Another One of Riley's Pianos

By John J. Riley

In 1947 John J. Riley at age 17 founded with a capitol of $250.00 a one-man piano business selling and restoring used pianos that lasted for 58 years. His story is of the piano industry. The people he met and who frequented his shop. They are interesting and poignant characters. Mr. Riley is among a rare and vanishing breed of people who loves their lives work. In the beginning of the book he quotes the Chinese philosopher Confucius "Choose a job you love and you will never have to work a day in your life." Mr. Riley did just that. His story is a rare insight into a small American piano industry. That has seen better days that is now in its twilight years. Mr. Riley spins his story in a real down to earth narrative reminiscing to a kinder and more gentle time of life.

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Apr 24, 2007
• ISBN: 9781466957466

John J. Riley

John J. Riley is a retired piano restorer and merchant, having run his piano business in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, for fifty-seven years. He is a widower, the father of six children and grandfather of seven. After his retirement, he has written and published four books. Two Lives is his fifth effort. Mr. Riley’s writings have an element of yesteryear, of glorious memories of times and places of a gentle world. His characters evoke our memories of people we have and can identify with, ever so human, doing their best to survive in a hard and rude world. One of the top literacy critics wrote of Mr. Riley’s work, His work leaves much to be desired to good writing construction etc. But I find myself absolutely fascinated by his stories and his characters. He does possess the gift of Irish story telling. I look forward to his writings in spite all of his literacy faults.

Book preview

Another One of

Riley’s Pianos

John J. Riley

© Copyright 2007 by John J. Riley.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by electronic or

mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in

writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

Permission applied, granted and secured from the Akron Beacon Journal, owned by Knight-Ridder

Newspapers, Inc. to excerpts from the article "The man who played the piano with his

feet".

Note for Librarians: A cataloguing record for this book is available from Library and Archives

Canada at www.collectionscanada.ca/amicus/index-e.html

ISBN 978-1-4251-1144-1

ISBN 978-1-4669-5746-6 (ebk)

9781466957466_raw.pdfmissing image file

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FIRST EDITION

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Introduction

The Photo

Foreword

Riley’s Pianos

My Beginning

Doctor Steinberg Obituary

I See My First Piano

The Radio

Emil Reigel

Mother’s Trips into Center City

My First Shop

Father Diamond

Nuns

Joe Spike, Senior

The Beginning of the Piano

The Player Piano

I Learn to Play Piano and Meet Charlie Reber

Banks, Checks, Cash and Pianos

Billy Krechmer

Elmer

The Piano Movers

Mother’s Christmas Present

Jim O’Brien

The Hollywood Piano

Morris Gold

Hats Howard

My Landlord Vanishes

Shades of Gone with the Wind

We Move

Caesar Diedrick

The Piano Business in the 40’s and 50’s

The Surprise Piano Delivery

The Pitchman

I Never Heard of that Piano

The Steak Man

Riva & Harry Stanley

Sizing Up a Piano Buyer

Joe Gruerio—Opera, Songwriting and Corpses

Piano Sales and the Power of Positive Thinking

Oscar Goettel

Aunt Mary Dies

The Capo

Love Walks In

Our Country in Turmoil

The Great Day-Our Wedding

Lew Wexler

At Last, Our Own Piano Store

New Pianos

A Blessed Event

Fancy Is In Again

The Pack Rat-The Buyer

A Home Next to the Piano Store

A Little Girl

The Mafia & Pianos

Recommendations & Good Will

Charity & Pianos or Beggars Can Be Choosers

The Sign

A Man of God

The Original Cunningham Piano Company Story

The Piano Industry Is Changing

Prayer & Pianos

Imports and Electronic Pianos

The Duffy’s

Mario Lanza—Great Tenor;

Mario Lanza—Piano Mover?

Mr. Eugene P. Hughes

1986-1987

Jewish Guilt and Pianos

Son Kevin Discovers the Piano

The Packard

1989-A Health Crisis

Keeping It Fresh

An Old Name Dies

The Irish

Selling Used Pianos

Piano Sales at All Cost

Trefz—The Piano Supply Company

Henry Vidas

Fox Piano Movers

The Great Steinway Piano

My Sister Passes

A Celebrity Piano Sale

Maureen Palmer; An Unusual Friendship

Christmas 1948

Piano Tuners

A Trip to Ireland and Pianos

Grand Pianos & Chinese Imports

About Music Lessons and Learning to Play the Piano

You’re Too Young to Sell Pianos…Now You’re Too Old

Piano Moving and Its Men

Now the End Is Near

The Condition of the American

Piano Industry Circa 2006

The End of an Era; Acme Piano Closes

Joe Spike, Junior

The End of Cherry Street

If You Didn’t Buy Your Piano From Riley, You Wuz Robbed

The Auction House

The Future of the Used Piano Merchant

Piano Sales & Salesmanship

John Wanamaker & Pianos

The Lester Piano Company Story

Mr. Ed Fox, Sr. of Fox Piano

Passes

The Last Note

This book is dedicated to

My Family

&

Our Lord & Savior - B. V. M

Acknowledgements

To my dear wife, Mary, for her infinite patience in this project and her endless typing of my never-ending revisions.

To my dear daughter Regina for her idea for this book, her beautiful introduction and her help throughout.

To my dear daughter Bridget for her great photos, typing and all-around help.

To son Jim for the great cover, the layout of the book and revisions, etc.

To Karen (Jim’s wife) for her final copy computer expertise and final revisions.

To son Kevin for his many printings of the manuscripts and photo work.

To sons John and Tom for various help in preparations of the book.

To my dear friends John and Joe Duffy for being reminiscent of a lifetime in the piano industry.

To Thomas J. Duffy, Jr., Esq. for his memories of his life on the piano trucks while attending high school and college before his career in law.

To the Hughes family: Bob, Chris and Tim Hughes, Mrs. Catherine Hughes-Raisch and Jim Raisch for their memories of their grandfather and daughter, permission for use of the great photos.

To the Edward Fox family and Ed Fox, Sr. for Ed’s many great memories of sixty-three years in the business and for use of the unique White House Steinway photos.

To my dear friend Joe Spike, Jr. for his encouragement in writing this book and for total recall of an era only he knew.

To Marie Vidas, Joe Spike’s wife for her memories of Joe’s life and use of the photos.

To Vincent Vidas for the memories of his youth on the trucks and his history of his father’s early entrance into America.

To Joe Hughes for his great encouragement in writing the book. Joe died shortly after our initial discussion.

To Eileen and Frank Serra for the Cunningham pictures and memories.

Introduction

For as long as I can remember I’ve been listening to my Dad tell stories. I would sit by the coal-burning stove in the basement of his workshop and just listen to his voice. Sometimes, he’d tell me what was going on during the Saturday afternoon broadcast of the Metropolitan Opera. Sometimes, he’d talk about the books that he read or the movies that he saw, but the stories that always interested me the most were his stories. What it was like to grow up in Philadelphia so long ago, the histories of the pianos in his showroom, the different personalities that wandered in and out of the piano store-those were the stories that kept me enthralled.

As I got older, my interest in my Dad’s stories waned, and I became preoccupied with the trivial little aspects of my own life. I didn’t pay as much attention when my Dad would tell us over dinner who came into the shop that day. I stopped going with him on Sundays when he made house calls to appraise pianos. I thought maybe he sensed his children’s disinterest or maybe he was just too busy himself to sit and go over the details of his day, but soon the stories stopped. What I never considered was that the stories ended because the customers were no longer showing up. By the time I started to become interested again, new piano sales had virtually stopped and rebuilding jobs were few and far between. The piano industry was dying, but somehow my father and mother eked out an existence and kept their family happy.

All those years of listening to my Dad’s stories encouraged me to declare English as my major in college. One of the required courses that all English majors had to face was creative writing. I plodded through that course the best I could, creative writing never being one of my strong suits, but when I was given my midterm exam, I panicked. The assignment was to write ten pages on a subject of my choosing. I had no idea where to begin. The only advice my Dad had for me was to write what I know. I came out with a character study of an elderly piano store owner sitting by a stove in the basement of his workshop, reminiscing about his life and relating to pianos as if they were his children. I didn’t get avery good grade for that story. My teacher questioned the sanity of the man and actually scoffed at the idea of anyone in modern times warming themselves by a coal fire. I didn’t really care about my grade in this class. I was going to graduate anyway, but that teacher’s remarks left an impression on me.

It struck me that my Dad’s life was truly unique. I encouraged him to preserve his wonderful story, not only for his family, but also for the general public. In a few more years there may not be anyone working on pianos in the city of Philadelphia like my Dad did for the past fifty years. His industry is dying out, but there’s no reason why his story should fade away as well.

So, it may not be well written. The continuity of the story may be disjointed. The grammar and punctuation may be off, but this is the humble story of a craftsman and his family. This is my Dad’s life. I hope you enjoy it.

Regina Shirk

The Photo

The year was 1946. The three Mack trucks of Joe Spike’s Acme Piano Company are lined up outside the Acme Piano building at 820 South 2nd Street in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Most of the 15 men who work for Acme Piano are beside the trucks. This was an era when the piano was a product that was in demand. In 1946, the piano industry was to experience a postwar boom in demand for pianos that knew no bounds. Pictured 4th from the right (in rear) standing on the running board of the Mack truck is a 16-year-old John Riley. Two years earlier, I went to work for Joe Spike as a 14 year old with a job that was to last the summer of 1944. Sixty-one years have come and gone and I am still in this wonderful artistic industry that is called the piano industry. This book is about the journey into the world of that regal and majestic instrument known as the piano and my personal and family life along with it.

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1946

Foreword

Choose a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life.

Confucius-Chinese Philosopher, 478 B. C.

Riley’s Pianos

September 11, 1948 I rented a storefront at 1533 Cherry Street Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. It had a large bulk showwindow. I hired a Spanish sign writer, Miguel, to letter thewindow (for a price of only $5.00). It was to read:

John J. Riley

Pianos

Bought & Sold

However, the piece of copy that I gave Miguel, he quickly lost. I was in the process of moving my workbench, tools and parts from my original shop at 1903 Cuthbert Street. I was gone for only about 25 minutes, but when I returned, Miguel had lettered:

Riley’s Pianos

This book is about just that. It spans 58 years of a small piano business that I founded in 1947 with a capital of $250.00. From the time I took a summer job in 1944 to work for a piano moving company, right up to now, my 75th year, I unashamedly say that I fell in love with those magnificent instruments and that love affair is still as alive and vibrant as it was 58 years ago.

This book is about an industry that is 300 years old. While this wonderful and mysterious piano business is all about musicand art, it is still a business governed by dollars and cents. Money, as in all businesses, is still the controlling factor. One of the major factors in the decline of making pianos in America is that today there is no money to be made in piano building. In the telling of my story, I have combined my private and family life with the story of the business. One may feel that my family life and business life do not have a direct bearing on each other, but as you read on, you will find that they are inseparable. As to my dedication to my profession, I recall a small insight put forth by my wife Mary, You cannot remember the birth dates of your six children, yet you have total recall on the ages, dates and all other information on those old pianos you handle. I remember my dear mother advising me many years ago that when someone is right, you keep quiet. I rest my case.

As to the mistake on the window lettering by Miguel, maybe the sign writer knew something. My whole life has been Riley’s Pianos. In fact, a stock term used in the business with the other dealers and piano movers is the term that this is one of Riley’s pianos. It is said in a most complimentary term, I’m told.

I do hope sincerely that throughout these pages, you may gain an insight to the piano business. You may be entertained a bit, let out a laugh or two, or even better shed a tear, but overall I hope that you find an interest in reminiscences of my journey.

Prologue

When I was just a boy, I remember my dear mother telling me what a beautiful adventure life would be. Enjoy every day and every moment, as it all goes by so swiftly. Enjoy all of your friendships and people you meet, for each person will be so different from the other you will find that each person will add something to your life, your education, and to your humanity, most for good, some not for good. The people you meet will be as the colors in a beautiful quilt. Alone they will represent nothing, but when woven together each color will compliment each other like a melodic piece of music. One note at a time does not mean anything. But combine all the notes, chords and harmonies and beautiful music is the result. Also, remember that as low as life takes you down, there is always another day that will elevate you as high as the previous day has taken you down. Withall the trials and tribulations of life, it is still a most beautiful adventure.

This advice was given to me by a woman who had known her share of sorrow and disappointments. My mother went from a good middle class family to poverty, yet would never surrender her class, beauty and good manners. She would hold her head high with a smile on her face in all manner of adversity that would befall her. She was so kind and gentle and never too busy to listen to someone else’s troubles, always saying, It just makes people feel better knowing someone seems to care. Yet, she was never one to burden anyone with her troubles, saying, Chances are they have more troubles than I have. My mother was a realist, telling me, Never expect perfection in people for everyone suffers from human frailties. To expect perfection in a person is foolish. As life and times press very harshly, all anyone of us can do is our best. Many times we fall short of our ideals. Always allow for people’s shortcomings. Now that I reflect on my mother’s words of wisdom, I am reminded of one of her favorite poets, Rudyard Kipling, in his poem If. When I was 13 years old, she had me commit the poem to memory. The line that comes to mind is To meet triumph and disaster and treat those two imposters just the same.

In years to come, when people would talk of class, I would define class by my mother’s persona. She was a truly religious woman, and in a most reverend quiet manner, live Christ’s Commandment to love all. I have often wished my personality would have been more like hers; unfortunately, my traits favored more my father’s via the quick Irish temper, strong opinions on everything, petty likes and dislikes, and on and on.

My dear mother’s favorite writing from the Bible was taken from the First Letter of St. Paul to the Corinthians:

The greatest of these is love

Love is patient, love is kind, love is not jealous. It does not put on airs, it is not snobbish. Love is never rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not prone to anger; neither does it brood over injuries. Love does not rejoice in what is wrong but rejoices with the truth. There is no limit to loves’ forbearance, to it’s trust, it’s hope, it’s power to endure. Love never fails. There are in the end three things that last: faith, hope and love; and the greatest of these is love.

I can never hear these beautiful words of St. Paul that I do not think of my dear sweet and gentle mother.

The Idea

In July of 1998, our daughter Regina suggested the idea for this book stating that since she was a little girl growing up next to our piano store, she found my stories of the business and the whole romance of it fascinating. As you will see, I took her suggestion. Ever since I was a boy of 14 years old, the pianos have been my life. You will find dear reader that the stories and characters are in no particular order other than chronological. I do hope that while I reminisce over the last 58 years, some of the stories of this industry hold your interest.

missing image file The Riley Creed missing image file

You are buying a New or Reconditioned Piano…

Since you know little or nothing about a piano, you are relying on me 100%.

I will never knowingly do anything to betray your confidence.

I will give you as much value and service as possible for your investment.

If I fail in my operation I insist on making good.

My reputation and good name are my greatest assets.

This is my creed and the conduct of my business is run by these beliefs.

Sincerely,

JOHN J. RILEY

Distributors of FINE QUALITY NEW PIANOS

Another One of

Riley’s Pianos

Riley’s Pianos

In today’s era of mega business, corporate mergers, giant shopping center malls and coast-to-coast chain stores, the small businesses-the Mom & Pop operations-are fast becoming a vanishing breed much like the American buffalo. This story is about such a one-man retail piano business that I founded in 1947. My story is not just about the piano industry, but of my life, my thoughts and opinions, and of course my family as it pertains to the business. As you read on you will understand how much of this small business is inseparable from my family life, one intertwining with the other, and of the endless small and not so small sacrifices necessary to sustain a small business. Throughout our married life we raised our children next door to the piano store. As our story unfolds, you will meet some of the many interesting and unusual characters who frequented Riley’s Pianos; some whose lives were sad and lonely, some touching or humorous, but all are honest and noteworthy, whose only respite was the piano store.

The piano store was somewhat like a country general store where everyone would congregate in the shop listening to our F.M. radio tuned to the good music station WFLN. It was a friendly meeting place where the characters all compliment each other. Some were fine educated people who down through the years-life being life-had been given reverses that they lived and survived with. You will be given a behind the scenes look into this strange and romantic piano industry that has seen better times in a bygone era and is now thought to be in the twilight years. This old fashioned instrument has survived the automobile, radio, television, computer and all manner of space-age technology.

With all that, this venerable instrument is still alive and well. This story is not a rags to riches tale of a humble business that prospered, made a barrel of money, opened many other stores and is now in the big money. This is not the case at all. Like most small businesses that survived, I had all I could do through the years to pay our bills, compete with the big fellows, raise ourfamily and keep the business in the black.

Riley’s Pianos is basically the same simple operation as when I started it 58 years ago, buying and selling used pianos, restoration and refinishing. True it has grown from a 2 piano shop to a building that now houses 125 pianos and I still work a 6-day week at age 75, but I love the instruments and the work therein.

You will read of the insecurities of a small businessman never being quite sure of doing his best. As business slows down, it becomes a personal thing feeling it was something you hadn’t done right. On the other hand you will read of a strong and prevalent factor that small businesses have and big business cannot compete with. The adage of the small businessperson is his or her own boss is not so. Read and learn honestly how many bosses a small businessperson may have. This is an account of my little business with its highs and lows, its many shades of grey, of beautiful memories and of bittersweet memories. It may seem simplistic at times, even bordering on corny, but I do hope I can hold your interest while I reminisce of all the years of Riley’s Pianos.

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JULY, 1957

My Beginning

A proper way to start any venture is at the beginning. My first recollection is at the age of about three. We were living in a trinity house (which is a fancy term for what people in South Philly call a Father, Son and Holy Ghost house.) This is a ghetto home with one room on each floor and an outside toilet. My mother and Aunt Mary rented this home for $4.00 a month (remember this is the days of the Great Depression.) Having just lost a fine home in West Philadelphia due to mortgage foreclosure as my mother and father were separated, my first recollections of my childhood was a furniture moving company and moving men bringing in some pieces of furniture that my mother had in storage from the previous home. It could not have been much since this little house could accommodate very little. What I do remember about that day was one of the movers sitting down talking to me and sharing his lunch with me. My dear mother was so embarrassed at my eating this fine man’s lunch. That act of kindness has never left my memory. Maybe that is why after 67 years, I still have the utmost respect for the dignity of the workingman.

As I look back to those hard times, I marvel at how my dear mother and aunt survived those dark days of the Great Depression while raising my sister Mary Agnes and myself. We lived in poverty for two years on the proceeds of a $200 life insurance policy that they cashed in. Aunt Mary was the sole support of our little family, her trade being a maker of sample books for paint companies, clothing makers, etc. As the Depression just about stopped all business, the result was that no company was interested in putting money into advertising. As a result, Aunt Mary had no work. Sometimes she would pick up an occasional day’s work at St. John’s Orphanage. With 25% of America’s work force out of work, jobs were not easy to come by. The mental anguish that must have gone through my mother and aunt’s mind must have been monumental. The little home was heated by a small wood and coal stove and at times food was notas plentiful as it could have been. Yet to this day, I never felt poor as my dear mother and aunt made our lives rich in love, concern and happiness. They both had that wonderful faculty to make the best of every situation. I have memories of my mother and aunt taking my sister and me to the Italian Market to see all the commerce, the food on all the pushcarts, and to hear the vendors hawking their wares. The wonderful vitality of this was to a little person, another world. We had no money to buy anything, but it certainly was a great adventure. My mother and aunt would patiently answer my endless questions as to why things were this way or that.

There were days when Aunt Mary would pick up an occasional day’s work in her sample book trade. I would miss her, but the food situation prospered.

Then came the day when my mother would take me to register for grade school at St. Philip Neri. As a little boy, I did not like the whole idea of leaving the security of my little world of love and happiness to a new world of unfamiliar faces, new people and newsurroundings. I was in awe of the large school building. The austere nuns in their black and white habits, rosary beads and crosses, would look right through you as a marine drill sergeant looks to break the spirit of a new recruit. If that were the purpose, the nuns did succeed.

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Mary Agnes, John and mother circa 1935.

The nuns did scare the hell out of this little boy, though. My dear mother explained to me that I was no longer a little boy and that going to school was a part of growing up. This was a step in life that I had to take on my own. Mother assured me she wouldalways be there for me, but I had to do this. The first day of school, I was not alone in my fears and loneliness as most of my school chums felt the same way. I resigned myself to make the best of a bad situation, something that I learned to become a specialist at throughout my life. Before I knew it, I was in 2nd grade. Just as my mother said, I was growing up. I made the adjustment to school life but was always happy to hear the 3:30 home bell ring.

When I was seven, on Palm Sunday morning after Mass, I swallowed a large thumbtack. I do not remember how it happened, but it did. I immediately began choking, gasping for breath. My mother grabbed me by the hand and ran me around the corner to the doctor’s office but he was not in. The second doctor’s office was the same situation. She then continued north on 3rd Street to Dr. Nathan Steinberg on 3rd Street at Monroe, four blocks from our home. Dr. Steinberg was in the process of taking his family out for a Sunday drive. My mother pleaded with him to examine me. Upon his examination, the doctor informed mother that I required immediate emergency hospital attention. Dr. Steinberg proceeded to remove his family from the car and drive us to Jefferson Hospital where he was on the staff. He used his influence to have a renowned respiratory specialist, Dr. Chevalier Jackson examine me. Dr. Jackson immediately operated on me to remove the tack from my windpipe. During the operation, Dr. Steinberg stayed with my mother to comfort her and assure her that everything would be fine. When the ordeal was all over, my mother offered to pay him for his professional services on a weekly basis. However, he would not hear of any payment, as he knew of our poor financial situation. The hospital set up a weekly payment plan until my medical bills were paid. The debt took years to satisfy because I had to stay in the hospital for about a week. My mother, aunt and sister were so happy to have me home that surprisingly they did not reprimand me for my stupidity. It would be 52 years later that I would see the inside of a hospital again for any extended period of stay.

Doctor Steinberg Obituary

Doctor Nathan Steinberg passed away February 8, 1998. He was 98 years old. Doctor spent most of those years in the practice of General Medicine. He was a real doctor in the sense that Dr. Steinberg practiced medicine among the poor people of South Philadelphia, never refusing anyone who could not pay, much before the era of Blue Cross and the like. He was a devout Orthodox Jew who practiced his religion to the letter of the law, but made an exception to practice medicine on Saturday, feeling God would be happier with him working and healing the sick.

Toward the end of his life he had the privilege of receiving numerous medical awards. However, Dr. Steinberg would always emphasize, The best medical education gives us nothing unless we assure greater scope to spiritual values. He is survived by 2 sons, Dr. Joel and Dr. Louis, 2 daughters Joan and Bernice, 9 grandchildren, 2 great-grandchildren and 2 sisters.

I See My First Piano

When I was six years old I saw my first piano. It was at Joe Spikes’ Piano Moving Warehouse (Acme Piano Co.) at 813 South 2nd Street, one block from our little home at 203 Beck Street. The piano was a massive upright but I don’t know the maker. I was absolutely fascinated with the large piece of furniture with keys that made music. My mother told me that I did not want to leave the piano. The men moving the piano were really amused at this little boy so taken by a piano. This was the first introduction to the instrument that would change my life forever.

When I entered St Philip grade school, one of my classmates was Vincent Vidas. He was the youngest son of Joe Spike the piano man, where I saw my first piano. Vincent and I became good friends. Oh, how I envied him being among all those pianos. In time, I met his Dad. I remember telling him that when I grew up I wanted to come and work for him to be with all the pianos. As I was a little skinny kid, I remember the giant of a man, all of 190 lbs., 6’4 looking down at me and saying, A little guy like you would be no good working here." I remember taking offense at this remark and saying how heavy a person happens to be is not as important as the job he does. It must have been a good answer for Big Joe looked down at me laughing, patted me on the head and walked away. In the next 8 years I was to see Joe Spike many times and he would always rib me to put weight on if I were to one day work for him.

As I entered 3rd grade, a new boy transferred from a West Philadelphia Catholic school. His name was Joe McCullough and we immediately became best friends, as we were very much alike in our temperaments. We both liked and disliked the same things; we were both rather quiet and reserved and neither of us were big on sports. We were both raised by single mothers and both knew poverty. Joe lived in a trinity house, having lost their last apartment in West Philadelphia due to rent issues. We both had Uncles who were priests. (That did neither of us any good whatsoever.) As the years went on, we were to become as close asbrothers; in fact most brothers are not as close as we are. Here it is 67 years later, and Joe and I are still the dearest of friends.

The 4th grade is usually the time when boys have the choice to be an altar boy. In the Catholic Church of old, this was considered a great honor to assist the priest in the celebration of the Mass. This privilege is usually afforded to a boy from a solid family background, excellent student, and one that may have the potential as a candidate for the priesthood. Usually the nun makes the choice. When this day came, the altar boys were chosen by the nuns. Sister Rose Ann, the 8th grade teacher, came into our 4th grade classroom and asked for a show of hands of those interested, naturally my hand shot up as this was a job I aspired to since seeing my first Mass. The nun passed over me. I still kept my hand up, then Sister Rose Ann said, Not you Riley, you’re too dumb. Boy that hurt me, for I knew in my heart I would be the best altar boy St. Philip’s ever had. I was crestfallen. It took me about a week before I could tearfully tell my mother and aunt of my great disappointment. Of course my mother was as hurt as I and Aunt Mary cut right to the quick. Her take was, You’re too good for the likes of them.

After the initial hurt to my mother subsided, she gave me a piece of advice and wisdom that I found in years to come would be a cornerstone of anything I was to accomplish in life. Her advice was Son, in anything you really desire, never let one person’s words or appraisals dampen your goals or dreams. There will come a time and opportunity where you will find a way to go on the altar. At the time, I thought my mother was trying to ease my pain. However, in the not so distant future, my dear mother’s words came true.

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Christmas 1940

In a short time I made the acquaintance of the sexton of St. Philip’s who also happened to be the brother of the pastor, Father John Diamond. Father Diamonds’ brother Bill was a fine down to earth Irishman, easygoing and easy to talkto. Bill smoked a pipe. He would have me run errands, one of which was to buy his tobacco, Union Jack. My weekly job was to dust the pews in the upper church. It was then I told Bill of my dream to serve on the altar. I told Bill of Sr. Rose Ann’s remark of my being dumb. This struck a note with Bill. I know all about that he said, I was not the best student. He came up with a plan where I could serve his brother’s Mass after 9 o’clock in the summer months. However, he did say that I must learn the Latin responses. In the old church of 50-60 years ago, the language of the Mass was Latin. I agreed I would master all the responses in Latin. I could not wait to run home to tell my mother the great news. She was as happy as I was. She got the Mass missal out and proceeded to teach me the Latin phonetically and I learned the Latin responses. During the summer, I served Fr. Diamonds’ Mass each morning plus other Masses, even weddings, benedictions, Sodality and funerals. At the end of summer, I asked the pastor if he could write me a letter to Sister stating that I am an altar boy. This surprised him since all the boys were picked by her. I told Father of my desire to be on the altar and how I went about to put it into action. He was a doer himself and was in full agreement as my means to an end. When sister read the letter, she looked right at me saying, You went over my head. Needless to say, I did not have a friend in Sr. Rose Ann. I later found out that she was a cousin of Father John. We did become good friends in later years when her health began to fail. I found her to be a fine person who was just a little too serious about her vocation as was the way with many of the religious of that era. Due to this success on the altar, I learned a most important lesson I would use for the rest of my life. Never take ‘no’ for your final answer in anything you desire.

As to how I made out on the altar, I took to the church and its rituals much like a duck takes to water. I loved the orderliness, the piety, and the overall discipline of its sacred services. I would serve three masses a day sometimes, plus any other services when someone would not show up. I was always there to help. There were 3 assistant priests in addition to the pastor. They were all fine pious men who took the business of the church very seriously. The younger priests were less formal, trying to act like Bing Crosby’s portrayal of Father O’Malley in Going My Way, the most popular movie in 1944. The pastor was without a doubtthe most disciplined and organized man I would ever meet. He was a tough boss but a fair one. Nothing but the best was what he expected in everyone-including his brother and himself. Father John was a Virgo, born September 6th, which may account for his orderliness. Much of what I learned from him is still part of my everyday life.