37 - The Priest and Bruce

The Priest and Bruce

This story goes back many years but it is worth repeating. It started when we lived in a small house only two doors from a Catholic church. In between was another very small home where many children lived. The eldest child was Virginia. She became the baby sitter for Robin and Bruce
and I was really concerned when I moved to live with my mother and father.

My family had rented a large home in Mission Hills (an elegant section of San Diego) and insisted that the children and I come and live with them. It proved to be a wonderful arrangement except for my loss of Virginia who was the only baby sitter I could trust. The family usually left on Saturday evening to drive to Tia Juana for the Jai Alai games. That was a fun night out but, until I was comfortable about leaving them, I needed to be home with the children. Then Virginia’s family finally approved of her staying overnight Saturday and I could drive her home on Sunday. I was free to go with the family. Robin and Bruce would be safe.

One Sunday I was climbing upstairs to see if the children were dressed. As I neared the bedroom I heard Bruce say, in a very loud voice, “Ginny, you’re wrong and I’m right. Only the Jews are right.” It was shortly after that my son got his first really hard swat on the bottom and stood teary-eyed before me as I explained, “Don’t you ever say anything like that again. You may not understand now but Virginia is right for her and you are right for you. And that is the way it is in this world.”

It was about two weeks later that Virginia wanted to go to the Vincent Saint Paul church just a few blocks from my home. She also asked if Bruce could go with her. “What a wonderful idea” I thought, “Bruce can now begin to experience other religions”. I dressed him in a little navy-blue suit, a bright white shirt and white shoes with navy-blue socks. He was such a beautiful child and looked so handsome that a very proud mother stood on the porch to watch them as they walked away. The rest is as told to me by Virginia.

They entered the church and walked down to the seating closest to the podium. Services began and a young priest approached the podium and was about to speak when Bruce suddenly stood up. He looked around and said in a very loud little-boy voice “Ginny, what kind of a place is this anyhow. There ain’t any Jews in here.” Virginia said that she pulled him down to his seat and swore if purgatory had opened she would have gladly fallen in.

Services resumed and after they ended the priest walked to the entrance to say farewell to the leaving parishioners. Virginia entered into the crowd and holding tight to Bruce’s hand bent down very low. That way she thought she might be hidden enough to leave without being seen. It worked for a short time until she heard the priest call “Virginia”. She said she was terrified as she approached him with Bruce in tow. As she neared she was trembling but he paid no attention to her. He simply reached down and pulled Bruce up in his arms. He held Bruce close and said, “Don’t you worry, young man, there’s a Jew here all the time.” It still clutches at my heart and brings tears to my eyes.

I don’t remember the name of that wonderful priest nor can I remember his family. I called them about two years later, after he had been killed in an automobile accident. I had to let them know the wonder of their son. I will continue to try to find his name but we’re talking about something that happened sixty-years ago. Something I will never forget.

(I’ve often wondered how Bruce knew that there weren’t any Jews there. It seems that kneeling on the floor, which is not done in the synagogue, may have caused the remark or perhaps making the sign of the cross. But he had no answers when asked…and neither do I. By-the-way our dear Virginia became a Nun.)