Walking Against the Red Hand: A Compendium of Poems, Memoirs, Auto-Biographical and Genealogical Sketches, Writings, Observations, Political Commentary and Other Miscellaneous Stuff.

By James G. Masterson

A Compendium of Poems, Autobiographical and Genealogical Sketches, Writings, Observations, Political Commentary and other Miscellaneous Stuff; plus some fictional stories.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664171787

James G. Masterson

James Gerard Masterson was born in Brooklyn, NY and raised and educated in Davenport, IA. After attending St, Alphonsus Catholic elementary school, he spent one and a half years in the Redemptorist Seminary, ST. Joseph’s College, in Kirkwood, Mo before transferring to and graduating from Assumption high school in Davenport. He attended the State University if Iowa for a semester and enlisted in the Navy as a Nuclear Filed Electronics Technician, eventually rising to Master Chief Electronics Technician and served aboard Nuclear Submarines. He received a commission as a "Mustang" Ensign and retired from Naval Service after 32 years as a Lieutenant Commander. He received a Bachelor's Degree in Public Administration from Upper Iowa University and a Masters Degree in Business Management from Central Michigan University. He worked in Civil Service for the Department of the Navy in Special Projects for over twenty years and retired in Lexington Park, MD.

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Copyright © 2021 by James G. Masterson.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,

recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

All previous Biblical Quotations used in the original unpublished edition of

this work, although in the public domain, have been removed due to publishing

constraints. Any remnants that remain are purely coincidental. More on this

matter is further described in a newly added section entitled

A Biblical Conundrum.

Rev. date: 05/04/2021

Xlibris

844-714-8691

www.Xlibris.com

813042

CONTENTS

Caveats And Disclaimers

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Preface

Idly Musing

Cavan’s Red Hand

Chapter I

The Evolution Of An Epitaph

Reflections On The Death Of Aunt Dorothy

The Bloom Is Gone

Prayer For Vegetarians

Acorny Horny Diatribe

Hurricane Isabel

My Newt Treatise

Stark Raven Mad

Die Lorelei/Van Allen Belt

About My Dogs And Their Dietary Habits

Blind Dates

About Molly

My Mother’s Siblings

A History Of The Masterson Family

Dad’s Body

Genealogical Records, Dublin Castle

A Treatise On Metempsychosis As It Applies To Genealogy

A History Of Vancamps In America

Luke Leo Masterson

My Last Letter To Dad

The Day Mom Died

The Phantom Files

William Barclay Masterson (The Phantom)

Frigidita Koldfiche

Urban Joseph Masterson**

Urban Masterson

Unknown Plant Or Weed?

The Ground Hog & The Cockamamie Jeep

Acquaintences

Alzheimer’s

Ankylosing Spondilitis

Fake Orgasm?

Cactus, A Source Of Water

The Legend Of Son O’ Man

Poor Shoes

The Early Years

Mom’s Catalpa Tree**

A Full-Fledged Baker At 13

Ad Altare Dei

Did Shakespeare Wear A Tutu?

Coronate

The Autumn Of My Life

The New Superman

Artemis And The Moon Mission

Generic Holiday Wishes

A Steak House Memoir

An Anthology On Womankind

On The Road With Mandalay

Bad Storm/My Little Hero

Lexie

My Little Lexie Rest In Peace

Dames Galore

Cardinal Peccadillos

Lolipop Brigade

Growing Older

Larry’s 76Th Birthday

Larry’s 77Th Birthday

Keflavik, Iceland

Political Influence (PI)

The Gedunk Visit And Murder

Sucurity Background Checks

In Vino Veritas

UFO And Hot Air Balloon Caper

Dad As A Young Man

A Biographcal Sketch

Dad Had The Faith

Legend Of The Purple Sox

My Trip From Hell, The Longer Version

Text Message Shorthand

The Horny Steno

Life After My Active Duty Tours

Central Intelligence Agency

Angels And The Pandemic

POLITICAL COMMENTARY

Adscititious

Gender Conflicts And Sexism

The Gay Issue

Pandora’s Box

A Ballad Of Hillary

Caucasion Hottentot

An Odium To Hillary

At The End Of The Day

Impeachment 2019

Ballad Of Pocahontas

A Bastion Of Idiots

A Pact With The Devil

Various Shades Of Gray

Contemplating 2012

The Magnanimous Five Percent

Xacto Knife Ban

A Liberal Mantra: Look It Up!

The Genious Of Donald J. Trump

An Ode To Progressiveness

CAVEATS AND DISCLAIMERS

0 All direct biblical quotations used in the unpublished edition of this book have been removed due to publishing restrictions related to authors and attributions governed by possible copyright infringements further described in a new section discussing Biblical conundrums. Any similarities of actual Bible quotes are, by design, purely coincidental.

0 All names in the genealogical section of this book have remained in tact since all of them are long dead, and I am advised that use of the names of dead people is not restricted by laws of liability or possible invasion of privacy. Some of the names of non-existent ancestors have been created as deliberate, fictional obfuscations for comedic and entertainment purposes as well as creating smoke screens for other real characters discussed in other narratives elsewhere in the book.

0 When I wrote the original, this book was 100% factual but, again, due to publishing restrictions, many stories and the subsequent additions of new stories, necessitated by these restrictions not contained in the original have resulted in fictional elements being added as a means of, in my opinion, creating deliberate smoke screens to mask real names, places of education, companies I worked for or have done business with during my storied career, Autobiographical, notwithstanding. Consequently, this edition is a palimpsest version of the unpublished original. Many of the changes I have been forced to make in order to publish my book have taken this from a factual based narrative to one bordering on the absurd.

0 All other names in this work, living or dead, have been altered in some way to protect the identities of friends, acquaintances, etc. who, although many have stated they have no objection, but are not amenable to providing notarized signed statements to this effect remain among those unnamed. This is perhaps unfortunate since many of them would have been named in my acknowledgement for their influence in my life and played a role in many of my autobiographical sketches. With heavy heart, I cannot give them the recognition they deserve. But those are the rules if I wish to get this published and to them, I apologize. But you know who you are.

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my Father, Edwin Henry Masterson

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Many of the memoirs and life experiences contained in this palimpsest compilation of some of my writings and poems would not have been possible without my life-long friend, Larry whom I met on my first day of Kindergarten while my mother was walking me to school. We have remained best friends for over seventy-three years. I have shared many of my life-long writings with Larry over that many years and he has, many times, offered his observations about my poetry and even wrote parodies of my poetry from time to time; especially his version of my epitaph. Larry, is himself a gifted writer and has in his later years become a playwright. I have been trying to encourage him to publish the growing number of plays he has written and staged for a group of senior citizens in my hometown as well as students from a local University in Illinois

Another person I would like to acknowledge is another life-long friend E. Timothy whom I met in High School and who influenced the way I wrote as well as teaching me to play the piano when I could not then, nor could I to this day, read music well enough to play the piano with such works as Ludwig Von Beethoven’s Fur Elise. I played by ear and because of my start with Tim, learned to play such pieces as San Antonio Rose, The Missouri Waltz, Oh there’s a Tavern in the Town, Believe Me if All Those Endearing Young Charms, etc. all by ear. I have on many occasions jokingly stated that my life-long ambition was to play piano by ear in Carnegie Hall. Well, that never happened the dashing of Pipe Dreams, one might say.

And, most recently, a very good friend of mine, also a neighbor and a retired Naval Commander, Test Pilot and aviation instructor, Brettolli Retsoff, has been on my case the past year or so to compile my list of memories, poems and other writings and write my book, notwithstanding the fact that I had been in search of a specific poem I wrote in February 2001 which was a parody of Edgar Allen Poe’s The Raven. I have lost a considerable amount of my writings over the past twenty years due to Hard Drive crashes and even a Ransom Virus I got on my computer about four years ago. But Brett has helped me to recover some of my works; However, the Parody on The Raven, which I entitled Stark Raven Mad, seemed to have been lost to the ages. So, I had been delaying the publishing of my book hoping to find this lost work. Among those files recovered was the long-lost poem. Another cause for my delay has been my dilemma on how to arrange my book: By subject matter, chronological order, or whatever. But Brett has encouraged me to just start putting whatever stuff I can recover and compile it into a book. Another dilemma I faced was many of my memoirs could really not be written without naming the people with whom I shared many of my life experiences or stories about them without being sued perhaps by some; those who are still alive or by their descendants. Brett says to simply substitute names for these people of whom I may have concerns. Still, the story wouldn’t be the same using fictitious names when recounting real stories and memories. Some of the stories would certainly not be painting some of them in a favorable light, hence the potential for law suits. But I press on: A lot of these people are dead now. Be that, notwithstanding, in some, but very few instances, I have modified names for some of the reasons just mentioned. Most of the people who know me will probably deduce the person or persons for whom I have modified their names. Read on!

A new wrinkle has occurred since I submitted my draft manuscript to the publisher, who may or may not publish my work since as an autobiography it does not appear to meet their standards for publication. They would prefer that I do a complete alteration of my factual memoirs in my book by changing all the names of people mentioned who are still living or getting a notarized letter from each of them stating that they agree to the use of their names in my book. The publisher also told me that I may also not use my own name either on the cover of the book or anywhere my name appears in the book itself. They have suggested that I use a pen name both on the cover and anywhere it appears in my own "AUTO"BIOGRAPHY." In other words, they appear to publish only works of fiction. I have been advised also, that I must change all the locations in which my now factual/fictitious stories occurred as well as all places of education, companies I worked for or for whom I did business with, etc.

I would also like to thank my younger sister Dot for her invaluable review of most of my partially completed manuscript for her proofreading and suggestions.

And, last but not least I would like to acknowledge Cliff, the younger brother of Larry, who has offered some insight into many of my foggy memories as well as proof reading some of my memoirs and suggesting changes to punctuation and spelling errors. For those errors that still exist in this manuscript, I, of course, take full responsibility.

PREFACE

I have been writing various things varying in nature since I was a young child, most of which have been lost due to the fragility of paper and no thought that I would ever consider writing a book, much worse a work of fiction; but here we are. I have, from time to time, simply written things down, observations, comment on various subjects or poems that came as a result of some inspiration of a passing nature. I found that inspiration, like it is said of lightning, never ever strikes twice in the same place. Many fleeting thoughts I have had occurred at a time that was inopportune to recording on paper since I had no paper when the inspiration occurred never to return. I would sometimes too, when I did have the back of an envelope or a napkin to write on, write down a subject for later development. Some were incomplete thoughts and, as previously mentioned, the inspiration for the thought came and was gone leaving nothing but the figurative atmospheric smell of ozone that follows a lightning strike. When I would later find the obscure thought I had jotted down during some fleeting moment, I could not recapture the thought so many of my writings were never finished. A lot of what I have written here in this book are just such things that were started and never finished since the inspiration never returned.

As an example: Chapter 1, which was the inspiration for the title of this book, Walking Against the Red Hand is a case in point. It is based upon an experience I had in, I believe, September of 1993 when I was traveling on Government Business to the City of Saint James. As I exited the airport terminal, there was a large group of travelers perched on the curb waiting for traffic to clear before crossing the circular drive to the shuttle busses lined up on the other side. No one was paying attention to the traffic light at that pedestrian crossing, nor, like me, they were probably oblivious to the fact that there was a traffic light there at all.

As the mass of lemmings began to cross the drive as there was no oncoming traffic in sight, I fell into lock step with all the others. As I reached the other side, trailing behind the rest of the crowd, I was abruptly tapped on the shoulder by a member of the Saint James Harbor Police and asked to produce a driver’s license. Since I wasn’t driving, but was obviously walking, I asked why I was being stopped and why I needed to show a driver’s license. The Policeman said that the reason I was stopped was because I crossed the street against the Red Hand posted on a traffic sign about 15 feet in the air above the crosswalk. I told the policemen that I was walking and I did not have a driver’s license. He then called another policemen over who produced what I can only describe what looked like a flip-open rouge case. I was then finger-printed on the spot. I gave him my name, showed him my Military ID Card and gave him my home address. He then wrote me a ticket which stated the offense of Walking Against the Red Hand. I was given a court date to appear with an option to plead guilty and mail in a fine. This then started a letter writing campaign between me and the Saint James Police department over a period of about three months. If I could find the copies of the correspondence that I carried on with what was obviously a computer-generated response to my letters, in which I became deliberately insulting in each succeeding letter, I would include them here.

I even designed letter-head for my letters being sent to the computer trying to invoke human intervention at their end. My brother Joe admonished me about what I was doing but, what the hell, as I told Joe, I was enjoying fighting with the computer; perhaps one of my first known introductions to artificial intelligence. Eventually, the computer advised me that a warrant had been issued for my arrest.

Now, I was assigned to a Naval Reserve Unit at the Pentagon as the Personnel Officer while this was going on, and there were three Naval Officers in my Unit who, as well as being Navy Seals, were also Special Agents of the FBI Hostage Rescue Team. Every month I would show them the correspondence I had going on with the Computer in Saint James, and they, having great senses of humor were enjoying my insulting responses to the computer; Until, the computer issued the Warrant for my arrest. I asked one of the agents if he could check to see if there really was a warrant issued and he declined to do so as he advised me that if he checked and there was a warrant, he would be obligated to arrest me on the spot. At this point, I decided to write a check to the Saint James Police Department for $65.00, and that ended my Fun-Time ordeal. But on my flight back to Washington, I was inspired to write Chapter 1, which, I never finished. It was, however, the springboard upon which I decided, and that was 28 years ago, to consider writing my book with this title.

Four years or so ago, I came across an old type-written manuscript of a book that my father wrote when he was fifty years old, circa 1961. He had tried unsuccessfully for several years to get his book published but was rejected. He finally gave up, so my prospects for writing my own book dimmed over the years, notwithstanding that I continued to accumulate poems, writings, observations, etc. Much of it was done before the age of word processing capabilities available to the private citizen, and I, like my father, collected my hand written memoirs, poems, etc. and laboriously typed them on a manual typewriter, and stored them away in folders, drawers or wherever.

Back to my Father’s Book: As mentioned, I inherited his book along with many of his writings, and he was a prolific writer; I decided to retype his book in Microsoft Word incorporating the notes and editorial comments in the manuscript and see if I could Self-Publish his book. I expect, in retrospect, that perhaps publishing his book The Story of Jean would have been something on his Bucket-List. I was successful in publishing his book through a company called Xlibris and it is available on Amazon.com as well as Barnes and Nobel.

As the years passed, and my accumulating writings, poetry, observations, etc. created a dilemma for me: It is a mixture of random thoughts, genealogical writings, and writings of various and random subject matter, poems, political commentary, just a whole missmash of everything written over many years. Well I had a book title, but how to consolidate all this stuff into one book.; that was the question. But then I read a book by the stand-up comedian George Carlin called Brain Droppings, which was a compilation of random subjects. So, I said Why Not? I could compile my random thoughts like George did and put together a book with my random, if you will, Brain Droppings.

But again, back to my dilemma of how to arrange my book: By subject matter, by chronological sequence, randomly interspersing writings, observations, poems, memoirs, biographical sketches, etc.; I decided to just start accumulating my writings in one place and start compiling my book making an attempt to put related subject matter together as best I could regardless of the chronology involved. Many of my writings I have included the dates in which I wrote the item since they are random in nature, but may reflect the time in my life in which the fleeting bouts of inspiration, and some might say, demonic possession took over my thoughts at various stages in my life: I’ll give you that.

Since many of my memoirs, poems, etc. were written at very different times, and the memoirs over-lapped other things happening in my life simultaneously, I apologize if there are occasional repetitions of happenings as they apply to that particular memoir as well as some other memoir that over-lapped. But, one of my problems with writing is, like James Joyce who was known to engage something called stream of consciousness, as I am writing, the subject matter evokes another related memory and I tend to drift away to that memory, which seems disjointed, before, hopefully I get back to the original story I was relating. And, I also like to fall back on Poetic License in some of my poems and writings which may be such things as a deliberate misspelling or an invented word or two here and there. James Joyce was also known for making up words in some of his writings even though he was reputed to have been fluent in as many as twenty-eight different languages. If none of those languages had a word he wanted to use to express some idea or concept, he would simply make one up.

I mention in some of the front matter that, although many of my thoughts and writings were originally innocently planned with double entendre’s sometimes intended, I do, from time to time engage in some risqué dialogue. So, reader beware.

Now, another wrinkle has been experienced that has further delayed the publishing of my yet incomplete manuscript. For some unknown reason about a month ago, my Microsoft Office Program which I was forced to purchase three years ago, went belly-up and sending a message that I was using an unlicensed version. What The…?

I decided then to go on-line and repurchase the Microsoft Office suite and in so doing, upgrade to the 2019 version. This was quite an ordeal in itself because when I tried to install the newly purchased version, I would get the message that it would not install because I already had a version of MS Office installed. Huh? So, after about fourteen days of trying to contact Microsoft, I finally managed to get a response back from some guy/technician in India. Isn’t that always the case? But I will give him credit: after giving him remote control over my computer for several hours, he did manage to deinstall my old version of Office and re-install the 2019 version. And Voila, my many years of labor was not, once again, lost to the ages. My manuscript, such as it was, was miraculously restored. So, I am, once again, off and running. I did notice one thing, however, that when the old version was deinstalled, many of the fonts I had added such as Script MT Bold were removed from my font file: I discovered this when I tried to save the Word file as a PDF. Specifically, my poem about the devil’s workshop came up a series of black dots vice the words typed in my favorite font: Script MT Bold.

The next barrier to publication of my book was erected by the publisher when I submitted my draft manuscript for publication. In addition to an imposed requirement to change the names of all the people appearing in all of memoirs compiling my "AUTObiography, as well as a requirement to adopt a Pen Name for myself anywhere it appears in the book, as well as on the cover. HUH? How can a Pen Name claim to be a true person in my own personal AUTO"biography? I certainly don’t have any intention of suing myself.

Next, unbeknownst to me, one cannot quote passages from the Bible because, and I did not know this, but most translations or versions of the Bible are protected by copyright laws. King James and the Douay-Rheims version of the Bible are in the public domain and quotations from them are okay. I relented and agreed due to uncertainties to eliminate all of the direct biblical quotations in my now unpublished version and create this palimpsest of the original.

IDLY MUSING

James Masterson

August 2010

Several people have suggested that I have too much time on my hands because of some of the poetic ventures I occasionally put forward. Most of these are on the spur of the moment, triggered by some hard to define stimuli, many of which I do not know or can identify myself. These thoughts just come to me, sometimes during the day, but more often in the middle of the night. I jot these, in the words of George Carlin, Brain Farts on whatever scrap of paper that happens to be available at the time of their occurrence. Sometimes, maybe months or even years later, I come across these hastily jotted notes and if lucky enough to recall what inspired them, I will make note of it. Usually, however, I cannot recall when I may have penned the thought or what inspired it. Here is one such note I found while clearing off the accumulation of detritus on my kitchen table. So, I typed it in so I could throw away the scrap of paper it was hand-written on. Maybe one day, the inspiration may return and I can finish this, what I consider to be an incomplete fleeting thought.

If idleness be the Devil’s workshop

Then play on, Mephisto, Play

And use the tools that Heaven wrought

As I while away my day.

Through the labyrinth of life’s gates

Oft times I am ready to bale

Knowing not the fate that awaits

At the exit of my tearful veil. *

*The use of the word VEIL, is from my early childhood where my Aunts would refer to death as passing beyond the veil. I also heard the term used referring to life itself as This Veil of Tears. My cousin Mike, with whom I shared many lifetime adventures after we became friends at The College of the Most Holy Reconciliator (CMHR) Seminary in a St. Louis suburb in 1957-58, also used this term when I last saw him in Lasso Vegassa, six or seven years ago: Well, Masterson, this may be the last time we see each other this side of the veil. As we are fast growing old, that may have been a prophetic comment. It saddens me too in that Mike was an inspiration to me during my teen-age years and into my mid-twenties. We had a lot of fun, and memorable times, and Mike is the one who inspired me to develop an interest in electronics which pretty much channeled a major portion of my adult life. This, at this time, is not a memory of which, heretofore I have written about; but as I attempt to write more autobiographical sketches of my life not previously written; I hope to draw in some of these mutual experiences starting with our days in the seminary in 1957-58 and our days in high school following since both he and I dropped out of the seminary: Mike during his third year and I in my second.

I never really knew my cousin Mike prior to attendance in the seminary because Mike was two years older than me, and, although we lived about three blocks apart, Mike had his own friends in his peer group and I had mine. Friend Larry lived about a half block from cousin Mike as well as within walking distance of a majority of cousins who all lived within a block of each other. And, believe me, I had a lot of first cousins occupying most of the square block surrounding Larry’s house. Larry lived next door to the house on Rudolff Street where my mother and her siblings grew up; his house was at the corner of Rudolff and Jefferson Avenue. Mike lived half a block away on Jefferson. Across the alley from Larry lived my Aunt Claribel and her brood of thirteen kids, all my cousins. I won’t go into the other cousins who also lived in that square block; but my house was two blocks removed. The rest of the cousins were dispersed in other parts of Davenport far removed from us poorer cousins in the West End of town. Their parents too had lots of children, but were living in more well-to-do sections of the city.

I remember when I was attending Mary’s Gluteus Presumption Parochial High School after leaving the seminary, I was a sophomore and cousin Mike was a senior. One time, during gym class, I having somewhat of a smart mouth, pissed off the gym teacher, Sergio Amerosa, who took me to task and said: Who the Hell do you think you are talking to, one of your Rockbottom Road Rats? We, from the West End of Davenport through which Rockbottom Road ran, albeit just a block or two away from where we poor people lived, were looked down upon by our wealthier classmates who came from the East End of town. I personally did not live on Rockbottom Road, but my friend Dennis did; so, I did not take umbrage at his disparaging remark and just figured he was denigrating my friend Dennis who, although he too was a Catholic, was a student at Central. But, because of my smart mouth, Coach Sergio made me run laps around the upper deck of the gymnasium for the remainder of the gym class. I will try to talk more about this in a later memoir. (If I remember to do so). Again, inspiration comes and goes. Oh heck, I might as well talk about it now since I am rewriting my memoirs anyway. To continue, our gymnasium had two regulation sized basketball courts side by side with a running track around the upper level. The gymnasium had a huge thirty-foot high heavy curtain which, attached at the top to a runner, ran from one end of the enclosed portion of the two basketball courts and was drawn during the day between the two courts keeping them invisible to each other. This was so on the one side, the girls had privacy for their physical education classes while the boys on the other side engaged in their physed classes.

Sergio must have been oblivious to the fact that as I ran laps around the upper track, one half of the track circled the boy’s side while the other half of the track circled the girl’s side; my punishment for my smart mouth really was no punishment at all. I would run at my normal pace as I traversed the boy’s side, and as I passed over to the girl’s side past the drawn curtain, my pace stepped down to a crawl as I watched the bevy of beauties below engaged in their physical activities. Then as I passed the curtain entering the boy’s half of the gymnasium my pace would return to normal: Whereas it took about 45 seconds for me to cover the distance around the boy’s side, my dawdling around the girl’s side took upwards of three or maybe four minutes, Sergio didn’t seem to notice how I managed to disappear for such a long time; in the meantime, I was enjoying the view.

Sergio, after this running around the track for over thirty-five minutes, could not figure out why I was not winded. I think he had a much better impression of me after that because of the stamina I displayed and he asked me if I would like to join the cross-country running team. I gracefully declined his offer. On the other hand, the other boys in my gym class knew what I was doing and seemed well aware that the reason it took so long for me to cover an equal distance while traversing the girl’s side as it did when I ran around the boy’s side, was for the reasons I just explained. During subsequent physed classes, one or two of the wise ones would try to invoke the same punishments upon themselves by deliberately trying to provoke Sergio with smart-ass remarks. Sergio never seemed to catch on nor, for that matter, did the Nuns teaching physed classes to the girls on the other side of the curtain.

A BIBILCAL CONUNDRUM:

I was raised as a Roman Catholic. Over my many years on this Earth, I have many times been confronted by my fellow Christian friends and acquaintances, Protestant and or non-denominational Christians who allowed that we Catholics were forbidden to read the Bible. This assertion is completely false. Probably, most of us, myself included, were never told not to read the Bible even though most of my Catholic friends and I had ready access to the Bible in our homes. It never crossed my mind that had I wanted to read the Bible, I was certainly allowed to. I have never in my life encountered a Catholic who was, as I like to call a lot of my Protestant friends who make such statements Bible Thumpers! I really never saw a need as a young man growing up to sit down for my daily dose of Bible reading. Didn’t need to since I attended a Catholic Mass every day and each mass always contained a Bible reading by the priest officiating at the Mass. Little by little, day after day, my little brain was being fed snippets of the Bible.

As a Catholic, the teachings, or Readings if you will, came from the only recognized version of the Bible which was the Douay-Rheims Version or Catholic version recognized by an Imprimatur or Nihil Obstat with the signature of a member of the hierarchy, such as a Bishop, or Cardinal of the Catholic Church. Many versions of the Douay-Rheims Bible have been printed over and over again since it was translated from the Latin Vulgate in the early seventeenth century. Each version was tweaked with minor word changes or word arrangement to cater to the modernization of the human race as we evolved into what is now the twenty first century. Each modern version seems to have drifted away from the seventeenth Douay-Clementine Vulgate translation from the Latin that reigned from the middle of the fourth century when St. Jerome translated the original Greek supposedly written by the four Apostles of the documented life of Jesus Christ himself. King James came up with his own translation or version, if you will, early in the seventeenth century. Of interest though, is the fact that with all these translations since prior to the fourth century have retained the paragraph chapters and groupings; and I presume in all the versions, and there appear to be an overwhelming number of versions, each producer seeing fit to copyright their own version. Their claim to copyright entitlement, even though 98% seem to be mirror images of one another, seems to stem from the fact that they all seem to have translated their version going back to the days when Christ was a pup and walked the face of the Earth. We Catholics believe the Bible, probably written in Greek since that was the prevalent language in those parts in their day, and since Jesus whom they are quoting probably spoke all languages known to man, he being the son of God and all, and part of the Trinity the Apostles recorded his words verbatim as he spoke. Maybe the crowds who came to his Rallies not unlike those of the modern-day Trump, heard his words as he spoke them in their own language. He probably spoke Aramaic since that seemed to be the prevalent language in those parts. Which begs the question: why were the gospels written by the Apostles, Matthew, Mark, Luke and John in Greek when St, Jerome translated them from the Greek into Latin? I am not a Biblical Scholar so I really don’t know the answer to these mysteries. Rumor has it that Jesus did not speak Latin; but again, he being God and all, I suspect he could have done so if he so chose. Large portions of the old testament were written in Aramaic so that’s pretty much what everybody spoke in the time of Jesus.

But my point is: I chose to use a couple of Biblical quotes as lead-ns to some of my stories or memoirs for which the Content Evaluators or Censors, said I could not do so unless I gave attribution to whatever Bible I was extracting the quote. Although I, as a Roman Catholic, knew that our Bible of Choice was the Douay-Rheims version, which according to my search engine, says it is in the public domain, and all modern-day versions since Douay Rheims are supposedly descendants; indeed, they all have Imprimaturs signed by recognizable members of the church hierarchy; there seems to have been some word-smithing since Clementine Vulgate created his version in the seventeenth century. Therefore, at the risk of running afoul of copyrights, I will simply invite the reader to consult their own Bible of choice whenever I reference a certain Biblical passage such as Matthew 7.6 in the following pages of the book itself. By the way, because my publisher warned me about using Bible quotations for copyright restrictions, I went and bought a Douay Rheims/Biblia Sacra Juxta Vulgatam Clementinam on the internet as a result. The quotation I wanted to use is a bit different from the Catholic descendant which my father bought for me in 1976 printed in 1961. To wit: The New American Catholic Version. That’s where I got the quotation I used in my original manuscript. When checking, I see those rascals went and copyrighted it so I had to scrub its verbatim use