The Mystery Behind The Altar.....
Posted: Tue Jul 24, 2007 9:44 pmWhen I saw the "Altar Boy" post, I couldn’t help but remember an episode involving the altar at St Anthonys. It was the Spring of 1965, and some of my classmates and I were assigned to “chair patrol”. We were in the seventh grade. We were supposed to set up the chairs downstairs in the auditorium for weekend Mass.
But boys being boys, we decided to “explore” a bit. We found an opening behind the stage which was blocked by two boards fastened together in the form of an “X”. We easily managed our way past the entrance, and continued into a dark passageway . The further we walked, the dimmer the light became. In the darkness we moved ahead, feeling our way forward. The path seemed to be inclining upward, as if we were moving toward the church one floor above. We arrived at what seemed to be a turn in the “tunnel”, as we came to call it. Not daring to continue in the pitch black of the tunnel, we backtracked to the entrance behind the stage. Running out of time, we quickly finished our chair duties, but were determined to return with some form of light at the very next opportunity.
Sure enough, we were back in the auditorium early the next week to undo the chairs we had set up previously. This was our chance to further explore the tunnel. Since we were coming directly from class, we didn’t have a flashlight. But one of the altar boys among us had ‘requisitioned’ some used candle nubs from the waste basket in the sacristy. They were too short for use during Mass, but they were the perfect size for what we needed. Three of us, myself included, were nominated to brave the darkness of the tunnel, while a few others stood watch. We proceeded forward, candles lit. The going was easier with the dim light that the candles provided. Still, the visibility was no more than a few yards ahead, as the passage was totally blacked out. We reached the first turn without a hitch, and then proceeded to yet another. The further we walked, the more anxious we became, wondering where the tunnel would lead. There was no way in the semi-dark to determine how far we had traveled. Suddenly we could go no further. A dead end. We were so intent on where we would end up, that when we arrived it was almost a shock. What was this passage to nowhere?
We then had our first inclination to examine the tunnel itself. The walls appeared to be constructed from concrete block and mortar. The floor itself was concrete. It was no wider than 30 inches across. And we had traveled a slow, steady incline from beginning to end. But why was it built, for what purpose, only to end so abruptly in a dark closed end? While we stood there trying to solve this puzzle, the lit candle had burned itself down almost to the quick. Whoever was holding it, blew it out, not wanting to burn his fingers. There we stood, the three of us in total darkness. The passage was so totally dark at this spot. Now, with the candle out, we could appreciate the total absence of light. This was a dark, quiet, eerie place we had found. I didn’t know what the others were thinking, because nobody was talking, but it sure scared the hell out of me!
We stood in silence, at the end of a tunnel to nowhere, which began somewhere down below us, behind the stage in the auditorium. Now all three of us thought aloud, why on earth would somebody build a tunnel to nowhere. We took another of the discarded candles from out a pocket. We were ready to strike a match and light the tunnel again. But suddenly, I looked back, in the direction from which we had traveled, and I saw it. It was ever so slim a beam of light that I might have easily missed it. Yet there it was, about ten feet away from where we were standing. In the darkness we moved as a unit, feeling our way along the concrete wall toward the sliver of light. We were about to solve the mystery of the tunnel.
We inched up to where the beam of light was shining, as if from right out of the concrete wall. I peered into the space, a literal crack in the otherwise solid wall. To my surprise, I saw a familiar site, but from a slightly different perspective. “It’s the Church”, I whispered to my companions. “I’m looking from behind the alter at the Church”. I must have sounded incredulous, because they quickly pushed me aside to see for themselves. Sure enough, we were at a vantage point behind the altar, looking past the tabernacle, out over the altar, with a perfect view of the body of the church. The crack was vertical, and paper thin. But we could see from the altar rail to the choir rail in a center strip right down the middle ailse. It was really unbelievable.
What made it even more amazing was the fact that it must have occupied, within its walls, a narrow space between the rear of the sacristy and the altar proper. The parish alter boys will recall that the link between the main sacristy, where the priests vested, and the area where the altar boys vested was a narrowed, curved walkway between the two. This section was draped with dark, heavy curtains. Later, when we examined the wall beneath those drapes in search of some evidence of the tunnel, which had to be just on the other side, we found none. Apparently the tunnel weaved an ascending path from the auditorium below, beyond the church floor, to the sacristy level above, all the while contained in a very narrow space between the walls of the various sections. And we had found ourselves standing in that hidden space. For us, it was quite a discovery.
I think we almost half- ran over each other, downward through the tunnel toward our “lookouts” in the auditorium. We couldn’t wait to tell them what we had found. Of course everyone then, in groups of two or three, had to scramble up to see for themselves. We had theorized that the passage was constructed as some type of refuge for whatever purpose. Typical to the juvenile imagination, specific theories ran the gamut from a spyport with which to observe misbehaving attendees to an escape route from the Nazis during World War II. Whatever the reason, it was now “our tunnel”, and what adventures this would bring… Not.
Unfortunately, one of our group was “caught” in the tunnel just two days later. I was riding my bike on Leland and Archer St when I received the word. It seemed Sister Larorae wanted to see me at the convent. Expectantly I made the journey into my obvious doom. Inside the convent, I was made to wait at least ten minutes: ten of the longest minutes of my entire life. Then she appeared; from the top of the stairway she descended with cape flowing, like a female Zorro. All she needed was the mask and the whip. If you knew Sister Laborae, then you knew that the eyes betrayed the mood every time. Her eyes penetrated though me like a blow torch through wilted steel. She was glaring, nostrils flaring. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, I’d likely had shit my draws if not for my knees being in a knot, to keep from knocking together. Having arrived face to face, I made eye contact momentarily. Not a good idea. But I wanted to seem calm. I had told myself I would give up no information, but that I wouldn’t lie either. Then from behind her back came her left hand. In her hand, wedged between each knuckle, like some medieval boxing torture, were the pitiful candle nubs we had used in the tunnel. My heart sank. My throat closed tightly. I could barely breath enough to answer her question, ‘Do you recognize these”? she asked. “Yes”, I answered, beside myself with fear. “And what are they”? she persisted, looking for my self-incrimination. In my best attempt at nonchalance I replied, “Those are leftover candles that can’t be used anymore”. I saw a slight movement of the cape around her shoulders, as I looked up from the candles in her left hand for her facial reaction. I never saw the right hand coming. Pow! She hit me flush with a slap in the left cheek that almost knocked me out. I saw the stars and heard the bells. I was loopy. But I stuck to my original convictions, and did not lie. Naturally, out of fear she’d belt me again, I told her everything she wanted to know.
In that very instant, I knew that the tunnel was history. We never went there again; we never even talked about it. Sometimes growing up has its immediate benefits. Needless to say, that was one of those times. It will remain vividly etched in my mind forever.
But boys being boys, we decided to “explore” a bit. We found an opening behind the stage which was blocked by two boards fastened together in the form of an “X”. We easily managed our way past the entrance, and continued into a dark passageway . The further we walked, the dimmer the light became. In the darkness we moved ahead, feeling our way forward. The path seemed to be inclining upward, as if we were moving toward the church one floor above. We arrived at what seemed to be a turn in the “tunnel”, as we came to call it. Not daring to continue in the pitch black of the tunnel, we backtracked to the entrance behind the stage. Running out of time, we quickly finished our chair duties, but were determined to return with some form of light at the very next opportunity.
Sure enough, we were back in the auditorium early the next week to undo the chairs we had set up previously. This was our chance to further explore the tunnel. Since we were coming directly from class, we didn’t have a flashlight. But one of the altar boys among us had ‘requisitioned’ some used candle nubs from the waste basket in the sacristy. They were too short for use during Mass, but they were the perfect size for what we needed. Three of us, myself included, were nominated to brave the darkness of the tunnel, while a few others stood watch. We proceeded forward, candles lit. The going was easier with the dim light that the candles provided. Still, the visibility was no more than a few yards ahead, as the passage was totally blacked out. We reached the first turn without a hitch, and then proceeded to yet another. The further we walked, the more anxious we became, wondering where the tunnel would lead. There was no way in the semi-dark to determine how far we had traveled. Suddenly we could go no further. A dead end. We were so intent on where we would end up, that when we arrived it was almost a shock. What was this passage to nowhere?
We then had our first inclination to examine the tunnel itself. The walls appeared to be constructed from concrete block and mortar. The floor itself was concrete. It was no wider than 30 inches across. And we had traveled a slow, steady incline from beginning to end. But why was it built, for what purpose, only to end so abruptly in a dark closed end? While we stood there trying to solve this puzzle, the lit candle had burned itself down almost to the quick. Whoever was holding it, blew it out, not wanting to burn his fingers. There we stood, the three of us in total darkness. The passage was so totally dark at this spot. Now, with the candle out, we could appreciate the total absence of light. This was a dark, quiet, eerie place we had found. I didn’t know what the others were thinking, because nobody was talking, but it sure scared the hell out of me!
We stood in silence, at the end of a tunnel to nowhere, which began somewhere down below us, behind the stage in the auditorium. Now all three of us thought aloud, why on earth would somebody build a tunnel to nowhere. We took another of the discarded candles from out a pocket. We were ready to strike a match and light the tunnel again. But suddenly, I looked back, in the direction from which we had traveled, and I saw it. It was ever so slim a beam of light that I might have easily missed it. Yet there it was, about ten feet away from where we were standing. In the darkness we moved as a unit, feeling our way along the concrete wall toward the sliver of light. We were about to solve the mystery of the tunnel.
We inched up to where the beam of light was shining, as if from right out of the concrete wall. I peered into the space, a literal crack in the otherwise solid wall. To my surprise, I saw a familiar site, but from a slightly different perspective. “It’s the Church”, I whispered to my companions. “I’m looking from behind the alter at the Church”. I must have sounded incredulous, because they quickly pushed me aside to see for themselves. Sure enough, we were at a vantage point behind the altar, looking past the tabernacle, out over the altar, with a perfect view of the body of the church. The crack was vertical, and paper thin. But we could see from the altar rail to the choir rail in a center strip right down the middle ailse. It was really unbelievable.
What made it even more amazing was the fact that it must have occupied, within its walls, a narrow space between the rear of the sacristy and the altar proper. The parish alter boys will recall that the link between the main sacristy, where the priests vested, and the area where the altar boys vested was a narrowed, curved walkway between the two. This section was draped with dark, heavy curtains. Later, when we examined the wall beneath those drapes in search of some evidence of the tunnel, which had to be just on the other side, we found none. Apparently the tunnel weaved an ascending path from the auditorium below, beyond the church floor, to the sacristy level above, all the while contained in a very narrow space between the walls of the various sections. And we had found ourselves standing in that hidden space. For us, it was quite a discovery.
I think we almost half- ran over each other, downward through the tunnel toward our “lookouts” in the auditorium. We couldn’t wait to tell them what we had found. Of course everyone then, in groups of two or three, had to scramble up to see for themselves. We had theorized that the passage was constructed as some type of refuge for whatever purpose. Typical to the juvenile imagination, specific theories ran the gamut from a spyport with which to observe misbehaving attendees to an escape route from the Nazis during World War II. Whatever the reason, it was now “our tunnel”, and what adventures this would bring… Not.
Unfortunately, one of our group was “caught” in the tunnel just two days later. I was riding my bike on Leland and Archer St when I received the word. It seemed Sister Larorae wanted to see me at the convent. Expectantly I made the journey into my obvious doom. Inside the convent, I was made to wait at least ten minutes: ten of the longest minutes of my entire life. Then she appeared; from the top of the stairway she descended with cape flowing, like a female Zorro. All she needed was the mask and the whip. If you knew Sister Laborae, then you knew that the eyes betrayed the mood every time. Her eyes penetrated though me like a blow torch through wilted steel. She was glaring, nostrils flaring. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, I’d likely had shit my draws if not for my knees being in a knot, to keep from knocking together. Having arrived face to face, I made eye contact momentarily. Not a good idea. But I wanted to seem calm. I had told myself I would give up no information, but that I wouldn’t lie either. Then from behind her back came her left hand. In her hand, wedged between each knuckle, like some medieval boxing torture, were the pitiful candle nubs we had used in the tunnel. My heart sank. My throat closed tightly. I could barely breath enough to answer her question, ‘Do you recognize these”? she asked. “Yes”, I answered, beside myself with fear. “And what are they”? she persisted, looking for my self-incrimination. In my best attempt at nonchalance I replied, “Those are leftover candles that can’t be used anymore”. I saw a slight movement of the cape around her shoulders, as I looked up from the candles in her left hand for her facial reaction. I never saw the right hand coming. Pow! She hit me flush with a slap in the left cheek that almost knocked me out. I saw the stars and heard the bells. I was loopy. But I stuck to my original convictions, and did not lie. Naturally, out of fear she’d belt me again, I told her everything she wanted to know.
In that very instant, I knew that the tunnel was history. We never went there again; we never even talked about it. Sometimes growing up has its immediate benefits. Needless to say, that was one of those times. It will remain vividly etched in my mind forever.
