A Slate Roof

While writing about the lunch room at the Catholic school I attended, I was reminded about the old church that was situated across the driveway from the school. This was an old church by American standards. It was built in 1912 and my father was the first child baptized in that church when it first opened its doors. Though there were three children baptized there at the same time he always laid claim that he was the first. It no longer matters because he is now gone and so is the church.

This church at one time had four classrooms attached to the back end but became disused when the new school was built in 1959. I always wanted to have classes in the old classrooms because there was definitely an old school feel to it. It was hand crafted as opposed to the block and mortar rooms of the new school.

The church wasn’t too large, but it was as drafty as a barn. It had a slate roof where if anything such as a baseball flew up there while we were playing at recess, chunks of razor sharp slate would fall to the ground slicing any unsuspecting squirrel in half. (Not that that ever happened. I just want to make sure Trop is paying attention.)

This church was actually pretty morbid, and a place most sane parents would never allow their children to enter these days. There were depictions in relief of the stations of the cross between every window with scenes of torture and murder. There were stained glass windows that showed more torture and martyrdom. Then in the front of the church there were more statues with bloodied figures wearing crowns of thorns and blood oozing from the hands and feet and where the lances struck the body. Now that I think of it going to church was like going to a horror show. That’s how they took control of children’s minds; they fill you with fear and then you belong to them. It’s a wonder I never turned into a sadist. Here I was trying to write about old style craftsmanship and now I’m all pissed off and bitter about what the church as done for generations.

Anyway, the church was still standing when I left the East Coast, but it has since been torn down and replaced by this big round building. You know the kind where people sit like they are in Theater of the Round. All the Latin songs and chants are gone and replaced probably by some kind of Kumbaya guitar mass crap. If I weren’t an Atheist now I’d probably be real bitter about it all.

I guess my point is that if you see an old building that means something to you, take it in. Photograph it if you can because before you know it will be gone either by way of progress, fire, disaster or a heavy snow fall. It won’t be long before you forget the finer details.