Cavan, just over the Eire border. Londonderry lying at the head of Lough Foyle, is the second largest city in the province and is certainly the city with the longest memory, if not the longest name. Every year it commemorates the occasion in 1688 when 13 of the city’s apprentices slammed shut the gates against the Catholic Earl of Antrim’s regiment sent to retake the city by the Catholic Monarch, James II. Ever since, Londonderry…now polarized has regarded itself the guardian of Protestantism in Ireland…a less than admirable relic in a country predisposed to religious bigotry.

  XI

  IT’S CHRISTMAS AT HOME!

  “The secrets of science must not always pass into the hands of all, for some could use them to evil ends…”

  (Roger Bacon) Certainly the Reverend Charles Dodgson, he of Northern Wales, would have thought well of Mr. Bacon’s warning…for as Lewis Carroll for which he was better known…first met and entertained Alice Liddell (aka Alice in Wonderland) whom he would immortalize all over the world. (WGH)

  IN 1950, life in the real world was pretty laid back, hands on opportunity for love in a balanced community of family, friends, church and the work place. Not necessarily in that order but a person was more likely to get a “friendly talking to by a wise uncle,” if his or her life seemed out of balance. It is important for those of you who will insist upon playing the race card here for the author to acknowledge that there was racism in Nashville, Tennessee in 1950. But those who created the conditions which brought St. Joseph Asylum into being did not stop in the middle of the purely sexual act to dispute who was using what water fountain. Forgive me if I say that these folks were too busy with selfish acts, creating all kinds of human beings that no one wanted, including themselves, to notice that there was a fountain.

  Other legislation (Roe vs. Wade) would come giving opportunity to abort these unwanted overnight events for these totally lazy (nee Beings), who could not take the time from these feverish moments of lust to insist on safe sex. But for now, the most convenient receptacle for the offspring was the orphanage. And, life at St. Joseph was pretty laid back. There were too few occasions for the boys to get excited, and life seemed so much more smooth when there was less commotion and distractions from the day-to-day activity.

  But beginning with the Thanksgiving Day Holiday, and thereafter, until Christmas, there was a heightened expectancy for activities at the Home. The arts played a major role in focusing the energy of the boys, be they seven or fourteen: letter writing campaigns to families for gift-giving solutions from the older boys; while the younger boys wrote to Santa and Mrs. Claus of the dreams for a Christmas filled with flashlights, locks, candy, books and clothes. There were literally dozens of Catholic families from the wealthier east-end parishes such as Holy Spirit, Our Lady of Lourdes, Trinity and even into more blue-collar neighborhood parishes such as Resurrection, St. Phillip Neri, St. Louis Bertrand and the Cathedral of the Assumption, all clamoring to sponsor the children at the orphanage…all carefully coordinated by Father Hermann. Guaranteed, no child would awake on Christmas morning to find that his letter had gone unanswered…but let us not get ahead of the fun and celebration of Christmas.

  The Christmas letter writing campaign was an early on delight to make certain that the letters were timely received by the families and other Catholic organizations such as the Knights of Columbus (not to be confused with the KKK, founded in Tennessee just after the Civil War).

  Each year Buddy wrote his special “secret” letter, which he didn’t bother to send with all the others, because Buddy had figured it out, Santa didn’t read all those letters…he was a mind reader and therefore would be able to read Buddy’s “secret” letter. It hadn’t worked for the last two years but Buddy was optimistic and wrote the letter again.

  The letter always started the same…Dear Santa and Mrs. Claus…I have been especially good this year and I have been practicing being the best little boy that any family could ever want. I know that I am never going to be able to leave St. Joseph with my mother because she has a boyfriend who is married, so I was hoping that you could hook me up with a nice family. I am so very eager to become adopted and I know that I would make an extra special addition to any family wanting a fu-loving kid. Watching and hoping…Love, Buddy.

  The boys’ choir began to practice for special devotions of the Holy Mass and most especially for the Mass on Christmas Eve. Additionally, the choir prepared to support the Christmas Story presentation of the nativity, and in 1950, the girls from St. Mary came over to watch the play and some even participated…a good move by Father Hermann to begin the process of assimilation for the sexes beginning in August.

  All of the activities related to the Christmas play, and the choir, was coordinated by Sister Luke, a brilliant and beautiful thirty-something nun who hailed from Boston. Sister Luke was the Librarian, and as such, she read weekly to all the children in an effort to encourage more reading. She was particularly fond of reading sports hero books which chronicled the lives of such great ballplayers as Bob Cousey of the world famous Boston Celtics, of Ted Williams of the world famous Boston Red Sox (and even of the one who got away from Boston, ‘The Sultan of Swat,’ Babe Ruth), but even though she was successful in turning Buddy Quinn into the all-time reading champion at the orphanage (reading average one book per week with 52 full book report)…she was unable to dissuade Buddy from his beloved New York Yankees and the Brooklyn Dodgers.

  Buddy loved the Yankees nearly as much as he loved the University of Kentucky Basketball Team and its head coach Adolph Rupp…not to be confused with Adolph Hitler, the racists… and maniacal killer of five million Jews. Although there were those in the country who chose to cast Rupp as the villain, cloaking him in the mantle of the racists, because of the color barrier which existed in the Kentucky basketball program. No one ever accused Rupp of intentionally excluding blacks from playing on the team but Rupp was an old man who had grown accustomed to doing things the old fashioned way. The Alumni were happy with the way he went about winning conference and national titles but unlike a John Wooden, the incredible basketball maestro at UCLA who had made the coaching adjustment to encourage blacks to play college basketball, Coach Rupp just couldn’t turn the corner.

  But none-the-less that didn’t stop Buddy and all the other little white kids of the 50’s from sitting steadfastly at the radio for each game and listen with heart pounding rapture as the Wildcats of Kentucky did battle under the undeniable talented players assembled by one of the legendary and winningest coaches in the history of the game.

  The biggest Kentucky fan at St. Joseph was Joe Tough. Although Joe was black, he didn’t realize that Rupp was a racist (which he wasn’t and no one ever accused him of being a racist) … Tough didn’t realize that he was black…he just didn’t live in that world…his world was sports and sports statistics.

  But Tough loved Kentucky and he especially loved and admired Cliff Hagan. Tough tried to emulate Hagan’s every game move and had his world famous hook-shot down to a science. In fact Tough was unstoppable around the basket…get the ball to Tough down in the paint and Tough w
ould lay in an automatic hook-shot, ringing up two points.

  One cold February morning Buddy Quinn carried dirty sheets to the laundry to be washed and pressed.

  “Buddy…Buddy!” Joe Tough called out to his friend…“Look what I have.”

  Tough proudly displayed an 8x10 black and white autographed photo of Cliff Hagan shooting his patented hook-shot. Now Buddy had never seen Cliff Hagan and he was greatly enamored with the photo of this beautiful hero, Tough gave the photo to Buddy for closer inspection and Buddy made a dash for the door of the laundry. Bad move… Tough picked up a broom and threw it the length of the laundry, as though he was a warrior throwing a spear. His throw was as precise as the hook-shot of Cliff Hagan hitting poor Buddy Quinn in the right elbow which immediately went numb.

  Buddy Quinn screamed in pain, dropping the photo he ran across the lawn and into the main hall where Sister Mary Como was conducting her now famous tour of the orphanage. She could see that Buddy was in great distress as she attempted to calm him down leading his to the infirmary and the professional attention of Sister Claire.

  Buddy had suffered a compound fracture of his elbow and would remain in a cast for several months causing him to miss the basketball season. Joe Tough felt especially bad for his little buddy…but one thing was clear to all the other boys…when it came to Cliff Hagan…you didn’t mess with Joe Tough,

  ********************

  Another big project included washing all the windows at the orphanage, and they were then adorned by artwork of the children, depicting winter scenes with all styles of reindeer, sleighs, Christmas trees, and children of various countries in costumes of the country. These events required a great deal of research by the children, spending hours in the library without objection and horse-play.

  The big night of the Christmas play and the Christmas music presentation had the orphanage in a glorious mood and soon it began to take on the full mantle of the season. The orphanage seemed to simmer with color and the smell of fresh fruit, the oranges permeating the hallways, the apples, tangerines, nuts and loose candy that would fill all the stockings certain to be hanged with so much care.

  Yes, there was a festive mood and just a little humor over the role Joe Tough would play in the play, “The Gifts of the Magi.” Tough was to be one of the kings from the orient and Sister Luke had outfitted Tough in a giant turban and pointed-toed shoes. And then it happened…the girls arrived early from St. Mary, several school busses unloaded behind the kitchen and the girls were escorted into the gym where they prepared for parts in the play or as members of the choir.

  All the boys ogled and aghed over each of the girls who knew they were being watched by the boys and giggled with glee over their new-found admirers. Father Hermann made his appearance with Sister Mary Como escorting him to a place of honor. Nearby several members of the orphanage’s Board of Directors took up their places as well. Frank Halliburton and his wife were there, Dr. Guppda with his wife and Dr. Arnot, the dreaded dentist was there with his giant set of white teeth smiling at all to see. Everyone agreed that she was his wife as well as the poster child for perfect teeth.

  The lights dimmed and the players took up positions and when the lights came up on the set, there was a beautiful Nativity scene. Mary knelt near the crib and Joseph was attentive, standing near the burro and the cow…cleverly painted on cardboard…and then there was Joe Tough with the other kings…offering gifts of myrrh, frankincense and gold and then the music from the choir began with the classic, “We Three Kings.”

  The choir sang so beautifully and the play went on as it had been scripted…no one wanted it to end but it lasted for well over an hour. Afterward there was punch and cookies while everyone congratulated those who had performed…most of all they were grateful that Joe Tough was there. That he had been freed from the horrible experience and was about to go on to a new life with wonderful experiences certain to come. Joe would soon be 26 years-of-age, he had finally graduated, no longer on scholarship, he would fix his lunch pail, catch the bus and go off each day as a productive citizen of the community. It had been a long run at St. Joseph Asylum for the boy/man who didn’t know his name but who knew instinctively that out there…beyond the lane, there was a world filled with magic…just like Christmas everyday but Tough knew as well because his good Father Hermann had told him so…that it could also be Tough!

  Buddy Quinn, the little boy who had nearly died in the tunnel accident, who had decided to run away… (because… everyone thought… he missed his mother), finally confided to Father Hermann that when he died, or nearly died, he had a vision of a man standing over him, placing a handkerchief over his nose and mouth and as he did so he spoke to Buddy in a kind and gentle manner, that he was going to be ok. Buddy had listened carefully to the voice and determined that it was the voice of his father…and it was he, whom Buddy had run-away from the orphanage to find.

  One-day Buddy Quinn would find his father, but he would not be in time to thank him for being there for him, to get Buddy through the frightening experience. The last time Buddy would see his father would be in 1970, when he would be notified that his father had died of a heart attack and was to be laid to rest from the Bossley Funeral Home in the paupers cemetery, paid for by the City of Nashville. This wasn’t appropriate as far as Buddy was concerned, so he made arrangements with the funeral director and saw to the burial of his father next to his beloved mother at Calvary Cemetery on Newburg Road.

  ********************

  Father Edwards, his friend from St. Louis Bertrand came to the orphanage in the spring as he had promised Buddy. He brought several of the neighborhood children to run and play with the other kids. He and Father Hermann pitched horseshoes and enjoyed the opportunity to visit. Father wouldn’t have the time to come back but he and Buddy would meet again four years later.

  St. Louis Bertrand sponsored a basketball game, in their gym with the opposing team to be St. Joseph Asylum. Buddy Quinn was now in the sixth grade and had grown to nearly six feet tall…none of the kids at St. Louis Bertrand, nor Father Edwards knew the little boy who had come to the day care center but before the basketball game was scheduled to start, Father Edwards spoke to those gathered, including Buddy’s mother and her friend Ham.

  “We are unable to start this game until the boy from St. Joseph, who stole the wallet from the locker room returns it to me immediately!”

  Well you could have heard a pin drop…all the team members looked at each other in a startled fashion.

  Richard Farmer, the coach of the orphanage team gathered the boys about him.

  “Ok, which one of you took the wallet?” He asked sternly.

  No one spoke…no one knew what to say in spite of the accusation.

  Father Edwards, standing resplendently in his immaculate white Dominican Priest cassock…pointed his spindly index finger at Buddy Quinn.

  “Young man give me the wallet!” he demanded.

  Farmer was angry…he took Quinn by the arm and marched him through the crowd including his mother and her friend, into the locker room.

  “How could you Buddy?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “These people have been so kind to you.”

  “But coach, I promise…I didn’t steal anyone’s wallet or anything…it must be some kind of mistake…you can check my things right here.”

  “Ok, Buddy… let me go through your things.” After which, Farmer reported to Father Edwards that he had gone through Buddy Quinn’s belongings and there wasn’t anything there.

  “This is our little Buddy Quinn?” The priest asked in totally shock.

  “Yes this is Buddy…who has gown quite a bit over the last four years…in more ways than one Father…I don’t believe the boy is either a thief or a lair. I have seen him every day in the gym, at practice…he is a leader of his team and a really good person.”

  “Ok, Mr. Farmer, let us play the game and perhaps the wallet will show up.”

  Well the game we
nt on, but it would be an understatement to say that, the day had been ruined. With Buddy under suspicion by this priest who had previously been so kind to him. And Buddy had been humiliated there before his mother and her friend Ham, who had come to watch their boy play ball for only the first time.

  But when the game started, all was forgotten in the moment. The cheerleaders on both sides whipped the crowd into a typical fury. Buddy put on a show…but he wasn’t the subject of the day’s darling on the court. Bonnie Texel would play in the next game on the eighth grade squad…a girl playing on a boys’ team. Playing and staring as she ran up the score, at her leisure, Bonnie Texel was a thing of rare beauty, an athlete that comes along once in the lifetime of a coach…regrettably, Bonnie came along 40 years too soon.

  (Bonnie Texel was a woman of unusual talent. She would get a scholarship to play basketball at Sacred Heart Academy, the prestigious girls Catholic high school… breaking the color barrier there and later, she would accept a scholarship to play ball at Tennessee Tech beginning a basketball dynasty at this small college which could, and rightly… should have been the legacy of the University of Tennessee or even Vanderbilt University…but regrettably in the 1950’s both universities were stuck in the middle ages.)

  When it was all over, both teams from St. Joseph won convincingly. The kid who had reported the stolen wallet admitted to Father Edwards that he had been joking. Father kicked him out of the gym with the admonition not to ever return. And, before the gathered crowd, he publically apologized to Buddy and his mother.

  After that event, Father Edwards came to the orphanage to meet with Father Hermann…to explain what had occurred. While they ate lunch, Father Edwards asked a few questions regarding Buddy’s future.