Once a jackass...

Erin's Take

 

BOOK REVIEW

By Erin E. Schmidt

Mishawaka Press

 

In last month’s book review, I brought you Drink to the Lasses by my Saint Mary’s College classmate Mary Beth Ellis.  This month, Notre Dame gets its turn in the literary spotlight.  

 

When Shadows Fell at Notre Dame ($14.95 from iUniverse) is the second novel from journalist and Notre Dame alumnus Peter K. Connolly.  

 

As the novel opens, 70-year-old Mark Haverty is having a heart attack.  As he tries to decide what to do, he remembers the events of fifty years ago, during his days at Notre Dame.  “Try as I might,” he says to himself, “I’ve never been able to blot out the images of that night.”  

 

    “That night,” the reader will come to find out, was both terrifying and life-changing for young Mark.  But before he has to face it, he arrives on campus as a naive freshman from New York state.  Mark must cope with the academic and religious rigors of Notre Dame, back in the days when the university was exclusively male and attending church services was not optional.  Mark’s grades, and his party-hearty roommates, are his biggest concern before a routine journalism assignment leads him to a worldly South Bend librarian named  Barb.  Barb holds the key to a mystery dating back to Notre Dame’s founding.  

Clearly, Connolly did extensive research into Notre Dame history to write this novel, lending his fiction an almost documentary-like feel.  Familiar details about South Bend, such as the Polish-speaking priests of St. Casimir’s, are also sprinkled liberally through the book.  

   

So are clever literary references.  Edgar Allan Poe’s “To Helen” will never be the same again. For me, the icing on the cake came at the beginning of chapter two.  Mark finds out that his room number in Breen-Phillips Hall is 451, and thinks immediately of Ray Bradbury’s story “The Fireman” (later to become Ray Bradbury’s classic novel, Fahrenheit 451).  

 

A novelist who loves Notre Dame, knows South Bend (even if it is the South Bend of a bygone era) and reads the American classics is bound to tell a good story.  When Shadows Fell at Notre Dame is certainly that.

 

Only God can make a Waxwing

Not talking about Icarus here, but a Cedar Waxwing, one of the Lord's prettier creations. Looking like well-dressed masked bandits, they'll invade your space without you even knowing, have lunch, and depart. So keep your eyes out. You probably won't hear their zzzzzztt, zzzzzt from the treetops.

Abby from QC

(from Renoir's The Dancer [1874])

Miss Lovinia, a dancer you know
Performed recently in a grand ballet.
After, she called me to paint a portrait
Of her, The Lady, in a silken gown.
As I approached her house she called to me.
"Monsieur Renoir, why, you're already here!
Come quickly, for my mother is waiting."
Her lilting tone made me feel very nice,
And I longed for my childhood again.
As I reached the door Lovinia sat
And asked me if I'd like a cup of tea.
She posed in a dancing position while
I, I prepared my brush and white paint
And soon Lovinia came on canvas,
White skirt billowing out into the scene
Clutching a handkerchief white like the snow
Hair ribbon tied at a jaunty angle.
Mrs. Lablondelle paid me what was due
While saying, "What a likeness of my girl!"
I hurried out, happy at my own success
Imagining dancers floating away.

...Abigail Boberg, Age 10, Quebec City

HAPPY BIRTHDAY...

...to you, on the 108th birthday of the U.S. Submarine Force. To you and to all your mates —those who returned and those who did not— we thank you for your sacrifices and heroism in protecting our country.

You've heard of them...

...and now, here's one. Yes, it's a Yellow-bellied Sapsucker. Like the Snipe, they do exist and it's not easy for them to go through life with the stigma of their name. There is, as well, a Secretary bird, but she can't hold an Inkjet Cartridge #21 to a Sapsucker which taps a tree trunk in perfectly aligned,  descending, left-to-right rows. A QWERTYUIOP to our yellow-bellied friend. 

Mrs. Puddlegumby

Abigail Boberg, a  ten-year-old girl in Quebec City, writes. She wrote this poem last week in less than an hour after viewing Claude Monet's "Mme. Louis Joachim Gaudibert" (1868)

Mrs. Puddlegumby

I was called over to a house one day
To paint a portrait of a lady who,
As you may recall, wears her hair up in
A knot, that curls into a chocolate brown
Bun. She called me “dear sir” and rustled her
Pea-green skirt wherever she walked that day.
Her silly actions almost made me laugh
But rich folks are like that I guess
Never have a bit of sense in their heads.
They stick their noses high into the air
And act as if you’re not there, yes they do!
Well, Mrs. Puddlegumby struck a pose,
She tossed her curls and shook her head and laughed.
But quickly I painted a saucy view
Her nose turned up in great disdain, I did.
A haughty look inside her big black eyes.
Her skirts flung out onto the carpet rug.
Ha! How displeased that silly lady was.
With shake of head and pointing at the door
She showed me out and paid me not a cent.
Outside I laughed until my throat was sore.
She never called for me to come again.
I fear she saw me laughing for I heard
A noise and turned and saw the curtain move.
I shall never forget that funny girl
Who had the name of Mrs. Puddlegumby.