Tempus Fugit

For nearly 44 years my time at IHM has been a cherished memory of friendship, encouragement, and innocence that I have treated like a long-lost reality. I think and speak of that place and the people often. I still wonder why I left such a place that became one of my fondest and most treasured memories. Then I stumble upon this web site and I find that IHM for many of my former classmates remains something beyond virtual. I am simply overwhelmed. There is the picture of Fr. Tony Bruder, who introduced me to Latin – via the natural method. What would he think if he knew how hard I struggled through Latin II, III, and IV after I left IHM. Pete Adams, my big brother, who came to my home and introduced me to IHM after Father Richard’s visit made it inconceivable in my mind that I would go anywhere else. And there is fellow Philadelphian and classmate, Al Stark – quiet, gentle, Big Al. Of all my memories of Al, his crashing through the ice on the pool at the bottom of suicide hill is about as stark as they get and a real testimony that people can survive hypothermia – if they don’t drown first. We made the trek back and forth to Bellfontaine a couple times together (along with Jim O’Brien). I remember George Nestler as the flag football great from somewhere near Pittsburgh; Emmet Helrick from Long Island; and Claude Marchessault from somewhere in New England. What happened to Barry Kane, Mike McGreevy, Charlie Tuna and the others? If I recall the worst thing anyone in our class could have been in 1962 was a “pedantic snob.” I clearly remember none of the guys in those photos were ever so designated!

More than anyone, however, I would love to be able to speak or write to Father Casper. I have much to tell him about how things have gone since the night before I left IHM – how I have never forgotten the lessons he tried to teach.