Warning... this is an adult site. If reading or viewing things about what gay men do sexually with one another bothers you - you should not read this blog. This blog is a reflection of my adventures and thoughts. Some are fun, some not so pretty. I won't name names, or kiss and tell... but I will live to tell. And baby, trust me - I am gonna spill it all over your pretty little party dress. Enjoy!
In my own personal big gay church, there is a wing dedicated to the Ladies Of Comedy. Theses are the gals who made us laugh and, on occasion, brought a tear to our eyes. They are visionaries, capturing aspects of the human condition while holding up a mirror to the world. Their characters, style, and phrases have helped form our daily vernacular in ways we are not even always aware of - but that is the power of comedy and the magic these ladies all possess. Breaking ground while breaking all the rules?
One such comic seer?
Kathleen Madigan
Whether poking fun at her Irish Catholic background, her parents and siblings or some aspect of modern culture, Madigan is the best storyteller you'd ever want to buy a drink.
And you will. You will want to buy this lady a drink.
She's casually funny... with a gift with a yarn that's been honed on the road, 250 days a year, for over 30 years.
She's been on The Tonight Show an amazing 25 times! Ten of those when it was Carson.
She'll be the first to tell you - she'll do a favor for a friend - like appear on Seinfeld's Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee - but otherwise? All she wants to do is tell a joke.
It's that simplicity in aim, that focus which has made her one of the best comics around.
She doesn't cotton much when it comes to awards, but she's won them: the American Comedy Award for Best Female Comedian and the Phyllis Diller Award in the same category.
In her spare time she goes on tour for the USO to Iraq and Afghanistan, helping out her best pal, Lewis Black over at Comedy Central and recording her popular podcast: Madigan's Pubcast.
She toys with the idea of retirement... but for our funny bone's sake, let's hope she never does.
The gospel according to her?
Well, here are three from the hip, dropping from her lips.
The Topic? Comedy
"You have to be comfortable with organized chaos. I do really well in organized chaos because it keeps my attention. It’s activity-based versus with my one sister, safety would be her number one thing. She wants to be organized, safe, nothing unpredictable. That’s her idea of happiness. Mine is I like it to be very unpredictable. I’d like it to be chaotic, but I want to know I have control over it. I’ve always been like this, even when I was a kid. I think my parents would say that too. Like, my one sister, every night before school, she had her uniform set out, her things set out, everything was perfectly organized, neat. My side of the room looked like it had been looted! So I just think I’m meant for the road."
"I got into this line of work so I didn’t have to work during the day time"
"Given a chance, I wouldn't work except every once in awhile and then give the money (assuming I had a huge stash) to poor people."
"There's some comics who say there's never anything off limits, and I guess that's true, but I try to shy away from stuff that I know was painful for a lot of people. Like they don't need to be reminded of that at a comedy show. You can't go a comedy show to escape."
"...performing is not an escape for me, and also nothing in my real life affects my performances. Work is work. I don't however, work if something in my personal life is more important or needs more of my attention which probably is why things don't affect my work. I wait until I'm ready and try not to push the issue."
"People entertain me more than I entertain them."
"I don't really write jokes. I wait for stuff to happen in life and then I tell it on stage."
"I never have goals or dreams. My sister says it's pathetic and lazy, but I had a goal: to tell jokes to pay the bills and not have to live in a trailer. So, I think I'm living my fantasy. I don't have another."
"I reached my goal, I'm doing my goal. I don't understand why I'm supposed to have another goal. I don't know who started that crap. Not that there's anything wrong with having a sitcom or any of that, I'm just a bigger fan of the people that go [onstage], just because I feel that I relate to that more. There's nothing more fun than telling jokes in front of live people to me."
"I didn’t start doing open mics to become an actor on a sitcom or on a television commercial. Those things never crossed my mind. For a few of us, working and telling jokes was our main goal. I didn’t have any more goals. Can’t you even have a goal, reach it and enjoy it? Our society is driven by Type-A lunatics who say you have to set more goals. Well maybe they do, but we all don’t. Have a seat, grab a drink and enjoy the fact that you made it to the goal. Maybe that’s the Irish in me, talking tough."
"I just want to tell jokes. There’s not many of us where that’s all we want to do."
Stand Up - Kathleen Madigan
Things That Scare Adults - Kathleen Madigan
An American Idiot In Paris / This Is Not Happening
Kathleen Madigan
And one last parting shot...
"As long as there’s a mic and the spotlight works, I’m good to go. I’ve reached that point in my career, I don’t have to fight anymore. I’m happy where I am."
After turning on the television, Missy flopped her body on top of her bed. The room felt stuffy and smelled of something...curry? It seemed exotic and inappropriate. Jeanette was huffing and puffing about, packing her stuff in the plastic bags she’d gotten from their trip to Shopko. Missy didn’t know how to tell her, but they weren’t going anywhere. Having a warrant issued for their arrest was not the kind of souvenir she wanted to bring home from this trip.
Staring at the ceiling, she willed her eyes to close, but the thoughts running through her head forbade it. Instead, she allowed them to go out of focus and the voices to simply flow The pit of her stomach felt hollow. She hated the way she’d left it with Peter, but he seemed to be in a hurry to return to The Sleep Inn, so maybe he didn’t even notice the cold shoulder she gave him. The fact that he seemed so at home in that kind of environment bothered Missy to no end. Maybe that is what Adam the admin had been trying to warn her about. But then, Adam was there, too. “I wonder what kind of act Adam’s boyfriend Patrick was going to do in the show?” she wondered aloud
“Huh?” Jeanette clearly had not been paying attention to her at all. Her aunt stopped what she was doing for a moment. The sound of the television filled the room and Jeanette seemed to notice for the first time that it was on. In a kind of sleep-deprived stupor, she sat on the end of her bed. “What are we watching?”
Missy raised her head up to check the screen. “Looks like that cop show with whatshername... she’s married to Kevin Bacon.”
They watched as the detectives on the show pointed to various photos mounted on a large white board. Each of the photos had a piece of red yarn connecting them to another photo of a person or a piece of evidence. The yarn made Missy think of the old-fashioned illustrations with the metal eyeleted holes which she used to thread yarn through as a child. The detectives on the T.V. made solving a crime look like a game children would play. Suddenly a light bulb went on in her head. She sat up with a shot.
“You bought post-it notes at Shopko today, didn’t you?”
Jeanette, slack-jawed, turned to her niece, “What?”
“The post-it notes. Gimme.” Missy scooted her butt off the end of her bed and held out her hand, her fingers beckoning with urgency. Jeanette rolled her eyes and rummaged through one of the plastic shopping bags at her feet. “Here,” she said, as she handed her niece the huge packet of multi-colored post-it notes. Missy ripped the cellophane wrapper open causing the two dozen individual packets to fly about the room. “Hey,” protested Jeanette, but it was too late. They were everywhere. “I’m not picking those up!”
Missy paid her no attention. “You got a pen or something in that purse of yours? Never mind...” She moved to the desk drawer on the far side of the room, opened it, and found the complimentary pen the hotel provided capped and waiting.
“What are you doing. Missy?” her aunt whined. “Can’t we just go home?”
Missy was already busy writing out the first three post-it notes. “Not really an option. Sorry.” Missy placed the first three post-its on the empty space above the desk. “Get over here and put your thinking cap on. We need to get serious about figuring this out.” Jeanette heaved a heavy sigh, but Missy wasn’t in the mood for her Aunt’s complaints. “Come on, you can sit in this comfy chair.” Missy indicated the floral wingback that sat next to the window. “And turn off that television, it’s distracting.”
“You’re the one who turned it on!” bellowed Jeanette.
'Oops', thought Missy - she’d poked the bear. Placing the post-it notes and pen on the desk, she edged past her aunt, who was still sitting on the end of her bed, picked up the remote, and shut the set off. Looking down, Missy placed a hand on her aunt’s shoulder and calmly asked. “Are you dehydrated? Do you need some water?” Wordlessly, Jeanette nodded.
Missy went to the bathroom sink, filled a glass with tap water, and brought it to her aunt She sat down beside her and began to gently rub her aunt's back as the woman drank.
Missy decided to reason with her. “You’re tired I’m tired I get that, but we have an opportunity to actually contribute something of real value. I need you to remember why we’re here and who we’re doing this for. And I need your help.” Having adopted a gentler tone, this last bit seemed to do the trick. Jeanette turned and looked at her niece, her face softening. Missy continued, “I can’t do this by myself. This is our adventure. This is ours to solve.”
Jeanette nodded affirmatively, got up, went into the bathroom and splashed water on her face. She returned moments later with a second glass of water and took a seat in the floral chair by the window. “Okay, kid Whattya got?”
Missy smiled and sprang to her feet. She pointed at the three post-its she’d already placed on the wall. “Okay, we have three murders.” Then she thought better “Well, two murders and a missing boy.” She turned to face Jeanette. “What I want to figure out is if the two murders could have anything to do with the disappearance of Jack Arneson. It seems that a number of people here are very unhappy about us poking our noses where they supposedly don’t belong.”
Jeanette cut right to the chase. “In your gut, who do you think did it?”
Missy shook her head and rested a butt cheek on the edge of the desk. “I don’t have a sense of it. I mean, that is what doing this,” she indicated the post-its on the wall behind her, “is all about I think we need to sort it all out.”
“So, do you think the two murders are related to one another? If they were done by the same person, then why were they killed in such different ways; one, being execution style and the other so staged and ritualistic?”
Again, Missy shook her head “I don’t buy it. The methods are too dissimilar. And I think Boyd’s murder would have required more than one person to pull off. That set-up was way too elaborate to be accomplished by a single person.”
“Who would want both of these people dead?” Jeanette reached over and grabbed the pen and pad of post-its from the top of the desk. “Start naming possible suspects... or at least people who knew that we were talking to Boyd and Abe and what we were talking to them about.”
“Boyd knew we were going to go talk to Abe Longren,” offered Missy.
Jeanette wrote his name down, rose and placed it under Abe Longren’s name. She then bent and wrote another name. “So did Peter.”
“And you don’t? Really? After tonight?” Jeanette looked at her niece incredulously before placing Peter’s name under Abe’s. “Sorry, kid. But there's something a little off about the man. And everybody else that hangs out at that Sleep Inn.”
Missy rose and pensively moved towards the window. She had to agree Peter’s behavior had surprised her. And the gleeful way he had taken them out to the Monastery? It was like a child showing off a piece of macaroni art. She hated to think of him as a possible suspect, but it seemed she had no choice. “What about an unknown? Someone we haven’t met yet? There seems to be an awful lot of history to this town that we’re not privy to yet.”
“That would imply that somebody was telling other people what we were doing. You know, somebody like... Peter.”
Missy fumed. So that was her choice? She either had to think of Peter as a possible killer or as a snitch? Waitaminute, what? The etch-a-sketch that was her brain shook and erased itself. Snitch? It wasn’t like they’d sworn Peter to secrecy. Missy sank into the floral wingback. Once her weight hit the cushion she became wholly aware of just how exhausted, both mentally and physically, she felt. Why was she reacting this way? So quick to come to come to the defense of a man she hardly knew at all.
Jeanette, intent on the post-its, appeared oblivious to Missy’s inner dilemma. “Between the two of them, I like Boyd for this the most. You remember how he reacted when we told him we were visiting Abe? He could have followed us, parked his vehicle some distance away, come in the back door and been there waiting for Abe to come into the kitchen.”
“But why?”
“Abe worked at the Monastery. What if he was the one diddling little boys?”
“But Boyd accused the Brothers.”
“Sure he did, probably at his father’s or lawyer’s request. It stands to reason. Suing a groundskeeper... you’re not going to get a hell of a lot of money. Suing the Catholic Church? Now there’s your cash cow!” Jeanette sat on the side of her bed, facing Missy.
“But why wouldn’t the Brothers simply hand him over to the police? Why would they protect him?”
“It wasn’t Abe they were interested in protecting. All they cared about is the reputation of the church. Also, it’s a matter of liability. If the molestation took place on the grounds of the Monastery then the church would be tied to the scandal.”
“So the Brothers just hushed it up as soon as possible?”
“Historically, that’s the way the church has dealt with those kinds of situations; sweep it under the rug. If Abe was Boyd’s abuser, then Boyd could have had at least two reasons to want him dead to keep him silent, or to make him pay for what he’d done.”
Missy was puzzled. “Why would Boyd want to keep Abe quiet?”
“Maybe he didn’t want to relive the whole thing. Or maybe he thought he’d have to pay back some of the money.”
Missy was following Jeanette’s reasoning and it seemed solid to her. “Okay, let’s suppose Boyd killed Abe. Then who killed Boyd? And why? Do you think Boyd’s death was in retaliation for the killing of Abe?”
Jeanette rose and moved back to look at the post-its above the desk, as if the answer was there. “Possibly, or for talking to us; the fact that his mouth was sewn shut. Who knew what Boyd had told us? Only one person I can think of...” Jeanette bent and wrote out another post-it and placed it on the wall under Boyd’s name. “Peter.”
Missy felt that same sting. She hated the idea that he could be involved in any of this. “But then why was Boyd killed at the Monastery? Why was he hung over the Oswigs’ tomb? Isn’t it more likely that the Brothers could be involved? Or the Oswig sisters? Everyone seems to hate and fear them for some reason. And who is this Peg Powler person everyone keeps mentioning?”
Jeanette scowled at her niece. Too many questions. However, she had to concede that her niece had raised a number of valid points. “First off, we have no way of knowing where Boyd was actually killed. We only know where his body was found and that someone wanted to make sure that his body was found - otherwise, why wouldn’t have they simply dumped it somewhere more private? The killer - or killers - were sending a message and I think that message might have been for us. To frighten us. Now, the Oswig tomb...” Jeanette began to pace while tapping her index finger on her chin. Obviously she was really getting into this.
“Could have just been a coincidence. Those angel statues may have been the only two objects available that could hold all that weight and position the body in such a way as to make the killer’s vision possible .” Jeanette laughed. “I mean, come on, I seriously doubt that three elderly women would have been able to truss Boyd up like that.”
“Okay, so not the Oswig sisters - although, maybe they could have hired someone. We’re looking for at least a couple of people strong enough to rig that whole scene up, right? What about the Brothers? They certainly know the terrain. And they sure had an axe to grind when it came to Boyd. Maybe Boyd came back looking for more money or something and one of the Brothers snapped and...”
Jeanette stopped pacing. “Yeah. I could see that. I mean, Boyd sure caused them a lot of trouble. But if they were going to exact some kind of revenge on him, why make it so public? Why not just have Boyd disappear?” Jeanette returned to the post-its once more, staring at the wall as she spoke. “Nope. Whoever killed Boyd wanted us to think that the Brothers were involved.” Jeanette wrote down ‘Brothers’ and ‘Oswig Sisters’ and placed the post-its off to the side, far below the others. She then backed away from the wall, as if the extra distance would improve her perspective. “You know, I feel like we’re missing someone; like we haven’t met all the players yet.” She glanced over her shoulder at Missy. “Who else is there?”
Missy rose and went to the desk. “Well...” As she spoke, she wrote the names on post-its and placed them near the bottom of the space on the wall. “Peg Powler - whoever that is. Libby, Libby, Libby - she was at the diner and could have overheard our conversation. She also seems to have some weird hold over Sheriff Paul. Did you see the way he was looking at her while she was dancing?”
Jeanette sank down into the floral chair. “Maybe she helps him buy his bras?” They both laughed.
Before writing the next name. Missy glanced behind her to check with her aunt “Sheriff Paul? You think?”
“Sure, why not? He seems awfully comfortable with the idea of passing these things off as suicides.”
“Maybe he’s lazy?”
“Maybe he has something to cover up. Maybe he’s involved.”
Missy doubted it. She placed his name, and the others she’d just written, down below with the Oswig Sisters and the Brothers. “You think he was being serious? About passing these deaths off as suicides?”
Jeanette smiled. “No. He just has a quirky sense of humor.”
Missy giggled. “That’s one way of putting it.” She turned her attention back to the post-its. Who else?“What about Kathleen Tollefson?”
“Oh!” Jeanette sprang up and ran to retrieve her purse. “Speaking of Kathleen .. we have another thing to cross off our list!” Jeanette pulled the children’s book she’d purloined from Kathleen’s office. “See! Easter Book!” She removed the book from the plastic bag she’d stored it in and brought it over to Missy. “And see here... Taffy!” Sure enough, there, in a child’s scrawl, on the inside of the front cover, in blue crayon, was the word ‘Taffy’.
Missy’s heart skipped a beat. This made no sense. What was Kathleen Tollefson doing with the book from Grandma Jean’s dreams? And who or what was Taffy?
Jeanette returned the book to it’s the plastic bag and sealed it
“So you think Kathleen is involved in this?”
“I think Kathleen’s name can go under Jack’s. This book ties her directly to the list.”
Missy wondered if they were grasping for straws here. “How old do you think she is? She has to be in her late 40’s, early 50’s. I’m thinking she would have been away in college back in... 1984? So, even if this book was related to Jack’s disappearance, she wouldn’t have been around at. the time. Though, I must say, that 'Taffy' thing is a little freaky. I wonder what it means.” With no answer forthcoming from Jeanette, Missy moved on “What else do we have on the list?”
Sitting side by side on Jeanette’s bed, the two reviewed the list item by item, throwing out ideas as they went.
Two, not three - Twin Statues
Missy wondered if that could be a reference to the angels in the cemetery. Or maybe those statues in the gardens outside the Monastery? But what does the ‘two, not three’ refer to? The number of murders?
Triangle-Shaped Blue Glass Ashtray, Chipped
Missy stole one from Abe’s house, only to find out it didn’t have a chip in it. So, close but no banana.
Frontier Cigarettes
Jeanette had some vague memory of these as a brand that had been taken off the market in the mid-1980’s; something about asbestos in the filter, if she remembered correctly. Missy had noticed that Abe was smoking Merit Ultra Light 100’s. He was also the only smoker they’d met so far. Well, except for Boyd, but what he was smoking, neither woman really wanted to know.
Brown, Full-Length Skirt
Missy was pretty sure this referred to the Brothers and their robes, as viewed through the basement windows.
Tredecar MSRE
The furnace. Both Jeanette and Missy agreed that discovering it on the door to the furnace was a little too on-the-nose to be a coincidence. It absolutely linked Grandma Jean’s dream list about Jack’s disappearance to the Monastery.
Jack’s Window
Window of opportunity? Or did Grandma Jean mean one of the window’s in the basement of the Monastery? Like something out of which he would have stared?
Heavy Blonde, Heavy Metal
This one had them stumped. While there was certainly no shortage of heavy blonde’s in St. Petersburg, neither woman could figure out what heavy metal music had to do with anything.
Missing Mallet
Apparently it was still missing, because they hadn’t found it... yet.
Brother’s Bread Matches
So, another definite tie between Grandma Jean’s dreams and the Monastery. But matches? Matches what?
White Delivery Trucks
Again, something that ties the dreams to the Brothers and the Monastery. Peter had told them that they used to have a whole fleet of them before the sex scandal forced them to sell the business.
Chanting Latin
The Brothers? Probably.
St. Peter’s Bird
St Petersburg. Coincidence?
And the last item.
The Labyrinth of Blue Towers
Missy frowned “I sure hope that doesn’t have anything to do with what’s going on in the basement of The Sleep Inn.” She watched Jeanette’s eyes grow as she described what she’d seen. Jeanette thought maybe they were connected, because it seemed to be too dead on to be a mere coincidence. Plus it would tie-in the Oswig sisters. And Sheriff Paul...
And Peter.
Missy was again stumped. “Do you really think Peter could be involved?”
Her aunt shrugged. “We can’t rule anyone out, Missy. You know, I feel like we are missing way too many pieces of the puzzle to...
The phone rang.
Both women nearly jumped out of their skin. Missy moved quickly to the nightstand between the two beds and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
The female voice on the other end was chilly and cryptic. “You have something of mine and I want it back.”
“Kathleen?”
Missy’s inquiry was met with silence.
Instead the caller demanded, “Meet me in front of the Monastery in twenty minutes. I have something to show you. Something that might bring your little ‘scavenger hunt’ to an end. Be sure to bring the book.”
“All right, I think we...” But before Missy had a chance to finish the caller had hung up. Missy returned the phone to the receiver.
Jeanette looked at her with questioning eyes.
“I’m not sure, but I think I just made a date to meet Kathleen Tollefson in front of the Monastery in 20 minutes.”
The car ambled slowly towards the next block. There was no need to hurry, because just as Sam had promised, there was no traffic. The block appeared typical of ones found in the downtowns of many Midwestern small towns. The first block featured a series of tall, brick buildings built in the early 1900's. The main floors of these structures housed various businesses while the upper floors were rented out as apartments. On the corner, to the women’s immediate right was a Ben Franklin. The old five and dime store looked antiquated and sleepy. Jeanette’s eyes grew large upon spotting it. “Oh, look! A Ben Franklin! Pull over.”
Missy did as ordered. Her aunt enthused, “You have no idea how many afternoons I used spend in one of those; stealing penny candy and flipping through the album bins. I’d spend my whole allowance on nothing but 45’s and Necco Wafers.” She laughed at the memory and confessed, “I used to buy Necco Wafers because even though I didn't like them very much I was convinced that because they were wafers they were like diet candy. Yeah—that didn’t work out too well, now did it? Can we stop?”
Missy looked askance at her aunt. “You do realize they no longer sell 45’s or LPs, right?”
Jeanette rolled her eyes. "Of course I know that. I didn’t just come out of a coma. Jeeze. Oh, never mind.” Then, after a brief pause, like a sulky child she groused, “You know, it’s not just 45’s and albums. They also used to carry all sorts of odd stuff. A bin of rubbery, squiggly monsters with suction cups on the bottom would sit right next to one full of multi-colored pipe cleaners for craft projects You could buy bags of red feathers and angel wings. It was such a magical place You could just lose yourself in it.”
Sensing Jeanette’s need for nostalgia. Missy relented “We’ll stop later, okay? I promise.” And then, switching focus she added, "Hey, check out the windows across the street and let's do the time warp again ”
Across the street from the Ben Franklin stood two generic looking clothing stores; one selling women’s clothing, the other men's. Both shops belonged to the same family, their name, the Bainbridges, proudly displayed on the edge of each store’s awning. The windows displayed rather dated mannequins dressed in the most rudimentary of fashions. Had Missy passed by such a sight in Minneapolis she would have assumed the stores were either part of a movie set or served as fronts for an organized crime family.
At the end of the block, next to the men's store sat a barber shop. One could easily tell because jutting from a corner of the building was a traditional barber’s pole spinning in a giant glass tube Mayberry RFD style. A stoic looking hardware store, bearing the name Dodds, stood next to the Ben Franklin. In front of the store, protected by an awning, sat a number of pieces of lawn and garden machinery: a tiller, several lawn mowers, a lawn sweeper, and the like. None of the items appeared to be secured in any manner. Apparently theft was not a big concern for local merchants.
Next to the hardware store, on the corner across from the barber shop, was a large, imposing building, clearly from an earlier era than the other buildings on the block. Made of a reddish, clay-colored stone, the entrance featured an archway and had an actual cone-topped spire on one corner. The only way to determine that it was a drug store was the gold gilt lettering on the large arched window and a tiny oval sign that hung from a wrought iron bracket over the main entry declaring it as such.
Missy, drawn to the last building, pulled the car from the curb in front of the Ben Franklin to park in front of it. “Wow,” she cooed, ducking her head in order to get a better look from inside the car. “Is that impressive! Look at the stonework. Isn’t it amazing? I mean, they don’t build anything even close to that these days. It must have taken forever to build. I can’t imagine how they did it.”
But Jeanette’s eyes seemed fixated on something further down the road “If you think that's impressive, get a gander of what’s up ahead.”
There, on the horizon, rose what appeared to be a strange, meandering castle of sorts. It looked as if someone had studied medieval architecture, taken all of its elements and thrown them into a blender. Even from that great distance Missy could tell that the structure was completely out of scale for such a small town. “That must be the town hall Sam was talking about.”
Without peeling her eyes from the building, Jeanette gave the order, “Let’s go.”
The women tried to speed past the sights and buildings on the next block, but found themselves slowing down to gape none the less. On one side there was a community park, on the other, a movie theatre and bank. Each seemed so unbelievably tied to another era they couldn’t help but pause and stare. The park looked eerily picture perfect, with its white lattice-work gazebos, ornate fountains, statues and band shell. Across the street, a smart art deco movie theatre in cool hues of teal and white stood in stark contrast to the 1890’s feel of the park. On the corner, next to the movie theatre, a tall bank, its sculpted facade forbidding and austere.
Jeanette gawked like a country mouse visiting the city for the first time. “Will you look at that?”
Missy shared her aunt’s desire to explore, but felt something more pressing lie directly ahead of them. “We‘ll have to come back. And we will. I'm sure there’ll be time later.”
At the end of that block Old Main fed into a road that circled around the entire town hall. This way one was able to get a 360 degree view of the building’s ridiculous, fanciful design.
Towers and turrets, balconies and balustrades, gargoyles and screaming grotesques competed for space, populating the buildings many nooks, niches, and crevices. Windows of all shapes and sizes served as the many eyes of this architectural monstrosity.
After circling the building twice with awe-filled eyes. Missy pulled into a parking lot to the south
“I want to go in.” breathed Jeanette
"Really? Wouldn't you rather get to the Monastery first?” challenged Missy.
“I want to go in.” she repeated.
Missy looked up at the structure and grimaced. It was huge. And if the outside was any indication, then the inside would no doubt take hours to navigate. It was fascinating, to be sure, but was it worth their time now?
“I tell you what,” she negotiated, “Let’s go to the Monastery now, and later, after we have a better idea of whether there’s anything to Grandma's dreams, then we'll come back here and walk around. Cool?”
Jeanette’s shoulders sank in disappointment. “I suppose so”, she grumbled. “But it’s like being given a giant box of chocolates and then being told you can't open it.”
“I get that” assured Missy. “Really I do. But let’s keep in mind what were here for.”
Jeanette let it go with a resigned, “Fine”, but then sunk into another sulk.
Missy decided to ignore the behavior “Come on, let’s press on. We'll get to visit Disneyland another time. Now, which road are we supposed to take? I’m so bad at directions.”
Jeanette begrudgingly offered. “The old guy said something about going northeast."
“Which way is northeast?”
“How should I know? Do I look like a Girl Scout?”
Missy took a firm look at her aunt. Someone’s blood sugar was going haywire, she guessed. “Well, let’s circle back to the front of the building. I think he said it’s off to the right.”
Two roads branched off at different angles to the right of the circle drive. Missy, unsure, chose the furthest one, simply because it looked the least inviting. Something about the dense line of trees along each side and how they formed an arch over the road filled Missy with a sense of dread. It was like entering a tunnel of sorts, for very little light penetrated the thick foliage above.
“Turn on your headlights,” advised Jeanette. Missy noted a tinge of tension had crept into her aunt’s voice. Clearly, she, too, was picking up on the ominous vibe.
The road was fairly straight, with only a few minor curves due to large boulders or rock formations that punctuated the thick forest on either side of them. About ten miles or so later, the woods opened up and the sky miraculously reappeared. There, stretching out before them was a series of weathered grave stones, undefined by any fence or gate. The stones dotted the large expanse of grassy lawn which led up to a very fancy looking gothic cathedral. A white gravel road served as the roadway to the church’s entrance. The cathedral’s decorative towers loomed over them, rising from the flat earth like the talons of some giant demon escaping from below. It, too, seemed out of place and out of scale for such a small town, especially since it seemed to appear out of thin air in the middle of nowhere.
As they drove in silence, the gravel crunched beneath their tires. The place looked pretty foreboding.
After a brief silence, Jeanette was the first to speak. “You wanna go up and knock on the door?”
Missy, intimidated, not only by the structure, but also by its remoteness, gulped. “Not really "
“Okay,” sighed Jeanette, hauling herself out of the car “I guess it’s up to me.”
Missy watched as her aunt strode up the wide, steps, amazed that she was in such good shape; for, despite the number of steps, Jeanette didn’t pause once. At the top, she pushed on the massive wooden doors and, much to both their surprise, they gave way. Jeanette motioned for Missy to hurry. Missy got out of the car quickly, but approached the church with a sense of uncertainty. Was there a mass in progress? Or was this more of a tourist attraction? Not knowing what to expect, she began the arduous climb.
Once she'd reached the top of the stairs, Jeanette, turned and said, “Okay, here we go, into the depths of the abyss. Ah, ha, ha, ha, ha.” Her deep, ominous laugh made her sound like a vampire, which seemed incongruent given that they were entering a church. Missy wanted to point this out, but, hey; Jeanette’s spirits were back up, so why rain on her parade?
If the church seemed large on the outside, it was positively cavernous inside. They stood in the vestibule, their eyes struggling to adjust to the difference in light. Missy was immediately aware of a heavy coolness in the air, infused with the weighty spice of incense. It was a comforting smell. She recalled it from the times her grandmother would drag her to church - typically on holidays, like Easter or Christmas. Merely entering the building brought to mind the words of Madonna, not the mother of Jesus, but those of the media icon:
I'm not religious
But I feel so moved
Makes me want to pray
Pray you'll always be here...
Except she wasn’t, Missy sadly noted.
Not anymore.
And now there was no one to drag her to church. For a brief moment she began to ponder where her grandmother was now. What had become of her? What happens when life ends? Catching herself, she shook her head. No, she couldn't allow herself to go down that path. Not right now, anyway. She knew all too well where it led, and that was tears. Better for her to concentrate on the now and keep a level head
In silence, the two women walked across the cold, polished mosaic floor to the large double doors that allowed entry into the church proper. Before pressing against the doors, they each instinctively looked through the small, eye-level, amber glass windows in each of the doors. Leaning against the doors, they opened, and their amber-tinged, slightly askew vision of the church interior gave way to the full reality. It was stunning. The ceiling seemed to fly all the way up to the heavens. For a moment. Missy wondered what country were they in, for this seemed to be unlike any church she had ever seen. So massive in size, and ornate, it seemed to belong to another time, another place - Venice, or Rome, perhaps. Anywhere, but this tiny hamlet tucked away in a backwoods valley in southern Minnesota.
Looking down the aisle. Missy guessed the church could easily hold a thousand people. It was as if it had been built for a congregation which never showed up.
“Can we walk down the middle aisle?” whispered Jeanette, who seemed as astonished as Missy.
“I think so, but,” she hedged, “don’t get too close to the altar or anything.”
“Why?” her aunt asked, mischievously. “Afraid I might melt?”
Upon entering, they found themselves in the gathering area, at the back of the church. It was oddly shaped, like an octagon, with four sets of double doors - two pairs on each side of the main aisle, and a large marble baptismal fount at its center. Neither had ever seen a church with such a feature. As they stood at the intersection their eyes instinctively moved heavenward, drawn by the light.
An extravagant, stained-glass dome loomed overhead, it's sunlight poured forth through the innumerable slices of colored glass, swathing the entire area in a sea of color and light. It took Missy back to Easter mornings, when the morning sun would pour through the stained glass windows of the much more modest church she and Grandma Jean had occasionally attended.
The pair slowly stole down the main aisle, their necks craning from left to right as they tried to take in all the spectacle; the ornate carvings that adorned the confessionals, the brilliance and incredible detail of the stained glass windows depicting the stations of the cross, the apostles, martyrs, and saints. In a small enclave to their left there rose a high-wrought baptismal font, in another, rows and rows of candles glowing within tall cylinders of red glass.
As they approached the transept, where the main body of the church intersected with the two large wings jutting from the main part like the arms of a crucifix, their eyes scanned the baroque grandiosity that encompassed the entirety of the altar. Above it, some architectural anomaly allowed, even at this time of day, for sunlight to cascade down from the ceiling. The natural light separated into three beams, each settling on a separate altar statue: Mary, beatific, solemn and mysterious to their left, Joseph, simple, humble and earnest, to their right, and, presiding over everything like a grotesque, tragic marionette, hovering near the back of the wall of the altar, Jesus, nailed to the cross. Missy could not tear her eyes away from the face of the Christ figure; his face, a mask of horror, frozen in time, seemingly screaming in torturous agony for all of eternity.
She was about to step closer when her eye caught sight of a figure moving to her left. Jeanette gasped. A small-framed man in a flowing dark brown robe, his waist defined by a simple knotted rope stepped down from the towering pulpit. He beckoned them to come to him. As they moved toward him, the light changed and they were able to make out his features. A tiny, knowing smile graced his face, his eyes, alive, with just a hint of something playful dancing behind them. His silver hair was cut in a modern style, spiky on the top and closely cropped on the sides. If it were not for the robe, he could pass for a senior ad executive attempting to remain hip and relevant. In his demeanor and expression there was nothing which seemed forbidding or judgmental, so as Missy approached, she did not feel as if she was about to be chastised, but welcomed
“Hello," he began “Welcome to St. Peters. My name is Brother David. May I help you?"
"Oh, hi,” floundered Missy. “We... we’re just here to... looking around... and, ummm... ”
Jeanette swooped in, coming to her rescue. “Hello, my name is Jeanette and this is my niece, Missy. You’ll have to excuse her; I think she’s a bit overcome by the majesty of your church.” She paused and directed a frozen smile in Missy’s direction, as if looking for back up.
"Oh, yes, YES,” gushed Missy, before trailing off. “This place. Uh, your church. Really. Really. Beautiful.”
Ignoring Missy’s discomfort, the man spoke, “St. Peters is almost 150 years old. It was designed, as were most of the major buildings in this town, by the town’s founding father and patron, Gerald Oswig.”
“Well, he certainly had an eye for the dramatic, didn’t he?” observed Jeanette, choosing her words carefully. “It’s just so... overwhelming.”
“Yes. Yes, I suppose it is,” said Brother David, charitably. He looked about and added, “To the eyes of someone who’s never seen it before, I can see why you’d say that.” He gestured for the ladies to take a seat in the pew a few yards behind them and then sat himself. “Today’s churches? They’re much more... unembellished. And while we realize we don't have a need for anything as grand as this in St. Petersburg, the population being what it is, this church is a part of our heritage, an important part of our town’s history, and therefore, it must be preserved.”
“I can’t imagine how much it must cost to keep this boat afloat.” Jeanette blurted out. "How do you do it?”
Brother David seemed undisturbed by Jeanette's question. “The Vatican provides some funds. Private donations and those made by the congregation make up for the rest. Much of the necessary labor is provided by the seminary students from Oswig University in exchange for grants and scholarships, and, of course, there are the other Brothers in my order.” He smiled. “As you can well imagine, it takes a number of hands to keep this church... ship worthy.” Missy sensed that he stressed these last words in order to intimate the inappropriateness of Jeanette’s metaphor, but Jeanette paid him no notice. In fact, it seemed to encourage her.
“And tourists?” she asked. “I bet you get a lot of them here? What do you charge for a tour'’”
“Oh... well, we...” Brother David stumbled for a moment before asserting firmly, “We don’t encourage that sort of thing. There are no organized tours. In fact, we... we don’t get many visitors here at all. How, may I ask, did you manage to find us?”
Missy and Jeanette looked at one another. They weren’t sure they should mention Sam, the old man at the gas station, as they didn’t want to get him in any trouble. Jeanette’s eyes went wide and her eyebrows rose, which indicated to Missy that it was her turn to pitch. “We just... sort of stumbled onto it.” She looked to Jeanette for support, but there was none forthcoming, so she continued. “You know, we got to the town hall and just went, eenie, meenie... and well, here we are!”
Jeanette, finding her voice, added swiftly, “The door was open, so we thought it was okay to come in, seeing as it was a church and all. It was okay to come in, wasn’t it?”
Brother David studied the women’s faces carefully before speaking, “Yes of course.” He smiled. “The church is always unlocked. We have a number of lay people who take part in a continual prayer chain. They each take a shift and usually secret themselves away in one of the smaller chapels off the ambulatories. But, rest assured, there is someone here, praying, 24 hours a day. Right now, as a matter of fact.”
Missy couldn’t imagine being in such a gigantic church all alone in the middle of the night. To hide her apprehension, she simply commented, “How very devoted.”
Brother David tilted his head and asked casually, “Are you... Catholic?”
Missy and Jeanette again exchanged looks before answering and then answered simultaneously, their words tumbling over the other’s.
“Yes” said Jeanette, emphatically.
“Occasionally” offered Missy, clumsily. “Somewhat, on occasion.”
“Wonderful.”
Brother David said this in such a way, that Missy wasn’t sure if he really thought it wonderful at all. “May I ask? What brings you to St. Petersburg?”
This time, neither woman bothered to consult the other, but again they spoke simultaneously, this time in unison. “Bread.”
Brother David seemed to freeze. “I beg your pardon?”
Jeanette rambled on, “Bread. We’re interested in bread. Always have been. It’s a hobby of ours.”
Missy, sensing that her aunt was about to stumble, rushed in, “B&T. It’s such a large bakery. On their website, they mentioned that at one point they had acquired a number of smaller bakeries, and we...”
Unbidden, Jeanette, took over once again, “We want to learn more about those companies. Kind of... the history, you see.”
Both women paused, smiled and took note in the change in Brother David’s demeanor.
“Bread?” he echoed. His face suddenly closed to them, as if they had said something wrong. He rose, stiffly and added, rather robotically, “Ladies, enjoy your time in St. Petersburg.Now, if you'll excuse me, I have... more pressing matters to attend to.” With that he swiftly moved down the aisle.
“Thank you...” Missy said, her voice trailing off, still surprised by the sudden termination of their conversation. She and Jeanette sat, blinking like deer caught in headlights, watching as Brother David disappeared through one of the sets of double doors.
Jeanette, covered her mouth, and looked at Missy, in shock. “What did you say to him?”
“Me?” rasped Missy. “It seems to me we were both doing the talking.” She paused and looked again at the double doors, half expecting the man reappear. “Honestly, I don’t know what just happened.”
“Well”, said Jeanette, as she got to her feet. “Let’s go find out. I'm sure we can fix this. Or something...”
They went to the double doors through which Brother David had just exited, only to find them locked “So much for that,” mused Missy.
“Oh, come on,” said her aunt, nonplussed, “I saw a sidewalk out front. It’s gotta lead somewhere.”
They traipsed back to the front of the church and swiftly moved down the steps. “There," pointed Jeanette, “Down there.” Following a sidewalk that curved to the right and towards the back of the church, the women soon found themselves on the rather modest doorstep of an annex off the main body of the church. After knocking on it insistently without producing any results, Jeanette, again, pointed at the sidewalk and said, “There, that way.” This time the walkway led them past a lovely courtyard of sorts, tucked in the 'V' created by another annex springing from the side of the church at a different angle.
"Isn’t this beautiful?” murmured Missy. And it was. Populated with petite fruit trees, expansive explosions of barberry, a small ornamental pool, and a series of geometrically designed flowerbeds, it was just the sort of thing one would expect to find in the backyard of the religiously contemplative. The amount of work it must take to maintain! But Jeanette, intent on learning where the sidewalk would take them, paid no attention. Arriving at a similar set of steps, she rapped on the door and got an immediate, if curious response. A small door, inset near the top of the door, opened and the eyes, nose and mouth of a man suddenly appeared.
"Yes?”
“Hi, we were hoping...” Jeanette, suddenly at a loss for words turned around to look at Missy, who was standing a few steps below her. Sighing, her niece rolled her eyes and pushed past her aunt.
"We wanted to talk to someone about getting a possible tour of the grounds and maybe learn more about the bread that used to be made here?” Missy decided, to hell with it - be blunt, get the rejection over with as quickly as possible. To her surprise the nose in the little doorway said. “You’ll have to speak with Brother Michael. One moment.” And slam, the tiny door shut.
Missy turned to face her aunt. “I guess the Wizard will see us momentarily!” As the two began to laugh, the full-sized door behind Missy swung open. Missy turned and came face to chest with a tall, thin man dressed in the same manner as Brother David. His nose was long and beak-like, his hair thinning, all of which gave Brother Michael the appearance of a cancer patient going through a rough patch of chemo. If Missy had been blunt and to the point, he was equally so. “Hello We don’t give tours. Is there anything else we can help you with today?”
Jeanette muscled Missy aside in order to speak with the tall, adverse brother. As Missy stepped back she caught sight of a dark-haired man in jeans and a t-shirt holding a rake. He was standing near a small, adjacent parking lot and had definitely been watching what was transpiring with Brother Michael. He also seemed to have a sly eye on her, as well. Missy smiled and he, leaning on his rake, smiled back. However, the voices behind her rose to such a volume, that she couldn’t help but return her attention to the pair arguing behind her. She turned back just in time to see Brother Michael slam the door in Jeanette’s reddened face.
“Ummm...” she said, her voice just a tad hoarse, “we won’t be getting a tour.”
Missy crossed her arms over her chest. “Yeah... that whole yelling thing? Doesn’t work well on strangers. Trust me.”
Jeanette shrugged her shoulders. “What can I say? I’m out of practice. Okay, that’s that. Let’s head back into town. Is it time for lunch yet?”
Turning around. Missy came face to face with the cute man with the rake. His smile was sweet and kind and made Missy go a little weak in the knees.
“Hi” he said “I see Brother Michael is being his usual charming self. They’re not big on public relations here.” After removing his work glove, he extended his hand, “My name’s Peter.”
Missy took his hand in hers, noticing that his grip was firm, but not aggressively so. “Missy. And this is my Aunt Jeanette. Nice to meet you, Peter.” Examining his face up close. Missy thought he looked to be in his mid-thirties. There was something boyish in his appearance, his smile in particular, but the weathered crinkles in the corner of his eyes and sun-kissed skin gave his face deeper character.
“Sorry if he was rude. They get all bent out of shape whenever strangers show up here. They're a very private order ”
Missy felt a tad guilty. “We didn’t mean pry. We were just looking for information about the bread they used to make here.”
“Yeah, well,” Peter hesitated, “that’s a very touchy subject. Brings up memories of a particularly bad patch in their history, if you know what I mean.”
Missy shook her head. “We don’t. Maybe you could clue us in?”
“Honestly, I don’t know a lot about it. I mean, I knew the boy—knew of him, anyway...”
Missy cut him off. “The boy?”
Peter began to look around, as if to see if anyone was listening. Missy did so as well, and it was then she noticed that the tiny door in the larger door had opened just a crack. Suddenly, she no longer felt free to talk where they were, and proposed, “You know what? There is the most beautiful little garden right over there. Would you mind showing it to us? There were so many statues, and we didn't get a chance to look at any of them.”
Peter smiled. “Sure thing. Just follow me, ladies.”
As they walked toward the garden, Peter pointed out a few of the smaller statues and some of the foliage, but Missy’s eyes were intent on something else. It might have been the cut of his jeans, or the way they hung on his hips, but Missy thought Peter’s butt was the cutest thing she’d ever seen.
