BISHOP FAN S NOLI

In the entrance foyer of the Albanian Orthodox Cathedral on E. Broadway in South Boston there is a bust of Bishop Fan S. Noli the founder of our church. The Bishop was our spiritual leader until his death in 1965. Most of the congregants know him as a clergyman but he was much more than that. He was a writer, scholar, diplomat, politician, historian, and orator and also served for a time as Prime Minister of Albania. He graduated from Harvard and later earned his doctorate from Boston University.


In the 1950’s our Parish priest, Father Ellis lived next door to us in the City Point section of Southie. We became close so it wasn’t unusual that he called and asked if I would pick up Bishop Noli and chauffeur him to the Cathedral. I said I would consider it an honor. This would be my opportunity to question the Bishop about his amazing life --a one on one interview with a true genius.


But this is what happened. As we rode away I became tongue tied-a complete brain freeze. The conversation was one sided with occasional grunts and monosyllable responses on my part. The Bishop must have thought that Father Ellis had sent him a complete babbling idiot as a joke.

I dropped him off and he thanked me. As I rode away I began to think how I had missed such a golden opportunity. These many years later I still regret it.

I dropped him off and he thanked me. As I rode away I began to think how I had missed such a golden opportunity. These many years later I still regret it.

GENERAL M'CARTHUR

As a young boy I grew up during the Second World War. I closely followed the progress of the War in both the Pacific and European campaigns. It was only natural that I idolized our military leaders. In particular Gen M’Carthur caught my fancy. His brilliant island hopping plan eventually brought the Japanese Army to its knees. Later he was placed in charge of the Korean “Police Action” when the North Koreans invaded South Korea. Against every ones advice he staged an invasion at Inchon behind the North Korean Army and drove them back to the Chinese border. When the Chinese came to their rescue M’Carthur wanted to bomb the Chinese supply lines in China. President Truman feared that this might start WWIII and told the General to back down. Since M’Carthur spent his entire career in the East, he felt he knew best the oriental mind and that no such thing would happen and so kept up the campaign to gather support for bombing. This led to his firing. 

In 1951 he returned to address the Congress and gave his famous speech ending with the phrase “Old soldiers never die they just fade away”. After that he toured several major cities as a returning hero. In July he was scheduled to visit Boston. They published the Parade Route so I knew where he would be after the downtown visit. Lo and behold he would be passing via Day Blvd. in the late afternoon. At the time I was working at Dorgan’s in the kitchen helping my cousin who was the head chef. I knew if I timed it right I could see the General. I stood on Day Blvd with practically no one near me. When he passed in his convertible he was standing and since I was the only one there he nodded in my direction. The vision of my hero acknowledging my presence is seared into my memory bank. I can see him today as If it was yesterday.

IRISH WAKE

The street where I lived (West Fifth) had a variety of ethnic groups. Among them were Greeks, Albanians, Armenians etc. but it was predominately made up of Irish Catholics. When one of our Irish neighbors passed I went to the wake at the Casper Funeral Home on Dorchester St. to pay my respect. After offering my condolences to the family and the lately departed I was approached by one of the funeral directories and directed to a lower floor where there was a gathering.

 In contrast to the somber assembly above there was noise, laughter, back slapping, liquor and stories of the lately departed. At first I thought it was disrespectful to the family above but as the evening continued and I took part I changed my mind. The Irish had it right. The wake was a celebration of the person’s life not his death. That was my first introduction to the “Irish Wake”

SUBSTITUTE TEACHERS

I received my elementary education at the Bigelow School off West Fourth St in Southie. We were taught by a staff of dedicated teachers who were determined that we receive the best education that the City of Boston could provide. It provided me the basis of an education that took me to the Graduate level in college. This story is not about them; rather it is about substitute teachers.

The majority of substitute teachers we saw came just to maintain decorum during the class period. We were told to use the time as a “study period.” There were two substitute teachers however that stand out in my mind.

The first was a recently returned soldier from WWII. He told us of his exploits while in Italy including the time he spent in Rome before mustering out. He described a church that was huge with a towering Rotunda and magnificent altar, of museums containing sculptures and paintings, and of a chapel where God was painted on the ceiling. Of course he was describing the Vatican and the Sistine Chapel. I hung on every word spoken. I will eternally be grateful to him for exposing a world outside of my very limited knowledge as a young boy.

The second substitute teacher was a recent graduate from college. She came to teach the Music class we had once a week. She brought with her music scores of songs sung during the Civil War period. With her back to us at the piano we sang songs like The Battle Hymn of the Republic, Dixie, When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again etc. When she passed out the song Massa’s in the Cold, Cold Ground, we all kind of snickered. Without a word spoken between us we bellowed out “My Ass is in the Cold, Cold Ground.” Every time the refrain returned we upped the volume a little bit until the final refrain where we screamed as loud as 12 year old mischievous boys can, “My Ass is in the Cold, Cold Ground”

That is the memory of 70 years ago at the old Bigelow School.

THE JUKEBOX

Before there were smartphones where you can produce music instantly with a click of a button there was the Jukebox. In the Restaurant I worked as a teenager- that is what we had for entertainment. My father and Uncle were part owners of Joe’s Spa in the 1950’s. I had just graduated from High School and was desperate for spending money before attending college. They allowed me to work as much as I wanted and that is how I was able to work the night shift on Saturday evening with my Father and open on Sunday morning with my uncle.

For those of you who were around in Southie in the 1950’s you know that Joe’s Spa was the only game in town. The “Blue Laws” were in effect which meant all of the bars closed Saturday at midnight. By 12:15 A.M. everybody ended up at the Spa. It was absolute bedlam.

 Back to the Jukebox. Before the first sandwich was served the music started. Now there were at least 50 -45 rpm discs loaded for play(100songs), but everyone wanted the latest hits for their enjoyment. Among the songs popular then and the ones that have been stuck in my mind ever since -were Tennessee Waltz and I Went to Your Wedding by Patti Page. Cry by Johnny Ray, Mona Lisa by Nat King Cole, Goodnight Irene by the Weavers, Because of You by Tony Bennett, You Belong to Me by Jo Stafford, Wheel of Fortune by Kay Starr, Why Don’t You Believe Me by Joni James, Oh My Papa by Eddie Fisher, Mule Train by Frankie Laine, and Sixteen Tons by Ernie Ford. There were others as well but these were the ones played over and over and over again all night long.

The last thing I did before closing on the Saturday shift was to pull the plug on the Jukebox. When I returned on Sunday the first thing I did was to plug in the Jukebox. You guessed it. Even though there were few customers in the early morning Sunday shift the music played for several hours- the same songs over and over and over again. Today whenever those songs hit the airwaves I get nostalgia of the simpler time in my life.