It often is said that a picture is worth a thousand words.
This photo is one that deserves a thousand written words (but I will be briefer).
It is a photo that evokes three of the themes in the book—mentorship,
friendship and lost worlds. Courtesy of Leo Berry, the picture was taken in
1955 outside our house, across the alley from St. Paul school in Anaconda. The
photo was included in the book, but no commentary was included.
The most prominent person in the picture is Sister Joseph
Marie, our first grade teacher and a pivotal figure in my life. In the book, I
have described her enormous gift of stimulating an interest in the world of
books to someone who entered the grade a new student from another town and a
little behind the others. For whatever reason, she took me under her wing, for
which I am forever indebted. That special interest even included, as I was
reminded by my classmate Ron Haffey at our recent 50th reunion,
tying me to my desk a couple of times because I was inclined to continually get
out of my seat and roam around.
Looking at this photo of 60 years ago, the message is driven
home to me—the critical importance of teachers and mentors in our lives. I can
name off the others so special to me: my eighth grade teacher, a high school
Latin teacher and two professors in college. Interestingly enough three of the
five were nuns. I don’t think we can over-emphasize the critical role these
teachers and mentors play in our lives. I think most of mine are dead, but I do
see Donald Costello of Notre Dame, now 85 whenever I am in the Midwest, and I
reunited with my Latin teacher in Dayton, Ohio.
Leo Berry, dressed smartly in a shirt and tie, is on the far
left. At that time, Leo and I seemed to be continually together on the St. Paul
school playground. One memory I have is he and I riding our bikes around the
schoolyard on Good Friday as we solemnly waited for the holy hour of 3 p.m.,
the time of Jesus’ death according to Christian traditions. Leo and I were in
school together for the next 11 years then we went in separate directions after
high school graduation—he to Gonzaga and me to Notre Dame, followed by his
career as a lawyer in Helena and my peripatetic journey of practicing in New
York, Chicago and Boston and then of business ventures in Boston. However, our
friendship has endured throughout those years through class reunions, getting
together in Helena on my too infrequent visits there and in recent years exchanges
through the magic of emails. Supplying photos, making introductions and reading
part of the manuscript, he was of invaluable help on the book.
I did not immediately recognize the boy second to the right,
but then I concluded it had to be Butch Prigge. Living two blocks away, he was
one of my best friends. Not only were we in the same class but our mothers had
been classmates all through school and had remained close friends (as they are
today at the age of 88). Butch moved to Butte the following summer, and the
mere distance of 23 miles away slowly dissolved our friendship—a typical
pattern when we are young. Friendships at that age need close proximity and
nourishment to blossom.
The remaining two in the picture are me and my sister Mary
Anne. At that time we were 7 and 5 years old. Today we are 68 and 66 and
between us have 11 grandchildren.
That picture from a time that in some respects seemed not
long ago in fact is a reminder that it did occur long ago and that much of our
lives have elapsed in the interim—the good and the not so good. It documents
poignantly another lost world. Thanks Leo for finding it.
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