Father D; Or, A short history of Blarney

Father D; Or, a short history of blarney

If you search on the Yahoo search line for the name Woulfe, you will find that this is an Irish name. The family is from Tempelglantine. If you know anything about Ireland, you know that it was real big on potatoes, and blarney.

One of the uncles of mine was Father D, the brother of my grandmother, who came to America right after the seminary. He was assigned to the first Irish parish in St. Paul, up on the top of the hill as you enter St. Paul on Hwy 94. The entire hill in the 1880s was filled with little shanties where the Irish who worked on the railroad lived. In a short 40 years from 1880 to 1920, the Irish moved from nothing to being in charge of the Irish political machine that ran St. Paul.

Father D used to come to all the family gatherings. Like my First Communion, Confirmation, etc. I remember one such occasion when the adults were telling stories about some of the locals. I presume, in retrospect, that they might have been sipping wine while they chatted. My relatives were going over some of our local stuff. If we had a problem with increasing the money collected, Fr. D had the solution. He simply took out every other strand in the collection basket and then anyone who put change in the basket was instantly embarrassed. The collection basket revenue doubled instantly. Father seemed to have the solution for everything in my young mind.

Then someone mentioned that there was a somewhat racy and fast crowd in the lake set. In fact, some had pretty loose morals. It was shocking. Fr. D said he indeed had faced that problem also, but had solved the problem quite simply. One lady in particular seemed to come to Church each Sunday in the most provocative of dresses. Finally, one Sunday, he felt that it had simply had gone too far. Surely the Lord must be deeply offended. Father D felt he was being called to make an example of this exact offence. So, he just motioned over to the altar boy to go and get the chasuble. He draped it over the young women with the shocking dress that was so provocative. Then he gave her Communion.’’

It was a pretty shocking story for a young 12-year-old to handle. Over the years as an alter boy, I came across some pretty provocative women in Church…I always wondered whether the priest would send for the chasuble for these women; but no, they never did. As the years went on, I imagined that that dress must have been VERY provocative indeed. On the other hand, when I got about forty, I began to wonder just where Father D was at and whether celibacy might have been wearing on him a bit.

As the years have rolled on, I have understood that it was just the blarney. There was a little truth, maybe the part about the beautiful women. And there was a little exaggeration, maybe the part about the chasuble. And then I am never quite sure. Each Sunday I wonder whether this Sunday will be the time that the chasuble is finally called for.