Books Which Affected My Life

 Important Books in My Life

 I thought I would do an ongoing project for my Blog on the books that have really affected my life.

Perhaps the most important was The Degrees of Knowledge by Jacques Maritain.  It was this book which led me to the true belief in God.  After 16 years of Catholic education, I never really believed in God even though I searched for that belief for years.  Jacques Maritain and his wife were both existential atheist philosophers.  One day they entered a cathedral in France, and both came out believing in God.  Logical proofs in God do not give us "belief" or faith in God.  His writings helped me bridge the gap between logic and a true mysticism in theology that leads to God.  Some of his other thoughts are well worth taking into account also.  He was a true believer in mending the Catholic attitudes toward Jews and debunking anti-Semitism.  I've come to believe that Christ was the true and perfect existentialist, while most would say that such a thought is an oxymoron.  I don't think so.
  As a kid, I was totally mesmerized by the Tom Swift series of kid's books.  I must have read almost all of them.  He was always inventing something and then using it to solve some crime or injustice in the world.  Most of my friends were reading the Hardy Boys or the Drew Sisters, but I was into Tom Swift and his inventions.  The books were fantasy, but I think they spurred my imagination for the rest of my life.  Nothing is impossible when one is Tom Swift, using one's imagination, to create solutions, and to help one's fellow man through creativity.
 Another atheist, Mortimer Adler, taught me about  syntopical reading and all the other skills needed to read a book.  However, as Adler got older, I believed he was beginning to believe in God also.  He wrote a number of other books which I also found enlightening.  How to Speak and How to Listen was also enlightening, as were his ideas about the Great Books series.  I tried his syntopical reading on George Orwell, reading all of his stories and numerous biographies on Orwell's life.  It was extremely rewarding as I learned a lot about Orwell and how his life entered into almost everything that he wrote.
Well, this is a book that I continue to read.  As a kid, I was fascinated by the Bible and was constantly reading excerpts from it, particularly Genesis and Exodus.  This is one book that seems to constantly change as we get older; we see different meanings and find different lessons from it.  It is no wonder that it remains a best seller.
Another standby.  The good old Dictionary.  I'm not the best speller in the world; although I did quite well in grammar school at our "spelling bees".  Still, as I get older, I think my spelling is deteriorating, only going to prove that practice makes perfect.  I still look up words like "demagoguery" which I find very difficult.  One word I have a problem with is "misspellings", of all words.  Again, as a kid, I often looked through the dictionary, not only to find meanings of words, but also to improve my own vocabulary.  I have always found it fascinating that people who immigrate to the U.S., speak another language, are often better at spelling than most Americans.  I also think the Thesaurus is also a very important book to read and go back to.

The Grotto in Portland

The Grotto, Portland OR

There is a place in Portland, Oregon called the Grotto which is a National Sanctuary dedicated to the Sorrowful Mother of Jesus Christ.  The Grotto is a 62 acre botanical garden with its own chapel and administered by the Friars of the Order of the Servants of Mary.  It is a place for meditation and prayer surrounded by roses and camellias, lush in the wet Portland weather.

A number of years ago, my oldest daughter was going to be confirmed at the University of Portland and my family went up from California for the ceremony.  It was Easter time and a fitting time for a confirmation.  On Good Friday, my wife and kids all wanted to go to the mall, and I wanted to visit the Grotto.  We decided to drop me off at the Grotto and they would return later in the afternoon, at which time we would attend Mass at the Grotto's Chapel.

Ironically, I arrived at a bit before noon, as Catholics commemorate Christ's Passion on Good Friday between the hours of noon and 3:00 p.m.  I had at least four hours to roam the grounds and be surrounded by the beautiful gardens by myself.  Coming through the entrance, I saw the gift store and went in.  I found a small book for meditating on the 14 Stations of the Cross and thought that would be a fitting way of spending some of the hours that I had left.  I also bought a Rosary and then left to explore.  What I was to find was one of the most amazing events in my life.

After a short walk, I found a pathway filled with rose bushes and fourteen open air shrines commemorating the 14 Stations of the Cross, each station with a small wooden kneeler in front of each sculpture.  I thought what a symbolic act, I had my book on the Stations and decided to follow the meditations.  As I looked at my watch, the time was noon, and Christ's Passion was being recreated and remembered now all throughout the world.

I came to the first station, knelt down and began reciting the prayers in the little book.  Christ was being wrongfully condemned to die.  He was innocent, and it was I who was being condemned for all the hurt and wrongs which I had brought into this world.

I got up and proceeded to the second station, Christ carrying the Cross.  I knelt down and began the appropriate prayer.  As I was praying, my shoulders cramped up; I had tostop for a minute, take a deep breathe, relax as the cramp slowly went away while I finished the prayer for that moment.  As I got up to go on, I thought how strange, as if I had momentarily felt just a fraction of the heavy weight that Christ had to carry that day.

As I walked on to the next station, I stumbled a bit; then I knelt down for the next event of that day, Christ falling for the first time.  I began the prayer and as I proceeded, my legs began to hurt, particularly my knees on the wooden kneeler.  I thought this a bit strange as they hadn't hurt before, but I continued on with my prayer, as I anxiously shifted my weight from knee to knee, trying to find a place or position where the pain would just go away.  I was glad to be finished and got up to proceed to the next station.

The fourth station went easier.  It was remembering Christ's mother and her sorrow as she came to her Son.  No pain here as I knelt and prayed.  I had ten more stations to go, and now committed more than ever to finish what I had started.

I continued on, kneeling each time and trying to imagine Simon coming to Christ's aid to help carry the cross, the fifth station, on to the sixth where Veronica wipes Christ's forehead of his sweat and blood coming from His crown of thorns.  As I knelt, all my pains and aches were gone until I got to the Seventh Station, Christ falling for the second time.  Again, pain swept my knees and shins as I sped up the meditation, relieved to once again stand to proceed to the next event.

At the Eighth Station, Christ met the women of Jerusalem.  It was a sad day of evil and grief, but I thought there were moments of relief and of support and the pain from my legs had gone away again as I knelt.

At the Ninth Station Christ falls again for the third time.  How strange that the number 3 occurs so often in Christ's life.  Again, my legs and knees felt more pain at this station and again I hurried in my prayers and remembrances.

At the Tenth Station, Christ was stripped of his clothes, preparing for what was yet to come.  Again, no pain.

At the next Station, I knelt and again the pain returned as I meditated on Christ being nailed to the Cross.  By now tears were welling up in my eyes as I became so sad in remembering these events of over 2,000 years ago.

That day was a beautiful day in Oregon, all sun and blue skies.  As I proceeded to the next Station, knelt, prayed as Christdies on the Cross, a cloud came over and shaded the entire area.  A chill went down my back as I realized it was now 3:00 p.m. and I only had two more stations to go.

I proceeded on to Christ being removed from the Cross and finally to His burial in the Tomb.  I had done it, all fourteen stations as I walked out of the small circular pathway back into the rest of the Grotto.  I stood there, looked back and thought how strange, went back and examined all the kneelers.  They were all the same.  Why would my legs hurt on only the stations that commemorated Christ's pain, and not on the rest where He was consoled?

Well I still had some time left.  I looked around and then I found another meditative area where there was a huge metal sculpture of Christ carrying the Cross with benches around it, all surrounded by beautiful rose bushes.  At the entrance to this site were two large beautiful camellia bushes all in red flower.  I thought to myself this would be a good place to sit and now say the Rosary.  By the time I would be finished, my family would be back and then on to Mass.

I began to enter the area and moved toward the bench.  It was as I entered that, all of a sudden, all the petals from the camellia flowers fell off to the ground.  All of them.  It was as if they were tears of blood hitting the ground.  Not one flower remained, and there was not a bit of wind in the air.  I thought to myself that Mary, the mother of Christ, must cry tears of flowers for her Son, and for us all.

Well, I said the Rosary, then went out to meet my family and we all then went to Mass.  It had been quite a day for me, a day that I would never forget, a special day.  Yes, all might have been a coincidence, the pain, the tears, and finally the camellias, but I never thought so.  I was so honored that day to commemorate an event, and, in a small way, have lived through just a bit of the pain and sorrow that Christ must have felt in those hours.  Clearly, it was a mystical experience.  I felt at peace for the rest of that day.

If ever in Portland, you must visit the Grotto.  Even better, visit this fabulous place on Good Friday, between noon and 3, and let me know what happens.

My Life as a Paper Boy - Part I

My Life as a Paper Boy - Part I

I don't think the world has paperboys anymore.  How sad.  Years ago, when I was in grammar school, I wanted to make money as I needed money to buy the things I really wanted.  My family wasn't poor, but neither was it rich; so I either had to wait for Xmas, or earn money to buy things during the year.

A friend of mine, George Watters, got a job with the San Francisco Examiner as a paper boy.  After school, I sometimes would go with him as he made his deliveries, and watched what he was doing.  In those days, the Examiner paid really good money, and one could make a couple of hundred dollars a month just delivering newspapers.  That was big money.  Paper routes tho were really hard to get.  I applied with the S.F. Examiner, the S.F. Chronicle, and the San Leandro Morning News, but to no avail.  All the routes were taken and there were waiting lists.

Then I lucked out.  The Hayward Daily Review was expanding into San Leandro, California.  Because they were a small paper, had very little circulation, the pay was pretty low and they were begging for paper boys.  I signed up right away and got a route that was just huge.  Huge in area, but lacking any customers.  Not only was I supposed to deliver the paper, but I also had to get new customers if I was going to make any money at all.  One good thing, it was an afternoon paper as I hated to get up early in the morning.

I was envious of George as he had probably over 200 customers; I had 20.  However, not all was lost.  I had a supervisor, an adult, who was organizing circulation drives for all the new areas.  This meant he would pick up about 5 boys, drive us to a neighborhood and we would go door to door, trying to get people to subscribe.  If you signed up enough, you won trips to Disneyland, or Lake Tahoe for skiing.  If the supervisor picked your area or route for a circulation drive, you won again by increasing your circulation and got even more money each month.  I went on every circulation drive I could, and begged my manager to do the next one in my area.  Within months, I had over 200 homes to deliver, had won 3 trips to Disneyland and 2 to Tahoe.  Plus, I was in the dough every month from my commissions and tips.

Tips!  Yes, that was a new one.  Not many people tipped their paperboy in those days, except at Christmas.  I had to train my customers to tip!  What I would do is watch for them outside, or talk to them at the end of the month when I had to collect their monthly subscription fee.  I would always say "Sir" or "Mr. or Mrs."  We didn't have Ms. in those days, but boys were Masters and girls were just girls, or "Missy".  I'd ask them if there was a special place they wanted their newspaper, if they were happy with their service, did they have any complaints, and always, always, a "Thank You" when they paid their bills.

I was good at guilt-tripping them.  In our conversations, I would tell them that I was saving up for college, or helping my parents pay their bills, anything that would make them feel better when they tipped me.  If they were short of money to pay the subscription, I'd tell them it was alright and that I could give them a week to raise the money.  In the end, I was making so much money, more than I had ever dreamed of.

But then there were the dogs.  I don't know why, but dogs love to chase little boys riding their bicycles, weighted down by a canvas paper bag loaded up with 200 or more newspapers.  That was a lot of weight, and one just couldn't pedal that fast.  We didn't have bicycles in those days with gears; if you were lucky, you had a Schwinn and they were made from heavy metal and big rubber tires; no plastic.  My legs were very muscular and strong.  Very quickly, one learned where the bad dogs were and developed plans to thwart their chase.  Luckily, I didn't have a lot of dogs on my route; in fact, I only had one: A GREAT DANE.  He was taller than me even on the bicycle with huge legs and he could race after me like a bat out of hell.  He terrified me with his big jaws, always drooling as if he liked to eat paperboys.

The only saving grace is that he would never go past the end of the block, as if there was some kind of invisible barrier there.  If I could just get to the end of the block, I was safe.  When I got to that block, I would look real careful to see if he was on the porch waiting, hoping he was inside the house with the owners, or, worse, hiding in the bushes, waiting for me.  Then I would pedal like hell, picking up speed, going faster and faster, as I passed their house, flinging their newspaper onto the porch and sped away to safety.  Those people could never tipme enough.  Most of the time, this ploy worked.  Thank God, at night, when I collected the monthly subscriptions, he was always kept inside.  Yet, there were times when I hadn't built up enough speed, he was outside and a couple of times nipped my pants.  If I lost my balance, I was dead.

I had to do something.  It was then that George again came to my rescue.  He had the same problems; all paperboys did.  He suggested I buy a squirt gun, fill it up with bleach or clorox, and then spray the dog if he got near.  I did, and it worked.  From that point on, the Great Dane knew who was master and always whimpered as the newspaper hit the porch.

What did I do with all that money?  That comes in Part II.

Written by mrsquid1 (Link to this entry)

My Life as a Paper Boy - Part II

My Life as a Paper Boy - Part II

Before I got the paper route, I had been cutting lawns in the neighborhood.  We didn't have electric mowers so I had to learn how to grease the mower and keep the blades sharp.  There wasn't much money in that, about $1.50 to $2.00 per lawn, and maybe a tip once in a while.  Sometimes my friends, like Bob Branson down the street, would help so we could then go play.  So the paper route was a big move up; still, I never gave up my lawn business.

The memories of the Depression were still with my family; my father always talked of finding golf balls on the golf courses and then selling them back to the golf shops.  People collected string, anything in order to save money.  So, it was pounded into my brain by my father to save when I made money.  My mother, who used to work as a bank teller, helped me open up my first savings account when I was in the second grade.  In those days, the banks opened up accounts for kids with no bank charges at all.  I didn't need a checking account as everything was paid in cash.  We didn't have credit cards in those days.

So, when I made money, half went to the savings, and the other half went to buy the things I wanted, like comic books.  I was really into Scrooge McDuck, Mighty Mouse and Superman.  I also liked Donald Duck and his 3 nephews along with Gyro Gearloose.  Comics were 10 cents in those days, unless you got a special edition which was 25 cents.  So, when the paper route began making a lot of money, I finally set my sights higher.  My goal was to buy my first stereo record player which could play 33-1/3 and 78 records.

Up til then, our family had only a very old record player which could only play 78's and 45's.  It had one built in speaker and monaural; there was more static and scratches than music.  It was a custom in the family every week to watch the "Hit Parade" on t.v. and, if my mom really liked a song by Rosemary Clooney, or the Andrews Sisters, she would haul us down to Capwell's in downtown Oakland.  In those days, Capwell's had wooden sound-proof booths where you could pre-listen to the record, and then buy it.  Once in a while, I could talk mom into buying me a record; my favorite was Jack in the Beanstalk with Mickey Mouse as Jack, and his compatriots Goofy and Donald Duck.  After, we would go next door to Edy's and get a hot dog sandwich and sometimes a chocolate sundae; then back onto the bus for the trip back home to San Leandro.  It was an all day event, but a real treat.  Sometimes we would take the Key System train into Oakland which was always a lot of fun.

While I didn't mind the songs from the Hit Parade, I really wanted to get stereo songs that were the beginnings of rock and roll.  My first record player was made by Web-Cor, a portable with two speakers that were hinged to the record player.  It would cost me about $200.00, and I started saving.  The day that I bought it, everyone in the family was amazed at the sound; it was our very first stereo.  Still, mom continued to play her records on her old record player.  The few radios we had were all made out of wood; there wasn't such a thing as a portable and they all ran on vacuum tubes instead of transistors.  My first record was a 45, Rock Around the Clock and a 33 album by Johnny and the Hurricanes, which I still have today.  I always had to play the stereo real low, as mom didn't really appreciate this new type of music and thought it somewhat unwholesome.

Finally as the paper route built up, my friend, Bob Branson, saw how much money I was making , and we got him the next route adjacent to mine for the Daily Review.  Both our routes were huge in area, and on the edge of the two routes was a Rexall Drug Store with a soda fountain.  Bob and I would meet there about half-way through our routes for a break.  The fountain was long and on the other side of the pedestal seats was the magazine rack with all the newest comics.  Bob and I would sneak our favorites under the counter, order a chocolate phosphate or a soda and surreptiously read the comics hidden under the counter.  If they were especially good, and we had the money, we would buy our favorites.

At the end of the day, Bob and I again would meet on the way home at a place called Bud's Ice Cream, where the old man Bud handmade all of his ice cream.  Bud was a cranky old man and always gruff with us.  I think he didn't feel it was right that two young kids should have enough money to buy his ice cream, or he just didn't like kids.  But his ice cream was the best.  Again, we would sit there outside his store drinking our milk shakes, sitting on our bikes, glad that all the papers had finally been delivered, and ready to head home.  We would sit there and brag about how good wewere in throwing those newspapers right on everyone's porch, and how fast we could get it done.  I had to hide my comic books when I got home as my mother was not too fond of them and considered them a waste of my hard-earned paper money.  She thought I should be reading books, not comics.  Books were free at the library.

Well, now you know where the money went.  My first stereo, lots of comics, lots of chocolate phosphates and milk shakes; throughout, half continued to go into my savings account and was never spent until I bought my first home years later.  I remember my wife asking where we were going to get the money for the downpayment, and I told her, "From my paper route."  By then, my savings had over $6,000.00 in it.

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