Life at St. Joe's

When I was a rookie altar boy in the early 1960s at St. Joseph's Catholic Church in Shreveport, I often would be assigned to serve at the 6:15 a.m. weekday Mass. My father, Jack Marshall, would shake me awake at about 6, and I would dress quickly and then hop on my bicycle and begin pedaling through the early morning mist toward St. Joe's.

Down the block, as I passed my best friend Patrick Grant's house, he'd often be coasting down the driveway on his bicycle and the two of us would ride together the half-block or so from Atlantic Street to the church, entering the side door to the sacristy by 6:10. By 6:14, we were dressed in our altar boy robes and had lit the few candles in front of the sparse but faithful group of daily Mass-goers scattered throughout the church.

Then, no more than 30 seconds before the scheduled beginning of Mass, a young Irish priest, Father Richard Lombard, would blow through the sacristy door and don his robes with a practiced speed that I believe surely would have beaten even Superman's best time for a wardrobe change. And then, at precisely 6:15, we'd ring the little bells and start our quick procession to the altar. Mass was under way, and if you were an altar boy for Father Lombard, you had to be on your toes.

That's because Father Lombard – especially in the days of the Latin Mass, with the priest's back to the congregation and prayers and responses mumbled in a rote script that was barely understood – was the all-time champion of speed-Mass and, as a result, the altar boys' favorite at St. Joe's. Mass with Father Lombard was a precision ballet of perfectly timed Latin prayers, rituals of water and wine, the ringing of bells, and the distribution of communion. If you served at Father Lombard's 6:15 a.m. Mass, you could finish your duty and be at home eating Giffy Marshall's hearty breakfast by 6:30 or so.

It was, most certainly, a modern miracle of religious brevity.

But serving at early Mass was only one aspect of life at St. Joe's. Beginning with its founding in 1949 by some 250 families (the young family of Jack and Giffy Marshall included), St. Joe's has been the center of life for thousands of Catholic families in Shreveport for more than a half century. Most live in the Broadmoor area of town where the church always has been located. For these families, St. Joseph's remains the religious, educational and social heart of the community.

On November 28, 1962, Jack Marshall took the photograph at the end of this entry. It shows me (third from left) and some of my third grade classmates at St. Joseph's giving a presentation in Newman Hall, the school's multipurpose cafeteria. My fellow 6:15 a.m. altar boy, Patrick Grant, is at the far left.

To me, this photograph illustrates what St. Joseph's was – and is – all about. Young people learning and growing in a happy, safe, and caring place. I know there are adults today whose recollections of their early Catholic educations are not the same as mine. But my own childhood memories of those years are filled with nothing but goodness, feelings of always being cared for, a strong dose of needed discipline, and a happy, loving environment.

To be sure, we at the same time feared and adored the priests, nuns and teachers who were always there for us. We had favorite teachers – the names McCollough, Touchstone, Searcy, Slette, Vermaellen and Sister Leonita come to mind – and we had ones we dared not cross, whose names shall remain anonymous.

One nun among the many provided to St. Joseph's by the Sisters of Divine Providence was a woman who inspired our greatest combination of fear and affection. She was our principal, Sister Bernard Marie, a compact bundle of energy with a powerhouse personality and a stronger force of will than even the most determined sixth grader. Nicknamed "The Little Tank" by a generation of St. Joseph's schoolchildren, we all walked the halls in trepidation, lest we break one of the many rules necessary to keep chaos at bay in a school teeming with kids from toddlers to preteens. Because if you broke the rules, you had to answer to Sister Bernard Marie.

At the same time, I remember her compassion, creativity and obvious commitment to the students of St. Joseph's. Sister Bernard Marie most of all clung to a fervent desire that every child at our school should succeed and excel. And a belief that every child could do just that. I treasure the photo at the top of this entry that Jack Marshall took of me with her on what must have been my First Communion day on March 30, 1961. You can see not only my ill-fitting suit, dubious fashion choice in shoes, and slicked down hair, but also my excitement. And most of all, the look of pure joy on the angelic face of Sister Bernard Marie.

A few years ago, my mother sent me a newspaper clipping about the death of this great lady. It brought back a flood of memories of a very special time in my life. I'm so glad Jack Marshall was there, as he almost always was, camera in hand, to capture many of those moments, so I can share them with you now.

While I was finalizing my research for this entry, I called the office at St. Joseph's. There are almost 500 children enrolled there now, I was told – an all-time high. And guess what else? On the church's website, I saw the smiling face of Father Richard J. Lombard, still serving the parish 50-some years later. I was told that Father Lombard has served other churches since my long-ago early morning altar boy times, but is now back at St. Joe's and going strong at a time when lesser men would have slowed. But apparently "slow" is not in Father Lombard's vocabulary. When I mentioned that he was a speedy Mass celebrant way back then, the woman on the other end of the line chuckled fondly and said, "He still is!"

Nice to know some things never change. Like the importance of family, teachers, and taking care of our children. And maybe even the speedy celebration of daily Mass in a wonderful old church.

–Tom Marshall, New York City