Window of Grace

The Christmas season actually begins nine months ahead of December 25, with a mysterious event that can only be explained in symbols — and which attains added significance when viewed through the glass of our window.

The Annunciation window on the parking lot side of SFDS church, crafted by the studio of Nicola D’Ascenzo about 1910, celebrates the startling moment when Mary found out that she was to be the human Mother of Jesus. Its design was inspired by symbol-rich 15^th century Northern European Renaissance paintings such as those of Jan van Eyck (left. “The Annunciation” ca. 1434-1436), Hans Memling (center. “The Annunciation,” ca. 1465-1470) and Rogier van der Weyden (right. “The Annunciation” from the Saint Columba Altarpiece ca. 1455). Serendipitously, its thematic elements echo the decoration of the church built around it, making the scene relatable to all those sitting in the pews, while the medium of stained glass adds an extra dimension of meaning.

It begins with the familiar setting. Art historian Christopher Jones notes that in the 15th and 16th centuries, “Northern European artists…often showed the Virgin in an interior space, sometimes…an ecclesiastical context, drawing on contemporary Gothic styles to suggest the familiar setting of the Christian Church.” In our window, rather than showing medieval pointy Gothic arches, Mary’s church features  the same elaborate round-topped windows and linked-chain and Byzantine lozenge decorations as the 1911 Byzantine-Romanesque church constructed around it.

The presence of a dove, representing the Holy Spirit, is the usual convention to symbolize the moment of conception. Jones observes that “In Annunciation paintings, the dove is often shown descending on a ray of light, indicating …a sense of movement or passage, with the ray of light touching the Virgin’s head or breast in the moment of Incarnation.” This is how it’s shown in the window. The idea is presented again in the sanctuary of the church, with a dove mosaic pointing down above the statue of the Blessed Mother.

Jones observes “One fascinating tradition that developed in early Netherlandish art was to show the ray of light entering the scene through a window, as in Rogier van der Weyden’s painting. This was a way of alluding to the conceptually tricky idea of Mary’s miracle conception, by comparing the passage of the Holy Spirit through the body of the Virgin to light passing through glass.” Our Annunciation window actually becomes a double Holy Spirit reference – rays of light from the dove beam into Mary through an image of a window, painted on an actual glass window—so that the light of the dove, shining through the Blessed Mother, reaches us, too. The “Holy Spirit as a dove in a window” theme recurs in two dove windows in our dome – one showing the dove descending into the church bringing grace from heaven, and another ascending from the church, to carry prayers heavenward — the Holy Spirit passing through the glass in both directions.

Since the Feast of the Annunciation is celebrated in the Spring, nine months before Christmas, Jones observes that paintings often include garden references. He notes that in Northern Renaissance artwork, like that which inspired our window, “The motif of a flower in a vase became well-used, a tradition that developed into a lily, which became the symbol of the Virgin’s purity.” Our window shows a lily in a pot in the foreground – which would have echoed the multitude of cut flowers used to adorn the church, as well as the single lily in one of the dome windows. Since the lily also represents Christ in the Passion, it brings a poignant note into the scene — appropriate since the March feast occurs during Lent, overlapping with that more solemn season.

As in many of the Northern Renaissance paintings, the Archangel Gabriel in our window wears a lavishly patterned gown with a large jewel clasp at the neck, Art historian Isabella Meyer notes that the opulence of a similarly attired angel, in a painting by Van Eyck,  evokes heavenly richness and observes that “His garments also suggest that he is taking part in or celebrating High Mass” – an interesting observation – our angel’s elaborate garments would have mirrored the pageantry of high Masses inside the church when the window was installed.

Our Archangel Gabriel is equipped with a lily staff embellished with the words “Ave gratia plena,” or “Hail favoured one.” The Dictionary of Subjects and Symbols in Art notes that Gabriel’s prop evolved in artwork over time: “In early examples the angel holds a scepter tipped with a fleur-de-lys, the attribute of Gabriel, but later it often holds the lily.” The transformation from sceptre to lily offers an interesting meditation. A sceptre would symbolize royal favour while the lily flower symbolizes purity. Gabriel’s lily staff is an invitation — or a mandate — to the Virgin from God — but a similar lily staff, shown on the St. Joseph tabernacle in our church, references Jesus’ earthly lineage: “And there shall come forth a rod out of the stem of Jesse, and a Branch shall grow out of his roots.” So the small detail of the staff can be a reminder of Christ’s dual nature: his divinity, in the recognition of God’s favour; and his humanity, based on his earthly lineage. This thought is repeated with the pair of fleur-de-lys/lily crosses under the Nativity window.

As in many Renaissance depictions, a statue of David appears near Mary in the window scene as a reminder that Jesus was both God and human (and Jewish!) — the same message as the mosaic Stars of David in the church dome, both offering a link to the Old Testament and a reference to Jesus’ family lineage as part of the House of David. Double cross symbols in the lower panels of all three windows on that side of the church to reinforce the concept of the Incarnation — the notion that Jesus had a dual nature that was both divine and human.

Finally, the Dictionary of Symbolism offers the interesting idea that Mary’s words of response to Gabriel’s invitation, sometimes included as a “speech balloon” in Renaissance Annunciation paintings, “may be upside down so that it can be more easily read by God the Father.” Curiously, the Old Testament prophecy of Isaiah, written above our Annunciation window, and which translates from the Latin as “Behold, a virgin shall conceive…and his name shall be called Emmanuel,” shows the word virgo, or virgin, upside-down. This could have been a reference to that historic practice — echoed by the symbol of the Eye of God shown peering down into the church through the oculus window of the dome.

Viewed as a group, the three windows on the parking lot side of the church celebrate the Christmas season with heavenly light, representing God’s grace shining symbolically through a window in each design. The Holy Spirit dove illuminates the first scene; and the nativity star, representing the light of Hope from above, gleams above the birth. In both instances, the light from the painted window shines into the church through the glass of the actual window. The third scene, of Christ’s youth, is a darker vision, foreshadowing his future as he builds a cross in his father’s workshop. That scene also includes a little piece of a painted window in the background, obscured by the cross and a red rose — another flower that symbolizes both Mary’s purity and Christ’s passion. The story then continues across the aisle with the three windows of the Easter season, commemorating Christ’s adult ministry, all shown outdoors, ending with the Agony in the Garden.

The story of Christ, as told in the windows of our church, invites us to find our place in the rhythm of historic continuity — from the Old Testament to the New; from Christ’s Birth to his Resurrection; from Renaissance artwork to the construction of our church in the early 1900s, to the present day; from an interior life to a worldly ministry; from darkness to light in an endless annual cycle of death and rebirth. And through it all, we are called to reflect on the miracle of God’s continuing presence, symbolized in the light shining through the bright rainbow glass, illuminating history and touching everyone who pauses to look.

This Christmas, before entering the church, take a moment to notice another depiction from Christ’s early life, now revealed with the removal of the scaffolding: a weathered bas relief outside, by the front door, of “The Flight into Egypt.” Crafted by Italian immigrant sculptor Adolfo de Nesti, it shows the Holy Family desperately fleeing a dangerous situation at home to seek refuge in a foreign land in a time of trouble — one more family, part of another endless historical cycle that is all too relatable for too many people across the globe this holiday season.

The Holy Family’s urgent movement — and the travels of Jesus who never stayed in one place — are a reminder that faith is a journey. Pope Francis, in his pre-Christmas address to the Roman Curia, cautioned that “it is important to keep faring forward, to keep searching and growing in our understanding of the truth, overcoming the temptation to stand still and never leave the ‘labyrinth’ of our fears.” Christianity “is not meant to confirm our sense of security, to let us settle into comfortable religious certitudes, and to offer us quick answers to life’s complex problems.” The Pope “concluded with a call to courage, love, and humility in our journey of faith and service” and asserted “Only those who love fare forward.”

Portal of Prayer

(This post was first published on September 29, 2020)

The words and artwork above the doors of a church are intended to guide churchgoers as they move through the doorway, or portal, from the outdoor worldly world into sacred space.   At Saint Francis de Sales, that direction has long been hidden – and not just because it has been covered by scaffolding!

The message above the central door to our church is visible in photographs, but long misrepresented in writing. In almost every description of the church, since the beginning, only the first half of the inscribed verse is quoted: “My eyes will be open and my ears attentive.” Winding around a scene (carved by sculptor Adolfo de Nesti) usually described as “the Madonna and Christ Child” — an active toddler — this might easily be understood as a reminder to churchgoers of proper behavior as you enter the church: be still, be quiet; observe the magnificent decorations and the pageantry; listen carefully to the readings and the sermon.

This is only a partial quote, however. The actual phrase engraved above our doors is 2 Chronicles 7:15 “My eyes shall be open and my ears attentive to the prayer of him that shall pray in this house,” which puts a different spin on things: these are the words that God the Father, spoke to Solomon at the dedication of the First Temple of Jerusalem, built to house the Ark of the Covenant. The verse in the Bible continues “For I have chosen, and have sanctified this place, that my name may be there for ever, and my eyes and my heart may remain there perpetually.” So instead of telling us how to behave in church, our church is likened to the fabled Holy Temple of King Solomon! This is reinforced in the image framed by the verse, which is not just the “Madonna and Christ Child,” but Mary seated on a throne, with angels holding a garland above her head — a traditional French doorway theme of “The Coronation, or Triumph, of the Virgin…the Virgin being symbolic of the Church as well as being the Bride of Christ.”

The association is not incidental. The Oxford Dictionary of Christian Art notes that “A door is an obvious symbol of the way to salvation through the church, and for this reason the main door is usually directly opposite the altar.” In our church, the pose of the toddler Christ above the portal is echoed in the crucifixion mosaic above the altar and the doorway inscription theme continues up in the sanctuary, with two phrases threaded around the top of the walls. The first is from the 26^th Psalm in which David – patriarch of Jesus’ lineage — says “I have loved, O Lord, the beauty of thy house; and the place where thy glory dwelleth.”  (note the Mary monogram above the words “beauty of thy house!”) The other quote, from Genesis 28:16, is part of what Jacob said upon awakening from his dream about angels climbing a ladder to heaven: “Indeed, the Lord is in this place” — in the Bible, the verse continues “and I knew it not….This is no other but the house of God and the gate of heaven.”

Studying inscriptions in churches, and especially the words inscribed above ancient European church portals, Calvin B. Kendall noted that historically, “Inscriptions articulated the hopes and fears of monks and worshippers, spoke for them and to them, and in some cases may have functioned as talismans against lurking demons.” In 1911, our doorway inscription boldly identified our church as a holy place and acclaimed the benefits of prayer in that uncertain age leading up to the First World War.

For many years now, the front of our church has been wreathed in scaffolding that has concealed the portal decorations and offered a different message and symbolism. Scaffolding is human-built structure that provides support while keeping people safe. It’s also an emblem of “work in progress,” a very apt description of our parish! And, perhaps, there’s a warning: over time, is it possible to become so conditioned to rigid human framework, that we are in danger of letting it overwhelm the spiritual message of God’s love?

Update: The scaffolding is now finally removed and the facade of the church will be blessed by by Archbishop Nelson J. Perez next Sunday, December 10, 2023.

Let’s Talk Trash

            His work wasn’t glamourous, and his only memorial appears to be inscribed on the side of his in-laws’ tombstone at Holy Cross Cemetery, but SFDS parishioner Joseph Osborne quietly left the world just a little bit better than he found it.

            When he died of heart disease and high blood pressure in January 1960, his age mis-reported in the news as 49 or 54 (he was 51), the Philadelphia Inquirer stated simply that Osborne, who lived at 4809 Windsor, had been “an employee of the Sanitation division of the Department of Streets for 30 years” and a “captain in the army engineers in the Second World War.” The Catholic Standard and Times reported that “The deceased was a supervisor in the Philadelphia Department of Streets and a veteran of World War II. He was a member of the Men of Malvern and the Officers Reserve Association.”

The Philadelphia Tribune had more to say, especially acknowledging Osborne’s efforts to help the Black community. It reported that he was “loved by thousands” and “played a prime role in the success of the city’s Clean Block Campaign.” His work was particularly appreciated “in some lower-income areas where the ‘clean-up and paint-up’ drives were aimed.” There, “Osborne’s role was that of both a salesman and advisor to residents, and a supervisor for the City’s clean-up squads.”

            What, precisely, did Osborne do? When the Department of Streets was formed in 1952, to replace the Department of Public Works — in a time when horse carts were still used for trash collection in some of the poorer sections of Philadelphia (!) — he became the “go-to guy” for trash disposal and sanitation issues. According to a 1953 report, in the new administration, “regulations governing the operation of all city and twenty-eight privately owned and operated dumps are actually enforced by a group of five men—a field supervisor in charge (Mr. Joseph E. Osborne) and four dump inspectors, backed up by the Police Sanitation Squad. Twenty-four hour vigilance is maintained.”

            An anecdote in The Inquirer facetiously described one of Osborne’s initiatives:

“Quick, Watson, the Clam-Fork! People have no idea how relentless are the sleuths tracking down scofflaws who violate the city litter ordinances by tossing stuff in the streets and vacant lots. Take the case of the accumulated clamshells, on which inspectors of the police sanitation squad under Sgt. William Anderson, and of the Street Department’s sanitation division under Joseph Osborne, collaborated.

One of Osborn’s boys found a pile of clamshells on a South Philadelphia sidewalk. Not content with saying, “Oh, well,” he rummaged through them, turned up a receipt from a seafood store, and turned it over to the police colleagues. Together, they checked the store, found where the clams were delivered, went to the address, wrung a confession from the quivering: culprit, got him fined S9.95.

Dick Tracy could have done no more.”

            Osborne was better known for the patient, day-to-day labor of supervising trash collection, instructing residents across the city how to put household trash cans on the curb (bags weren’t available until the 1970s), monitoring illegal dumping, reminding people to use public trash cans, and providing support for the Philadelphia’s clean-up, paint-up “Clean Block Campaign.”

            The Clean Block Campaign was a grassroots program that had originated in the late 1930s, when new immigrant Mrs. Sigrid Craig, tired of hearing her adopted home referred to as “Filthadelphia,” devoted herself to improving its image. She worked to develop a network of volunteer city block captains, each responsible for organizing cleanups and monitoring security on their street. In the 1940s, brigades of children helped, incentivized by prizes for cleaning up their blocks – activities which ostensibly kept them out of trouble while improving the appearance of neighborhoods and reducing germs (a special concern in an age when antibiotics were not generally available, commercial food safety practices were primitive, and vaccinations had not yet been developed for debilitating childhood diseases). The program became popular, especially in the traditionally underserved sections of the city, where it gave residents a feeling that they mattered. Mrs. Craig, who lobbied for city government support and worked with various local city officials, was reportedly “high in her praise of Osborne and the role he played in helping make Philadelphia one of the nation’s cleanest cities.”

         The city Sanitation department continued to help with Craig’s Clean Block efforts long after Osborne’s death in 1960 (despite periodic criticism that the associated Police Sanitation Squad could be overzealous in ticketing of trash offenders). Priorities changed under Mayor Frank Rizzo (1972 to 1980), and street sweeping and other city cleanliness initiatives and services were cut back, taking decades to rebound. The Clean Block movement, which had been reconfigured in 1965 as the Philadelphia More Beautiful Committee, with City Hall offices and a paid five-person staff, somehow managed to survive. The program continues today, even as rampant construction development in many neighborhoods threatens the sense of community that block organizations have sought to promote.

Pope Francis recently published an exhortation, Laudate Deum (Praise God), imploring Catholics worldwide to “each do their part to reduce pollution and waste, and to consume with prudence,” quoting the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops (USCCB)’s assertion that “our care for one another and our care for the earth are intimately bound together.” The Pope maintains that everyone needs to participate, and changes need to occur at the large and small level — in the massive machinery of world governments and in the little details of our own daily lives.

We should be inspired by Sigrid Craig’s long-ago vision that made our city a better place for everyone; and Joseph Osborne’s faithful labor to implement it. Retiring Anglican Bishop Peter Eagles, in the UK, recently commended members of his own local government for their “deep sense we are all here to make life better for those we are called to serve” — that same exemplary sense of public service that Osborne and Craig both displayed here long ago.

It’s our turn to act. As Pope Francis wrote in Fratelli Tutti and repeated in Laudate Deum, “Each new generation must take up the struggles and attainments of past generations, while setting its sights even higher. This is the path. Goodness, together with love, justice and solidarity, are not achieved once and for all; they have to be realized each day.”

The Little Popes of Philadelphia

Little Popes at SFDS 1946 (SFDS archives)

Philadelphia Catholic school and parish alumni from the 1940s to the early 1960s recall picturesque Little Popes – tiny first and second grade sanctuary boys who wore white robes, red capes and sashes, and little white zucchetto skull caps, and marched ahead of the bigger altar servers in long formal processions — but nobody seems to know why.

Father Dennis Gill, Director of the Office for Divine Worship for the Archdiocese, recalls being a Little Pope in his youth, and says they were used widely throughout the archdiocese and were “for younger boys who were not yet old enough to be altar servers. They were used during 40 Hours and Holy Thursday and would sit in the sanctuary, or in some parishes would be along the altar rail.“

The Little Popes may have been a local phenomenon. All the instances found so far have been in Pennsylvania, and all within the old boundaries of the Philadelphia archdiocese (including what is now the Allentown diocese). Almost all of the references to Little Popes seem to date from the late 1940s to the early 1960s – with the exception of a single boy puzzlingly identified in a parish history as a “Little Pope” in an 1894 photo of clergy and assistants at a Jubilee Mass at St. Anthony of Padua Church in Lancaster.

Memories of former Little Popes offer a curious window into a different era.

Paul Peterson (SFDS class of 1954), recalled:

“I, like many other boys, had liturgical experience in first grade being a ‘Little Pope.’  We wore: a white cassock made of heavy cotton muslin, a red velveteen sash and cape with gold fringe, a stiff high collar with a wide silk bow, tied by Sister, and a white zucchetto.  My mother complained how difficult it was to wash, starch and iron the cassock.  The collars could be bought in the men’s department of Strawbridge and Clothier at eighth and Market Streets.  I remember having my collar cleaned and starched at the Chinese laundry under the Ivan Apartments at 47th and Baltimore Avenue.  The Little Popes processed at the solemn Pontifical Masses for Christmas and Easter, as well as the closing ceremony of Forty Hours, and the May Procession.  My tenure as Pope did not last far into the 2nd grade, as I outgrew my cassock.”

Little Popes and Altar Servers with Sister Isabel Mary at Transfiguration Parish 1947-1948

Frank Adolf (Transfiguration Parish Class of 1954), recalls that at Transfiguration of Our Lord Parish (formerly at 5533 Cedar Ave., Philadelphia, not far from SFDS):

“I was a ‘Little Pope’ for one school year in 1947-48.  We were chosen for the position by the I.H.M. Nuns who taught us.  The popes were in attendance at the High Mass each Sunday.  We all sat on benches inside the altar railing facing the altar.  We had no official role to play, we were just there to enhance the solemnity of the Mass.  Many of the popes were selected to learn the Latin responses at Mass and those who did well were promoted to full-fledged altar boys.  I didn’t get selected because my Nun said I couldn’t sit still.”

“I know that every parish had ‘Little Popes’ during the time that I was in grade school (1946-1954).  My uncle was a pastor in Kutztown and he had boys dress in the same white cassock, red cape and red cincture, so it was not unique to Philadelphia parishes. However, during that time period Kutztown was part of the Archdiocese of Philadelphia, so it may have been unique to the archdiocese.”

SFDS Alum and historian John Deady notes that his brother “Teddy was a pope and he started 1st grade in 1947. Don’t know if popes existed prior to that.” He also wryly observes “Guess one from a family was the limit,” since neither John nor his other, younger, brother would be among the chosen (though they would both later be Altar Boys).

Little Popes seem to have become popular in the late 1940s, just after World War II. The Theology and Religious Studies Librarian at Catholic University suggested how the custom could have been inspired by a wartime Pope with a complicated legacy:

 “I think the answer to your question is in the book Letters to an Altar Boy by Rev. David E. Rosage. Milwaukee: Bruce Pub. Co., 1952. According to Fr. Rosage, Pope Pius XII has been called the ‘Pope of the Altar Boys’ for his letter Mediator Dei that he wrote to the bishops in 1947. If you look at the original letter, article 200 states the following:”

“200. To attain this purpose, it will greatly help to select carefully good and upright young boys from all classes of citizens who will come generously and spontaneously to serve at the altar with careful zeal and exactness. Parents of higher social standing and culture should greatly esteem this office for their children. If these youths, under the watchful guidance of the priests, are properly trained and encouraged to fulfill the task committed to them punctually, reverently and constantly, then from their number will readily come fresh candidates for the priesthood. The clergy will not then complain – as, alas, sometimes happens even in Catholic places – that in the celebration of the august sacrifice they find no one to answer or serve them.”

“It is likely that the sisters just did what the letter required while the capes and skullcaps were in honor of Pope Pius XII.”

The first known photo of Little Popes at SFDS, shown at the top of the page, is actually dated a year earlier, in 1946. A calendar photo of SFDS Parish school’s first kindergarten graduation ceremony, that same year, shows its tiny pupils costumed, aspirationally, in religious garb. Coincidence? An inspiration of the IHM sisters? Or merely reflective of a pious trend at the time?

(SFDS archives)

Whatever the initial impetus, Dennis Cardinal Dougherty, Archbishop of Philadelphia from 1918 until 1921, and Philadelphia’s first cardinal from 1921 until his death in 1951, is likely to have strongly supported the concept of “Little Popes.” An article by Charles R. Morris about “God’s Bricklayer” describes the effects of the cardinal’s strong personality in shaping an archdiocese in which “the schools were Dougherty’s top priority, and he drove Catholics and Philadelphia religious to extraordinary accomplishments.” Dougherty realized that a complete, separate, catholic educational system would tie children to parishes, attach them to the liturgy, and protect them from any outside noncatholic experience. By taking charge of family education, he also influenced parents throughout the vast network of churches that became a powerful “city-state within a city” under his command. A charismatic leader with a mystical tendency, the article highlights “Dougherty’s attention to ceremonial stagecraft, which in Philadelphia achieved a level of polish and consistency exceeded nowhere else. The elaborate liturgy was an expression, a validation, of who he was as a Catholic, a priest, and a cardinal, the emissary of a two-thousand-year-old tradition, stemming directly from Christ.” The article further notes that “among all of the American prelates, in an age when the American church’s loyalty to Rome was at a high pitch, Dougherty was ‘Romanissimus,’ the most devoted of all, to the point of servility.” The “Little Popes” seem to fit well within this vision.

The custom of Little Popes seems to have disappeared in the mid 1960s, probably due to a combination of factors. When Cardinal Dougherty met his final reward in 1951, he was replaced by Cardinal O’Hara — a non-Pennsylvanian with a very different style, who reportedly “often answered his own doorbell, which he explained by saying ‘How else can I meet the poor?’” No-nonsense Cardinal Krol, whose name meant “king” in Polish, was next, in the early 1960s, when middle-class families migrated from cities to suburbs in a national trend, and a sharp decline in Philadelphia’s urban parish populations left much smaller, poorer, city parish schools with fewer Catholic children. At the same time, the less ornate rituals after Vatican II allowed fewer servers per Mass, while a more general cultural shift favored simple “streamlined” design over baroque “fussiness” in every aspect of life. The church was challenged to respect its own diversity, and to accept a richer array of multicultural Catholic traditions.

At Saint Francis de Sales, Bishop McShea, the last of three Bishop pastors, moved to Allentown in 1961, and was replaced by Monsignor Sefton, so the parish no longer engaged in the elaborate pageantry of pontifical Masses. Then came Monsignor Mitchell, focused on the civil rights movement, and with little interest in ceremonies. The renowned boy choir ended as musical tastes changed. When Vatican II reforms mandated a forward-facing altar, toward the end of the decade, architect Robert Venturi’s sleek modern installation became a magnet for controversy. The custom of dressing as Little Popes was long gone by the time girls were able to join the boys as altar servers — which could have made things interesting.

Photo in the Bishop McShea Archives at De Sales University, labeled
St. Francis de Sales “Popes” (Boys Choir) 1960.

Little Popes faded quietly. The caption on the 1960 group photo above, from the Bishop McShea Archives at DeSales University in Allentown, oddly conflates two activities, suggesting that information was lacking. John Deady believes the photo depicts Little Popes junior altar servers, rather than musical choir boys, because “They are all young. The choir boys would have ranged in age from probably third grade to eighth grade so they wouldn’t all have been relatively the same height.  Choir boys wore cassocks and surplices. Popes were the only ones who wore white cassocks…In the picture they don’t seem to have zucchettos but they do have the sashes. Only the popes wore sashes. ”

This is supported in the last-known group photo labeled Little Popes, taken in the new Lower Church for the parish 1965 Jubilee book.

Little Popes in the SFDS 1965 Jubilee book

The custom of Little Popes was born and disappeared in a different age. Why is it important?

Stories from the past remind us how we came to be where we are now, and offer context to help light the way forward. Today’s churchgoers navigate a changing world of baffling complexity. Pope Francis has warned against the “backwardism” of trying to re-create the conditions of times gone by, but last year, in an audience with French altar servers, Pope Francis advised young people to “search for your roots, learn to know and love your culture, your history, to enter into a dialogue in truth with those who are different from you, strong in who you are and respectful of what others are.” He added “If you carry out your service at the altar with joy, dignity, and with an attitude of prayer, you will certainly inspire in other young people the desire to commit themselves to the Church as well.”

(SFDS archives undated)

Incidentally, the term “Little Pope” has been used in several unrelated contexts.

Kevin di Camillo, writing for the National Catholic Register, described the habit of the Norbertine religious order (Daylesford Abbey), “which according to tradition was given to St. Norbert directly in a vision from the Blessed Virgin Mary, ” and includes a Pope-like “sash, the short cape with buttons and the white tunic. Not for nothing are Norbertines (or Premonstratensians) also called ‘The Little Popes’!“

The perennial rival to Philadelphia, the city of Boston, MA, had a decidedly different kind of “little pope” custom in the 18^th century, which comes up when researching the subject. The Boston version, popular before the American Revolution, was a riotous “anticatholic holiday celebrated annually on November 5.” Wikipedia notes that “At the height of its popularity, Pope Night in Boston was a three-part ritual consisting of a procession in which effigies of the Pope and other figures were paraded through the streets; a battle between the processions from the North and South Ends; and the burning of the effigies by the victors…The procession was led by young boys who carried small effigies of the pope…” (The New England festival was a re-concepting of Guy Fawkes Night, back in England — an annual commemoration of the capture and execution of several resolute English Catholics, who, in 1605 plotted to blow up the British Houses of Parliament, kill the Protestant King James, and restore the Catholic monarchy to the throne — an historic reminder that religion and politics are a provocative mix).

Mystery Birds

From the ground, looking up, it’s hard to identify the weathered sculptures on the columns that support the Guastavino dome inside St. Francis de Sales. Are they single creatures with two heads, or are they pairs of birds? Why are they there and what is their message?

A casual first glance suggests that they could be two-headed eagles, consistent with the Byzantine-style architecture. According to medievalist.net, in that historic convention, “the heads represent the dual sovereignty of the emperor both in secular and religious matters and/or dominance over both East and West” — which, today, seems like a disturbing nod to authoritarian “divine-right” monarchy. However, a second look shows that our sculptured birds, roosting companionably and munching vegetarian meals, are inconsistent with empire-building heraldry.

Alternatively, a single bird with two heads could represent the sometimes two-headed mythical phoenix that periodically bursts into flames and is reborn from its own ashes. This would symbolize the “triumph of eternal life over death,” and, ultimately, Christ’s Resurrection.  It might also, inadvertently herald the many rebirths of our parish through a long succession of pastors. There’s a (one-headed) phoenix aflame in one of the dome windows, so the theme is used in our church, but the birds on the columns do not display any hint of transitioning.

The location of the birds offers yet a different possibility. In an old volume on the language of Christian symbolism, Canon Edward West observed that “Westerners begin with earth and move upward to divinity; Easterners begin with the divine and come down…” In the Eastern style that inspired our church architecture, symbolism begins at the top of the dome, with an image of God the Father in heaven, and then descends in order. The top of our dome features an oculus, or round window, decorated with a triangle in a shamrock-like trefoil, representing the Eye of God. Below that are the stars, and below the stars, in the pendentives — the triangular vaulting between the dome and the columns — are the symbols of the four gospel-writing evangelists: Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, the mediators who transcribed words from God for the benefit of the people below in the pews. The mystery birds appear below the evangelists, where the pendentives join the columns that support the dome (or, in Byzantine tradition, anchor the dome to earth and keep it from floating away).

This architectural placement, and the circles in the tails of the birds, suggest that they are peacocks. The eyes in the Peacock’s tail represent stars in the sky, consistent with the celestial dome above them. Signs and Symbols in Christian Art states that the “hundred eyes” in the peacock’s tail can also symbolize the “all-seeing church,” which would pair with the “Eye of God” peering down on the congregation from the oculus. Since peacocks symbolize heavenly immortality while the vines in the birds’ beaks represent earth’s bounty, celestial peacocks holding terrestrial vines form a bridge between heaven and earth, dome and columns. The combined grouping of peacock pairs with grapevines and crosses is said to signify Christ in the Resurrection, knitting together many design themes in our church.

Peacocks had other relevance in 1911, along with the acanthus leaves so abundant in our tilework. These motifs, evoking lost paradise, were popular with the Arts and Crafts Movement in the late 1800s and early 1900s, when artisans, like those who designed and built our church, yearned for a return to a slower-paced, hand-crafted, close-to-nature artistic style. This was in reaction against the waste and impersonal uniformity of rapid industrial development — a continuing modern concern.

Intentionally or unintentionally, there’s one more peacock connection for our church. Signs and Symbols in Christian Art offers the side note that “The peacock’s habit of strutting and displaying the beauty of its feathers has caused it also to become a symbol of worldly pride and vanity.” This is perhaps a caution for a magnificent parish, once the gem of the archdiocese, run by three bishops in succession, their resplendent pageantry aided by ranks of altar boys, and robed choir boys and men marching in orderly processions. Today, looking beyond the peacocks, up into the dome, we should be better aware of our humble place in the great cosmos, while peacocks, looking down, reminisce.

The Gap in the Smile at 49th and Woodland

An archival photo of a building adorned with a prominent ad for “The Smile Smith” highlights a parish puzzle, fills in a gap between properties in the modern landscape, and provides a window into neighbourhood life in days gone by.

Various SFDS parish accounts through the years have affirmed that the first SFDS Masses were said in a hall, rented in January 1890, on the second floor of a building “on the corner of 49^th Street and Woodland Avenue,” but the precise street address was never recorded. A photo in the 1940 Parish Jubilee book shows the purported spot, but the picture, probably taken in the late 1930s when many parishioners would still have remembered the location, was significantly retouched to remove distracting “modern” advertising on the front of the building – and some incidental details that may have seemed less important at the time!

            Fortunately, the unretouched version of the photo, also in the parish archives, reveals the street number as 4826-4828 Woodland Avenue. If this was, indeed, the correct place, then it would actually have been a few doors down from the end of the block – though it is possible that the second-floor hall, where our parish met, could have run through several adjoining properties.

            Our 1989 Parish Anniversary Book offers an additional detail: Ruth Wood Buley, of Drexel Hill, PA, recalled that “My maternal grandmother, Mary Ann Broders, and her husband James A. Denney, were the first couple married in the parish on April 15, 1891. The ceremony was held in the building at 49^th Street and Woodland Avenue in a hall over Bell’s Drug Store.” This is a little perplexing because the 49th Street corner drug store was run by Dr. Dahl, and Bell’s Grocery was at 4826-4828. It also appears that both of those businesses may have arrived after our parish left the premises!

We have no information about life on that block in 1890 or 1891 when our parish met there..

The 49^th Street corner drug store made the news a few times in the early 1900s.  In December 1900, after a Washington express train collided with a freight train at Gray’s Ferry Station, “about a score” of slightly-injured victims were brought to Dr. Dahl’s drug store for treatment. Skipping ahead to 1906, “Frederick Becht, a drug clerk employed at Forty-ninth street and Woodland avenue, was committed to prison…pending trial” after “Mrs. Emma Smith, 18 years old, a bride of four months” took tablets purchased from Becht and “died at her home, 1247 South Forty-ninth street.” Then, in 1908, a five-year old girl named Ethel Thomas used a stove poker to try to dislodge a doll from a high shelf in her family kitchen, and knocked over a box of matches, which landed on the stove and ignited. The mother rushed her badly-burned child to the 49^th Street drug store, where she was picked up by an ambulance and taken to the University Hospital in critical condition.

Exactly how the other properties on the block were configured is still a little unclear. A permit was granted in 1895 to build a one-story addition to the rear of 4826-4828, to be used as a photograph gallery, but we don’t know if it was actually built at the time. A photographer did have a studio somewhere on the premises from 1895 to 901, when he first advertised for an investor, and then sold his equipment.

Meanwhile, grocery store proprietor Frederick Bell at 4828 was a busy man. From about 1899 through 1921, The Inquirer published regular help-wanted ads for meat cutters, and later, bakers at his establishment. In 1906, he looked for a “young man…to drive wagon for grocery store;” a few years later, he wanted a young man to drive a Ford truck. At some point, he appears to have annexed 4826. By 1913, Bell had expanded to run additional grocery stores at 5012 Baltimore Ave.; 43rd and Baltimore Ave.; 50th and Locust; and 52^nd and Spruce. He was also a proud member of the Retail Grocery Association’s Triangle Stores – according to their ads “each of the 700 stores which make up this wonderful merchandising organization is owned and managed independently by the individual grocer in each particular store, yet these stores combine as one unit in purchasing their supplies.” This ensured that they could sell “pure wholesome groceries of known quality at prices which are as low as it is possible to get.”

            Bell may have enjoyed the protection of an umbrella retail organization, after a bad experience back in 1900, when the Inquirer headlined “Eighteen Dealers Accused of Adulterating Food. State Officials and District Attorney Combine to Enforce the Provisions of the Pure Food Law.” At that time, the Dairy and Food Commissioner of the Commonwealth was especially eager to stop sales of “oleomargarine” butter substitute — a “product or compound made wholly or partly out of fat, oil, or oleaginous substance…not produced from unadulterated milk or cream” — and enacted a series of strict bureaucratic regulations to protect the state’s dairy industry.

Two agents of the State Food and Dairy Commission ran a sting operation in April of that year, looking for oleomargarine and other adulterated or illegal grocery products sold across the city. Bell’s Grocery at 4826 Woodland became one of their targets: they “testified that they had purchased from Mr. Bell a half pound of cheese that had not been marked in accordance with the act of Assembly on the subject. It was cut from a small English dairy cheese, which Mr. Bell said had been specially ordered for some of his customers. All the other cheeses in the place, the agents admitted, were marked properly.”  The agents took the cheese to a lab for analysis. The chemist then testified that the cheese was “fully ten percent better than the average cream cheese.” Bell’s lawyer pointed out that Bell had “secured a superior article” to sell and his failure to label it was a simple oversight. The magistrate agreed, but felt that if “some example was not made in the matter other dealers might be afflicted with the same carelessness” — imposing a fine of $50, which seems a large sum for a “technical violation of the act” when there was no food adulteration. (Bell appealed the judgement, but we don’t know the outcome).

            Bell’s Grocery disappeared from the newspapers in 1921. From 1920 to 1925, Liberty Restaurant, at 4826 Woodland, placed ads for waitresses, cooks, and dishwashers, then nothing more was printed related to 4826 or 4828 until 1944, when ads appeared for an “experienced sea food cook, man or woman. Good wages. Good hours. No Sundays” at 4828. That was probably “Berts Sea Food,” the restaurant shown in the 1940 Jubilee parish photograph. The business did not long endure: 4828 was available to rent in 1946. Meanwhile, next door at 4826, Inquirer ads in 1952 announced the closing of Banner Cleaners and Dyers — the other business shown in the un-retouched parish photo — after fifteen years (so it must have arrived around 1937, close to when the parish photo was taken).

And what became of our once-upon-a-time parish hall? Newspaper information shows a variety of secret societies meeting on the second floor of 4828 in the early 1890s after our parish left: the Sons of American Hall of the Twenty-Seventh Ward; the Knights of the Golden Eagle; the Junior Order of American Mechanics; and United Americans Valley Forge Temple 37. Then, in 1901, photographer Hans Stolze, “The Smile Smith,” appears to have taken the space for his studio (children’s photographs a specialty) – remaining until at least 1930. Sometime before 1930 he moved his home address from 1321 Divinity Place to the suburbs and may eventually have moved his business – but his ad, though weathered, still appeared on the building for the parish photo.

Little subsequent information is available about the properties from the Inquirer, which covered the area less as the neighbourhood changed. From 1963 to 1973, number 4828 was listed only as a polling place and 4826 was not mentioned at all. A check cashing business is currently recorded at the location. At some point, the two front buildings quietly disappeared from the street, and our circa 1939 parish photograph – once buried in the archives — may be their only memory!

The Boys of Summer

Imagine a hot, sunny summer day in the 1930s with nothing much to do. A band of seven boys – siblings and friends ranging in age from seven to eleven – are tempted by running water in a nearby park. They know it’s forbidden, but they take off their shoes, roll up their trousers, and step into a deliciously cool stream. For half an hour or so (who’s keeping track of time on this glorious day!) they go wading – laughing, shouting, splashing, poking things with sticks, hunting for crayfish, skipping stones, and finding tin can “treasures” hidden among the rocks.

A few days later, on August 6, 1932, the Philadelphia Inquirer reports that “An 11 year old honor pupil and altar boy is dead and three other children ill after wading hip high in Cobbs Creek near 59th St and Whitby Ave. a week ago in a group of seven laughing, vacationing boys. An investigation of the cases led to statements by physicians that scores of children had been made ill throughout the city this summer as a result of bathing and streams, swimming holes and under fire plugs.”

The Inquirer noted that “The dead child, John Martin of 5130 Hatfield Ave., had been promoted with an average of .88 into the 7th grade of the Saint Francis De Sales parochial school in June and was third highest in his class. His youngest brother Hugh, 7, who was taken to Misericordia Hospital on Tuesday in a dying condition but was said to be improved yesterday, will enter the third grade in the same school in the fall.” The Parish Monthly Bulletin printed a full-page eulogy as John Martin’s classmates laid him to rest in his red altar server robes.

“The sewage saturated waters of concrete of Cobbs Creek are an unhealthy place for children to swim, Doctor Lamp declared with emphasis, and should be red flagged by park guards like the ice in winter time.”

He wasn’t wrong. Adam Levine once detailed the waterway’s industrial history for Phillyh20: in the early 1800s, it was crowded with textile mills “with clusters of factories in the Angora section of West Philadelphia (near 60th Street and Baltimore Avenue)…Water used in various industrial processes, such as paper-making and textile dyeing and bleaching, was dumped directly back into the creek, untreated, which certainly had an adverse affect on water quality and aquatic life….” In the early twentieth century, as neighborhoods grew, “rampant development” caused more problems as stream tributaries were paved over or rerouted, and “sewers from the new neighborhoods in the watershed emptied directly into the creek and its tributaries, polluting the water with raw sewage.” By the 1930s, most of the mills had moved out, but toxins remained and “in more recent times, polluted stormwater runoff and inadequate drainage systems, leaking and inadequate septic tanks, lack of open space and adequate recreation, illegal dumping, and an array of other urban ills have also taken their toll on the quality of human and natural life in the watershed”.

The boys had been told the water was unsafe, but they were children, and they were careful to look out for hazards they could see: bugs and creatures, sharp objects in the water, and a fast-moving current. Chemical poisons, trash dumps, and pollution-borne infectious diseases were outside their understanding. Problems caused by water issues were also beyond the scope of medicine at the time: antibiotics such as penicillin would not be available until the 1940s. Routine childhood vaccinations against diseases such as tetanus and diptheria would not begin until the late 1940s, and polio vaccination in the 1950s.

It has long been observed that “the more things change, the more they stay the same…” Medical knowledge has advanced considerably since the 1930s — ironically to a point where overuse of antibiotics is now limiting their effectiveness, and disease outbreaks are recurring as parents choose to reject available vaccinations for their children. At the same time, within our environment, “rampant development” and water quality issues continue to be in the news even as Pope Francis pleads with us to take better care of our “common home.” In an interview with an Argentine news agency, he observed that “Everything is connected, it is harmonious…The lives of men and women take place in an environment. I think of a Spanish saying, I hope it is not too vulgar: ‘He who spits toward the sky is spitting on his own face’. This is what abusing nature is about. Nature will pay us back. Again: nature never forgives, not because it is vengeful, but because we set in motion processes of degeneration that are not in harmony with our being.” The wording is picturesque; the warning is real.

Canonization of St. Thérèse

When “Sister Teresa, Carmelite Nun of Lisieux, generally known as the ‘Little Flower of Jesus,’” was canonized on May 17, 1925, our second pastor, Bishop Crane, was not personally present at the event, but still managed to have eyes at the Vatican!

Catholic News Service reported that “The canonization ceremonies—the first during the reign of the present pope (Pius XI)—were carried out with all the splendor prescribed by the ancient ritual of the Church…” Philadelphia Cardinal Dougherty – Bishop Crane’s boss — was among the cardinals and bishops in the magnificent procession. Viewers included “twenty-one members of various royal families of Europe; the sister, nephew and cousin of the sovereign pontiff, and a multitude, estimated at sixty thousand persons.” CNS reported that among those “given places of prominence were: Timothy Healy, Governor General of the Irish Free State…; John Coyle, of Philadelphia (president of the American Catholic Union and Private Chamberlain to His Holiness by Pope Pius XI), and Miss Langton, niece of Bishop Crane, Auxiliary of Philadelphia”.

The latest in technology made the ceremony accessible: when the Pope “pronounced the words whereby the new saint is formally proclaimed” it was reported that “Due to the installation of microphones and four amplifiers—the first time such installation has been made in St. Peter’s—the voice of the supreme pontiff could be heard in all parts of the vast edifice.” An ancient tradition made it memorable: “A custom, which has lain dormant since the downfall of the temporal power of the popes, in 1870,” was revived so that “the outside of the Basilica of St. Peter was brilliantly illuminated” by “Five thousand large lanterns and twenty five hundred torches…replicas of those used in former days, specially reconstructed for the purpose…At first, it was proposed to substitute electric lights for candles in the lanterns and the torches, but this suggestion was rejected because one of the most picturesque features of illumination is the blowing of the flames in the breezes, which always play about the great dome…When the hour for the illumination arrived, the first of the “sampietrini”—the personnel attached to the basilica—stationed at the top of the cross, lighted the first torch, crying out as he did so: “In nomine Patris, et Filii et Spiritus Sancti”. Almost instantaneously, 7,500 torches and lanterns, tended by his 300 assistants, burst into flame, and the outlines of the great basilica were etched in fire against the dark background of the heavens….” A report says that “Cardinal Dougherty, Bishop Schrembs, of Cleveland, Bishop Gallagher, of Detroit, and Bishop Turner, of Buffalo, viewed the spectacle from a terrace in front of the residence of Cardinal Sincero.” We don’t know where Miss Langton sat for this!

Meanwhile, back in Philadelphia, the SFDS Parish Monthly Bulletin reported Bishop Crane’s plan to dedicate a permanent shrine for St. Thérèse in a new basement “Lady Chapel” of our church on the day of her canonization. “In preparation for this a novena will be conducted on the afternoon of Sunday May 10” followed by devotions each day at 4 PM and 8 PM. “A beautiful statue of the Little Flower has been secured (located today in the former confessional on the parking lot side of the church) and this will be unveiled and blessed at 4 o’clock on the afternoon of May 17…” The Parish Monthly Bulletin published a request “to secure sufficient old gold and silver to have made up a reliquary to hold the relic of St. Therese. Those who have old articles of jewelry, watches, rings, etc., silver plate, spoons, etc., are asked to submit them with their intention that they may be incorporated into the Reliquary.” (Novenas featuring the relic were held regularly for the next few years. We do not know what became of the relic upon the death of Bishop Crane).

Miss Stella Langton returned triumphantly from Rome on 29 June, and Bishop Crane went out on the U.S. Coastguard cutter to meet her. Never in the best of health, “The bishop climbed the rope ladder from the cutter’s deck to that of the Ohio, arriving safely amid the cheers of passengers who lined the rails.” Mission accomplished!

Lost Links

The church and school buildings of Most Blessed Sacrament Parish (56^th and Chester Ave.) were sold after the parish merged with Saint Francis de Sales in 2007, but they are still a part of the landscape — now finding a new life as Independence Charter School West, a “community-based public charter school” of the School District of Philadelphia, chartered in 2016. Other significant spots, once important to MBS parish, are long gone, though – their presence faded behind the visible layers of local history:

Today a row of houses along 55th Street replaces the lone little house that used to stand at the corner

5500 Woodland Avenue

When Reverend Patrick F. Burke was named first pastor of Most Blessed Sacrament Parish in June 1901, a 1917 history reports “his first home was the house 5500 Woodland Avenue, and in its upper room, the first Mass was offered, and the first congregation of this Parish listened to his stirring appeal.” A 1907 account by Monsignor Bernard McKenna, describes the property less romantically as “an old dilapidated house which had not been occupied for seventeen years.”  Whatever its condition, it was the first home of MBS Parish, and Father Burke continued to live there after the MBS chapel was erected at 56^th and Chester in December 1901. It was not an easy commute: a 1917 history reports “Father Burke’s health had been failing for some time and he had to suffer many privations in those days. For instance, Gray’s Lane was at times almost a trough of yellow mud and he had to walk from 55th and Woodland Ave to the Chapel. Some of the most public spirited among the parishioners, at their own expense, had a part of the lane filled in and a cinder path laid. Once in a while, a good soul would provide a carriage to convey the delicate priest to Mass…. The archdiocese gave him several Assistants to help him in his duties, and he lived at the Woodland address until 1906.

5406 Chester Ave. is now a parking lot.

5406 Chester Avenue

MBS First Pastor “Father Burke’s Silver Jubilee occurred in June 1906, and the parishioners presented him with a purse. The old residence on Woodland Ave was abandoned and a new home at 5406 Chester Ave rented. In the following Autumn, October 9, 1906, on Tuesday evening after a lingering illness the first pastor died. His remains were escorted from the rectory to the Chapel (wooden building at 56^th and Chester) by a number of the clergy.”

5548 Chester Ave. was rebuilt at some point in the distant past as a commercial establishment.

5548 Chester Avenue

The head of the IHM order promised Third Pastor Rev. James T. Higgins that she would send four sisters to open MBS school in September 1908. “Since the parish lacked a convent. It was decided that the sisters would live nearby at Saint Francis de Sales and St Clements convents. However, before they arrived the following September, the priests of the parish gave up the comforts of the rectory at 5406 Chester Ave and took up residence in the combination church and school building (new stone building by Henry Dagit finished in 1908. The MBS Rectory would not be built until 1918). This cut down a major parish expense and enabled the pastor to use the money saved to obtain a home at 5548 Chester Ave to be used as a convent.” The school would open on September 5, 1908, and “When the sisters arrived, they found the convent prepared and furnished in a simple but comfortable way.”  (Permission to build a permanent convent at MBS was granted in 1919, and the Sisters moved into it in 1921). 

1901 MBS wooden Chapel with 1908 stone Chapel behind. MBS First Pastor Reverend Patrick Burke inset

56^th and Chester Ave. Magical Moving Chapel

The Most Blessed Sacrament chapel – a small wooden frame building donated by St. Thomas Aquinas Church – was erected on the southern end of the lot at 56^th and Chester Avenue and dedicated on December 22, 1901. A 1917 parish history provides a poetic description of those early MBS days: “Memory calls up the little wooden Chapel among the trees in all the glory of its rustic setting on a Sunday morning in Spring. Over the fields, up the lane and through the main thoroughfare, came these worshippers…” The neighborhood grew quickly, and the church expanded with it. A stone chapel/school building was dedicated in 1908, and the cornerstone was laid for the church in 1922. Meanwhile, the little wooden building – repurposed as the MBS Parish Assembly Hall and school gym — clung bravely to its spot until it was needed by the newly-established Good Shepherd Parish (67^th and Chester Ave.), and moved there in 1925. Find its further adventures here: https://sfdshistory.wordpress.com/2022/05/27/a-moving-story/

Father Daniel Gatens, writing the MBS Parish 1976 Jubilee Book, observed that “the history of any parish…is the story of people and the story of buildings.” The buildings connect us to the people and the neighbourhood and give us roots. Even when they are gone, an awareness that they were once there brings  a small jolt of recognition in passing and perhaps a smile and a feeling that we are all connected.

Original MBS wooden chapel and new 1908 chapel/church shown in 1976 MBS Parish Diamond Jubilee Book

An Artist’s Troubles

Between 1907 and 1911, renowned Philadelphia stained glass artisan Nicola D’Ascenzo was busy creating the four round and six long stained-glass windows for our church, but his life direction could have been very different!

Thirteen years earlier, at age 23, before he became a stained-glass specialist, the Philadelphia Inquirer reported that “Nicola D’Ascenzo, a Philadelphia artist, accompanied by his wife who is also an artist, sailed from New York on June 12, 1894, as passengers on the North German Lloyd steamship Neckar, bound for a two years’ residence in Mr. D’Ascenzo’s native home, Italy.” Having come to this country “when only 11 years of age,” D’Ascenzo had been granted his citizenship papers in 1893. His wife was American-born. He later told the Inquirer:

“‘When we landed at Naples…my uncle told me that I was in danger of arrest by the Italian Government. I was wanted for military duty and also for desertion. Although I was only a boy and not yet subject to military duty when I left my home in the province of Chieti, the little village of Torricella Peligna, my name had been carried upon the rolls and I was liable to conscription for 18 months military duty in the Italian army. Because I had not reported myself to the proper officials, upon reaching the age of 18 years, I was liable, in addition, to two years’ service as a deserter. Confident in the ability of the United States Government to protect me, I and my wife went on with our art studies, intending to remain in Italy until next summer…When we reached Rome, I learned that I was about to be arrested, and I sought and obtained an interview with our Minister, Mr. MacVeagh. When I stated my case, he advised me to flee the country. ‘We cannot protect you,’ said he…Accordingly…my wife and I hurriedly and secretly left Rome. Neither of us breathed free until we got beyond the Italian border…”

The paper then interviewed the acting Italian consul in Philadelphia, who clarified that the day before he left, “Nicola D’Ascenzo had appeared before him and taken out a paper which called for his appearance before the sub prefect of Lanciano, Italy, inside of 25 days to straighten out his military standing with the Italian government…There must, however, either have been some mistake or else D’Ascenzo was unwilling to serve the time which it was necessary, according to the Italian law, for him to serve…Every town or district is compelled o send a certain allotment of men to the army each year. All the physically fit young men who are just 20 years old are compelled to draw numbers,” and those drawing the low numbers “are compelled to serve nearly two years in the army…” If a man doesn’t turn up for the drawing, “the mayor of the city draws a number for him. According to the Law of Italy, if a boy is born of Italian parents, citizens of Italy, no matter whether he is naturalized in another country or not, he is an Italian and holds the same position in regard to the army as any other Italians. Consequently, D’Ascenzo would be compelled to serve whatever time had fallen to him and cannot be released from citizenship in Italy until he has fulfilled the military requirements. Then, with the consent of the government, he can give up his citizenship in Italy and become a citizen of any country he chooses.”

“Mr. Slaviz said that he had many such cases occurring all the time. All these men are classed as deserters, but during the past four years, and at present, the Italian King has granted an amnesty allowing all the privilege of returning to Italy and serving their time without receiving any punishment. The present amnesty, dating from last September, is in honour of the silver anniversary of the King’s wedding. The only way to escape doing service in the army was to leave the country.” The problem was, apparently, sorted satisfactorily for D’Ascenzo, in the end, since he and wife returned to Italy for another, happier visit two years later.              

Perhaps this incident could provide a clue to what happened to our other Italian immigrant artisan, Adolfo de Nesti, who sculpted most of our statuary and the friezes on the church façade, before disappearing mysteriously in 1916, with only a brief reference to a “family tragedy” in his American wife’s family records; she would file for a divorce in 1921 to marry an American-born dentist.

Got the winter blues? Every year around this time, libraries, archives, and other cultural institutions around the world share free coloring sheets and books online based on materials in their collections, in a NY Academy of Medicine-sponsored event. We’ve participated for five years. This year’s parish history archives coloring book features advertising art from MBS and SFDS from the 1950s and 1960s and a few other items. Check out all the offerings, from a diversity of institutions, with new collections posted each day.