A WALK DOWN MEMORY LANE

World before “Me” Generation, “X” Generation & Millennials

James R. Fisher, Jr., Ph.D.

© April 18, 2015

A READER RESPONDS TO “The Beauty of Open Exchange”:

Dr. Fisher, this is beautiful!

The ease of the flow is a tapestry developing into a colorful, complete word picture. 

I admire your willingness to examine thoroughly this topic so dear to your very spirit.  Whether a specter, a phenomenon, the conflicting articles of faith presented by each of the religious sects among your considerations we all have wrestled with...I for one, always seem to return to "The light of the world is Jesus." 

Yet, there are so many "ways" to consider: The frightening 8 teachings of Augustine of hippo combined with the heaven and hell theories, the "good works" theory of St. James and his love of the parables of Jesus stand out as two of the contrasts. 

Love your use of the old catechism pictures.  Those old lithographs have a beauty of their own.  We acquired a set from the 1920's that still hold the fullness of color and beauty.  Of course, as you said, "Catholic" around the world differs so greatly.  

Our catechism at St. Mary's never contained those lovely pictures, only the fear and dread of hell fires, mainly.  Until I experienced the Sisters of St. Francis did I feel the joy, joy, joy of religion.  

Although one sister of the BVM, our 8th grade teacher, was full of the spirit of God and overflowed with his glory.  Very similar to our precious Sister Gertrude from Mount St. Clare whose example made you want to be as good as she. 

Just to let you know I am still working on the culture of death book, even though it may never go to print, it is leading me into still and mighty waters of discovery. 

How small is mankind in the whole.  From the first use of tools and musical instruments to today's tech and music, man is bound to his limitations. 

How we dispose of our dead should not be earth shaking but taking me to unexpected realms, a journey bordered by myth, religion and feasibility. 

Be well, viva or to be more precise, "To Life." 

RW

DR. FISHER RESPONDS:

You are most kind, but with that kindness I blame you for stimulating a bit of nostalgia.  

I agree we are a small planet, small in our accomplishments, which we tend to exaggerate while minimizing the depth and breadth of what we are, have been, but seem to be forgetting if we ever knew. 

The “Me” and “X” generations as well as the New Millennials are blameless in this because they know nothing else.  This, however, gives me pause.  

As you know, I write about Sister Gertrude in my book, IN THE SHADOW OF THE COURTHOUSE (2003).

My purpose in putting out segments of the "Jesus Story" (of which your reference comments are a part) is to get a sense of readers' interest in the story, not only the story they have been told, but the story as it has been viewed down through the ages by scholars, historians, cultural connoisseurs and everyday people like ourselves. 

Many young people today, it is sad to report, believe in nothing, and in believing in nothing they are remiss in realizing it is impossible to believe in anything.  

Nihilism once was a popular philosophy but it didn’t get believers out of their chairs. 

Being at least a decade older than you, and perhaps because I am reminiscent of that heritage alluded to here, my desire is to secure that history by embracing not moving away from its murky aspects or premature extinction. 

The underpinning of our culture is the supportive foundation of everything that we are and do today.

It detracts not one iota that that culture is an elaborate filigree of myth, magic, mystery and the miraculous. 

We live not only in our bodies but in our minds as well, and our minds are fueled by our spirit. 

Our spirit is the tapestry of our arts, but also of our sciences.  It is what secures us in the beauty of being human, Godly, loving and engaged. 

BB read what you have said here and was moved by it, as was I.  You must write that book!

People who know me from my youth often say, "I never knew you'd turn out like this."  Nor did I. 

It is my belief that writers are born to write.  If you are not born with this particular genetic DNA, and you do write, chances are you will become a journalist.

When I was a boy, not yet a teenager, during the WWII years, Clinton, Iowa was like an extravaganza, a motion picture in my head. 

Clinton was a small, vibrant, totally engaged industrial Mississippi River town of 33,000 working 24/7 to support the war effort. 

Clinton was a beautiful town, clean, well-kept streets and well-kept parks with vistas in every direction displaying postcard allure.

Clinton had beautiful architecturally splendid churches, at least five Lutheran and three times that many of other Protestant denominations, as well as five Catholic Churches, five Catholic parochial schools, three Catholic high schools including a convent and college for the Sisters of St. Francis, and convent and high school for the Sisters of the Blessed Virgin Mary.  

It was a Christian town and not self-conscious for being so.

Today, many of the Protestant Churches are gone, abandoned or in ill repair.  There is only one Catholic Church and a single k-12 Catholic school, no college or convent, but a home for retired nuns.

During the Second World War, Clinton couldn't have been more festive looking during the Christmas Holiday Season with the beautiful downtown business district decked out to the fullest, and the Iten Display on Bluff Boulevard an eye catching sight that brought thousands to Clinton from across the Midwest.

Entertainment was grade school and high school sports, the Industrial Baseball League in the summer, played in one of the most attractive baseball stadiums in towns of Clinton's size in Riverview Park. 

It was not uncommon to have 3,000 fans at a baseball game, or 2,000 fans at a high school football game, while high school basketball games were played in gymnasiums filled to the rafters.  I know because I attended these sports, and later would play in these arenas.

Parents and their children listened to the radio together with such programs as Amos & Andy, Fibber McGee & Molly, Fred Allen, and Jack Benny. 

The Clinton Herald, the community newspaper, was informative at the international, national and community level, and entertaining as good writing was endemic to its design. 

Why am I being so nostalgic?  

Perhaps because all of this authenticity has been replaced by the synthetic, the artificial, the expedient and the impersonal. 

Someone was raving to me about Las Vegas.  I confessed it was a place I had never been and never planned to visit.  He came back saying "it is the envy of Paris with better shopping and a more diverse ambience than Paris at far less the cost." As if the authentic can be replaced by the synthetic at any cost!

In our "cut and control" mania, we seldom reflect on what has been lost for what has been gained.  What is lost is lost forever. 

The Clinton Herald newspaper, its atrophying news print presses not economically salvageable, forced the newspaper to farm out the printing of the newspaper to Davenport, Iowa thirty-eight miles away. 

Downtown Clinton today is something approaching a ghost town.  The beautiful parks have been cemented over as parking lots for automobiles that no longer visit the downtown area.

Department store buildings, some designed by such celebrated architects as Louis Henry Sullivan (Van Allen Building) are standing like mere skeletons as reminders of the glorious past. 

We have our laptops, cell phones, iPhones, and other electronics; we have the Internet which makes this medium available to me to write these words, and if you are of the "X" generation or the New Millenniums, you have no idea what has been lost, and for that you are lucky. 

What has this got to do with the "Jesus Story"? 

Everything and nothing.  Writers live their lives in that mysterious conundrum of myth and magic, and try to make sense of the paradox. 

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