The Apartment House

We lived at 111-45 76th Drive, off Queens Blvd., on the sixth floor, during those early years. My brothers and I played tag in the paved courtyards of the building. Elevator buttons were something new, and a delight. We occasionally met a man called the superintendent by my parents, who both spoke English with him. We had not yet met our American friends. Patrick later introduced me to the New York Giants team, which he followed in a composition book (later the Giants moved to the West Coast).

One evening, at the supper table, I told my father I had learned a new word of English from the superintendent (I was learning it all over again in 1942).

“Fine,” he replied in Swiss-German. “What is it?”

“Gedaddahere,” I replied.

Three Children of Fatima

Fatima is in Portugal, whence I departed in 1942 to come to the beleagured U.S. I say beleagured, because one of my early memories of Forest Hills, New York, was of a tremendous heap of scrap metal collected in our school yard to aid our soldiers overseas. Three of us, my brothers and me, little knew that at Fatima, twenty-five years earlier, three children no older than we, had predicted World War II.

I love those children, Lucia, Jacinta and Francisco. They endured so much to bring us a message from a Lady they had never met. And it was a beautiful, beneficial message for a world suffering from both national and communist socialism. My two brothers and I grew up where we could practice our religion, and I had three children of my own to teach the great lessons of Western Civilization.

But the Fatima children will live in my heart forever (as of course will my own). The mayor who imprisoned them wanted to boil them in oil. That’s what he told them.

Chaos and Socialism

You only have to look at Venezuela and Haiti today to see the end result of Socialism (Don’t mention the Scandinavian countries — that was fifty years ago). American socialism is really communism, with blinders about the past. Who espouses it? Why, tenured college professors and their wild students.

If you haven’t been following Madura and Venezuela, don’t even get into the argument. He’s taking his country straight to the 21st Century’s new Haiti. But hey, you’ve got your reasons, right? Have you followed Western Civilization since the year one?

I don’t want to start a revolution like Bernie Sanders–I only say what I do to preserve the relative peace we’ve had since World War II. With Communism’s slow demise, perhaps I needn’t worry.

Providing for Another

One of the greatest free gifts of Nature is to be able to bring a gift, be it fulfillment, education, sustenance, fullness of life, whatever, to another. We are then, momentarily, allowed to play the role of the Creator.

Ever since childhood we have enjoyed playing this role, and it is a role that carries great joy. But it must be done in secret, if we are to do it as the Creator really does it. I mean, no blaring of trumpets, announcements on TV commercials, bragging to friends. You make it look like a coincidence, fate — get it?

That is somewhat difficult, because it often means you get no thanks from the recipient. But believe me, a heavenly father gives you thanks, and that is worth more than any other. But you have to recognize it when it comes.

Two Roads

Once we make a decision, we seldom know what horrors we avoided by not taking the other one, or what joys we missed by making that decision. Our brains are spared the knowledge of everything, just as the acorn cannot contain the grown, whole tree.

We should resign to being human (after all, that’s what we are) but someday, far, far away, I’ll see all those possibilities, if I have eternal life.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood

And sorry I could not travel both,


I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost


Two Roads

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
And sorry I could not travel both,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Once we make a decision, we seldom find out what the other one entailed.  We know little of what horrific consequences we avoided, and we know little of the rigorous rewards we lost. We are spared from knowing everything, a knowledge that could destroy our human brains, which like an acorn, are not built to hold a grown, whole tree. 

 But eventually, those brains can seed wondrous results, which, like the tree, they never envisioned.

 I am content to be able to see this, and who knows, someday, in a heaven far, far away, I may get to see it, provided I have eternal life. 

Years to Build Up

I rely on a mental outlook toward the coronavirus that took years to build up, a mood that is deep-rooted but also quite fragile. I do protect it. It is susceptible to things like the latest propaganda push of the CCP (Chinese Communist Party): they want you to call COVID 19 “The Trump Virus.”

But there is something in me that resists propaganda. Tell me its source, and I can take it in stride. It took me years to grow up, and I won’t discard them now. It was in the seed beds of Manhasset, in the Schools of St. Mary, with great parents. I reap the benefits now; I need to stay faithful to those ideas, though.

Some call it chance, I call it providence; so you see, I am grateful to a superior power for the gifts of my life and upbringing. I depend on that to carry me through. Otherwise, I’ll ask for it this time.