**I am in the process of writing a short Memoir. Not really for publication but more as a historical document for my two sons and granddaughters. It contains family history, upbringing, etc. Below is a chapter I've written about the Catholic Worker. This is only a portion of what I've written on that time frame but some readers may be interested in some of this history as I saw it.
I had recently returned to St. Anselm College from a few weeks in Selma, Alabama participating in the voter rights demonstrations. While there I knew I was ill, but nothing was diagnosed until I got back to the college campus. It turned out that I had pneumonia and I soon developed pleurisy which ultimately led to a collapsed lung. My illness in Manchester, NH led to other things. My parents had arrived while I was in the hospital. They had met with the president and Abbot at the college and my disappearance it seems had been forgiven by college officials. But other things were going on. My interest peaked in new ideas, nonviolence, social justice, the draft. The war in Vietnam was raging and students and professors were discussing how these things would be impacting the lives of everyone. I had already sent my 4D draft card back to my local draft board. I was classified as 4D, a religious deferment, due to my previous enrollment at Maryknoll Seminary. All of that would change soon enough.
While lying in my hospital bed, one of the priests from St. Anselm’s brought me a few copies of the Catholic Worker newspaper. I began reading things that I had never heard before from traditional church writings. I read articles by Dorothy Day about her travels, about the need for volunteers and workers, I met people in those pages, people like Thomas Merton, Dan Berrigan, Italian Mike, Mad Paul, Julia, Scotty. I saw people writing about the works of mercy in the here and now, about war and peace, about taking action, about going to jail.
There, in the hospital, I started talking to my mother and father about the Catholic Worker and my desire to see and work at a place like that. They tried to understand but clearly didn’t. They told the priest to stop bringing me all that material. They talked to the doctors and wondered if all of the medicine was affecting my thinking. After a week or so it was decided that it may be best for me to go home to New Jersey to rest and recuperate. The college would keep my spot open for the rest of the semester.
Conversations with my parents went nowhere on both sides. I decided at a certain point that I would go to the Catholic Worker in NYC for a visit in the early summer of 1965. A few old high school friends took me to the city and dropped me off. I was there for a visit but never left until FBI agents took me away close to two years later to serve a 3 year sentence in federal prison.
The Catholic Worker in 1965 had numerous young people at St. Joseph’s House of Hospitality located at 175 Chrystie St. in NYC. Young people who had come from various parts of the country. Some attracted by the overall philosophy of the Worker and others who came specifically around anti-war activities and pacifist beliefs. There were older, more experienced Catholic Workers like Walter Kerrell who was in charge of the office area, Ed Forand, who basically ran house operations and Marty Corbin, managing editor of the monthly newspaper. Walter and Ed lived in apartments in the city and Marty basically traveled between Tivoli, NY where the Catholic Worker operated Peter Maurin Farm, and NYC. Marty’s family lived at the farm and he would come to the city for about a week each month to pull the paper together and get the final copy to the printer. Chris Kerns was another operational person at Chrystie St. He was kind of a bridge between the older folks and the younger volunteers who were showing up. By that time, Tom Cornell had phased out of any operational aspects of the Worker and was working full time with Jim Forest at the newly formed Catholic Peace Fellowship. Chris basically showed me the ropes of driving the old CW van to the produce market where we begged for cases of vegetables and other food. He also showed me the process for getting flop house rooms for some of the folks from the Bowery who we couldn’t find sleeping space for at Chrystie St or at one of the apartments that the CW rented. You had to be a quick learner because as soon as someone showed you something, you were bound to be put in charge of that activity.
At one point as an example, I became known as the ‘benign bouncer’, taking on responsibility at the front door during the soup line. The job required listening and observational skills along with negotiating and quick thinking. Things were not always pleasant. Alcohol and drugs could cause major personality changes in people who a few moments before were your best friend. The front window, a large plate glass affair, became a frequent target of stones, bricks, bottles or elbows.
The essence of the Catholic Worker has always been the people who make it up and the sights and sounds of those people. The smells, some pleasant and others not very. Tobacco, coffee, potatoes and soup along with body orders and aged clothing were all part of life at the Catholic Worker. The lines between volunteers or staff and people supported or helped were easily blurred which was a good thing. Nicknames existed for almost everyone. None were meant to be insulting and some were chosen by the person named.
There certainly was a lot to learn. Making coffee in huge urns first thing in the morning and then soup for 150 to 200 people a day, setting tables, going to the clothing room and sorting through donated shoes, pants, shirts and coats for folks who needed them. There were other things that you kind of learned on the fly like answering the phone or breaking up fights in the dining area, at the door or in front of the building. Most importantly, learning also consisted of relationships with co-workers who could be a person who had lived on the Bowery for years or a young person like yourself from Oregon or Texas. Personalities galore, that was the Catholic Worker and you just became one of the many others who made up that voluntary community.
Dorothy Day, co-founder with Peter Maurin, of the Catholic Worker movement and newspaper was the star of the show however. To a young man feeling his way around the politics of war, peace and social justice, she was amazing as well as a bit scary. She was, in her own words, a benevolent dictator. When she arrived at the front door of St. Joseph’s, the House of Hospitality on Chrystie Street operated by the Catholic Worker, people would do one of two things, scatter or flock. I was part ignorant and very much in awe of this strong woman so I tried to melt into the background and just do the work that I had been doing before she showed up. Dorothy spent much of her time at that point in her life either at the Catholic Worker farm in Tivoli, NY or traveling. She had numerous speaking engagements as well as her daughter and her grandchildren living in Vermont.
Living in a community always has challenges. Dorothy experienced them as much as anyone else but she also had the burden of being the assumed leader and arbitrator. When she walked into St. Joe’s or the Farm, there was a reason for people to scatter or flock. Every grievance, no matter how small or how big would be brought to her attention. Should we provide margarine on the tables to go with the bread on the soup line everyday, or should we keep it just for the permanent people housed at the Worker? How many times should we replace the large pane glass window out front when Arthur or Mike will just come back after their next binge and break it again? What should we do about the increased prices at the flop houses on the Bowery where we housed some long time friends? Dorothy usually had much bigger problems to solve like paying the printer or fixing infrastructure at one of the Worker’s properties. Sometimes she would grow weary of what may have been important questions to someone but at the same time pretty trite to her. So she’d answer simply “butter for everyone” or “if it’s broken fix it” and then go upstairs to face some of the bigger issues or just to rest from her trip to or from or perhaps to pray for the poor souls she had just left downstairs unable to make simple decisions.
It seemed to me that Dorothy, no matter where she was coming from or going to, was in fact, always escaping. Escaping from the farm, escaping from Vermont, escaping from NYC or escaping from a long and difficult journey, on pilgrimage as it were. But in her escaping from the pressures of one place, she was being welcomed at another, having a bit of recuperation and eventually facing new pressures and challenges of the present.
Friday Night Meetings, a cornerstone of the Catholic Worker, were or could be an intriguing and interesting experience. These were meant to be the place where scholars and workers could share thoughts and ideas, clarification of thought as Peter Maurin had preached. People would come from all over to hear ideas and to start or finish arguments. Always interesting to see who might show up. People like Norman Mailer, Jimmy Breslin, Ed Sanders founder of The Fugs, Malachy McCourt, Grace Paley, Paddy Chayefsky, Allen Ginsberg, Abbie Hoffman and more. Interesting folks sharing sassafras tea with people who called the Bowery home. These folks weren't present all the time or all at once but one or two may show up for a particular talk or topic, mixing with everyone else.
I didn’t spend lots of time personally with Dorothy but when I did it was usually about writing or on the prospect of prison. She enjoyed talking to young people (sometimes). She also felt very responsible for those she knew were facing hard decisions about the draft and war resistance. Where I really got to know Dorothy though was through observation. I watched her with visitors, with people from the soup line, with the famous and not so famous who would come to Friday Night Meetings. I saw her interact at conferences with people from other organizations. She and I even sat together for a radio interview on WBAI about draft resistance, conscientious objection and the War in Vietnam where I watched her take complex issues and turn them into clear and concise statements and ideas. I watched her at the farm in Tivoli interacting with her own family or the Corbin family. She was highly respected by other organizations in the peace movement and recognized for her judgement and opinions.
Having said that, It was not always easy to watch or interact with Dorothy. She, like every one else, had her flaws and rough spots. She could be very hard on people, some might say insensitive. Dorothy could speak in short, brief bullets that could sometimes be seen as too clear. She was quick to judge and was certainly opinionated. But she would also think things through and apologize when necessary. I didn’t give her a free pass on things either. I and other folks involved at the Worker often questioned her actions or inactions. Youthful exuberance sometimes had us doing things our own way, making sure that we waited for Dorothy to be off on another trip before we changed things back to the way we thought they should be done. Years later I realize Dorothy most likely knew all of this was happening as quickly as she got out the door.
But I certainly learned a lot from this woman who had seen so much in her own life. First, I learned to be strong and unafraid. To support others no matter who they were or how great their need. To be kind but also angry if necessary. To always speak up when you saw injustice. To realize that we can all be part of a community of saints, perhaps a bit ragged, bruised and imperfect but in the end, a community of saints. To laugh and to love writing, or cooking, or singing or whatever your talent may be.
The personalism and Christian anarchy of the Catholic Worker was what made everything work. These were also the values that helped me evolve into who I became over the years.
One of the last times I saw Dorothy was in a courtroom in New Jersey where I was being sentenced for refusal to report for induction. Dorothy had made the trip to Newark to support me in my decision and to let me know that the Catholic Worker community would support me and my family while I was in prison. We stole a glance at each other as I was led away, sentenced to three years in the custody of the Attorney General (Federal Prison).
I went to visit Dorothy in 1980 at Maryhouse in NYC, right before she passed away, but we didn’t see each other due to her weakened condition.
