Ahhh, it's Friday, and although not Sunday, it is Sunday Service in Dahahran. But, before I relate the end of the story, perhaps a short trip as to how Fr. Roman and I developed a particular meaning to the word "Altar Boy".
As a good Catholic boy who never had much to confess,(AND you can stop laughing right now, Doral), I think because this was done on a weekly basis, I decided that I wanted to become an Altar Boy for the Church. My Father was very devout and I attended Mass wether I wanted to or not. Most times kicking and screaming after a night of skinny dipping in a pool run, or an exhilarating run across Dhahran, with the dogs of Security snapping at my heals. So, as one might imagine, going to Mass at 8:00 am wasn't real popular around me.
However having met Father Roman in Catechism and taking class at his house, which had the small chapel and class room, I decided that to calm the mounting danger from Dad I would proudly announce that I was going to follow his footsteps and become an Altar Boy. I mean , how hard can it be, plus I actually thought that there was real wine in the back.
First, you had to learn Latin as the whole Mass was in Latin then..What a job, I had to write cheat notes on the sleeve of the Church vestments/garments we wore so that I could say the right thing at the right time. Now imagine trying to read these while Fr. Roman is glaring at you and the Church/theater is full of adults, AND the front row is full of your peers, who were, of course very supportive.
I actually did ok until one terrible Christmas High Mass where I set new standards among the Church for patience. Fr. Roman had given me the easiest task, and I thought most demeaning of jobs, to simply stay to the left of the Altar and swing the incense burner and keep it lit for the service.
First, I am most likely the only person alive who could fall asleep on my knees, but worse, let the incense burner fall on the floor and catch the rug on fire. So now, in the middle of Mass Fr. Roman boots me with his scandal, sets his robe on fire and spills out the incense which also catches fire. Nothing major, just horrendous silence from the packed theater as I believe most thought Fr. Roman, known for his calm composure, was going to revert to a pagan ritual and sacrifice me right then and there. Well he stomped out the little fire and me and then we relit the burner and in plain english, no latin, he told me that if it went out, so did I.
Well, after my heart got back in my chest I realized that he was serious and so I started swinging the little burner back and forth as fast as I could in little motions. This caused great hilarity in the crowd as I soon had the stage smoked up and you could hardly see. From nowhere a sandal got me again and, caught by surprise I was in a swing and let go of the incense burner and it went over the stage into the front row of my ,by now, advid fans and caused great delight.
Now Fr. Roman, known for his stopping Mass and lecturing, did a little "spin doctor" something to effect that I would be doing penance for a long long time, but that God would understand the punishment. I was sent back stage and the Mass proceeded.
I didn't agree and so started the saga of Fr. Roman and Mike Crocker. I would go into confession and do my best to shock him with some kind of sin, just short of Mortal Sin as I still wasn't really sure about some of this. I would tell him things like I needed a little cash for a date, so "borrowed" it from the poor box at his house, at which he would go into a fit behind the confessional screen. Luckily for me, Aramco had let us use the right down front exit of the theater to hold the confessions in and the screen kept us apart. One drawback, I forgot he had the power to issue penance. I did so many "Hail Mary's" and "Our Fathers" that I developed callouses on my knees. It really got bad when he would pass out the host and place it on our tongues, I tried to bite his finger and he held a flat gold mirror shaped plate under your chin to catch the excess, and guess what, without so much as a blink, slap, and on to the next person. he was really good with that thing.
As to the wine. Well, Fr. Roman got wind of what I was attempting and filled a whole big bottle with prune juice right before Mass one day. I snuck in and drank a huge amount of the bottle, and thought "Man, that's bad wine". As most of you know, Fr. Roman's Masses go go for days if wanted to talk, and I developed a very serious problem about an hour into service, and kept wondering what his evil little grin was about every every time he looked at me. As might be expected, I paid for that little liberty also.
One last thing..Fr, Roman never started Mass on time and, if worked up, went on and on. Well, one time and only once, I was in the crowd with my Dad and Mass started on time..My Dad looked at his watch, shook it and tapped it to make sure it was running right. Exactly fifty minutes later, by this time the Mass was in English and we were all supposed to answer the end when Fr. Roman would say, " Go, in God's name and Peace" and we were supposed to answer " Thanks be to God." But, to this day, and my Dad vehemently denies this, I swear I heard my Dad say " Thank God!".....Mass ended.
I still have the Altar Boy pin I got from Fr. Roman, and have a deep belief in God to this day. Fr. Roman ended up being a dear friend and confidant in later years, although many a time he told me he knew I was his "test" from God. He just wished it wasn't daily.....
Rest in God's Peace my dear friend, Father Roman...
Michael Crocker(DH 65)
Nacogdoches, Texas
"By the Brats, Of the Brats, For the Brats"
Brat home page- http://www.aramco-brats.com
Date: Fri, 02 Aug 1996 13:32:40 -0500