Month: January 2021

Given the horrific events of the past four years, e.g. the KKK rally in Virginia, the separation and caging of refugee children from their families seeking asylum in our nation, to the failed rebellion we witnessed at our nation’s capitol on January 6th, I was reminded of a day back in the summer of 1974 in which I saw two movies in the same day, both revealing the face of evil to me.

As a young man, the only time that I would attend a movie was always in the company of Ruth. However, there was one time, and I only presume that Ruth was working a relief shift as a nurse at St Joseph’s Hospital, that I attended two movies in the same day. The Roseville Theater was showing two movies, namely, 1) The Exorcist, and 2) Blazing Saddles. Knowing that Ruth would not necessarily be open to attending either one, I decided to take that afternoon and evening in seeing the two films.

As I have mentioned previously in this blog, in Second Grade, Sister Angeline, a School Sister of Notre Dame, was intent in getting us kids to heaven one way or another. If we were not willingly wanting to go to heaven, she was going to scare us into heaven. To influence our choice, she filled us with all sorts of stories about the agony, torment and flames of Hell, demonic possession, and demons. Needless to say, a second grader is not going to forget any of that, and, those stories remain a part of my consciousness to this very day. She set the theme of the year by stating to my class of thirty children on the beginning day of school, that ten of us were going to go to Hell. Of course, we all knew whom the unfortunate ten would be.

I state all of this to give the frame of mind I was in the day I saw those two movies. I decided to see The Exorcist in the afternoon, take a break, and see Blazing Saddles in the evening. While The Exorcist definitely stirred up those frightening tales told long ago by the well-intentioned nun in second grade, what I discovered that amidst the belly laughs evoked by the Mel Brooks movie, it was his movie that revealed an evil greater than that which was portrayed in The Exorcist. Using comedy, Mel Brooks exposed the evil underbelly of the United States for all to see. In retrospect, I find what Mel did brilliant and at the same time devious in holding up a mirror revealing to people the racism to which they were either blind in their own lives, or tried to hide from society.

What follows here is a poem reflecting on the theme of evil I discovered that summer day in which I saw evil in two films, both equally explicit, but one more revelatory about the evil in the United States. The “you” is a reference to Ruth. This poem is part of a collection of poems dedicated to Ruth entitled appropriately, The Book of Ruth.

THE DEVIL AND MEL BROOKS

The span of time a journey makes
can last days or just a few hours.
My journey, one day, precisely,
an afternoon and an evening,
one I had to make alone, without
you. Most crippling of all human
frailty is that of fear, paralyzing
the human heart, striking blindly
without reason or understanding,
arising within the human spirit
a cruel, at times, heartless spirit.

This one day’s journey is
is marked in the present, but
began in the second grade,
well-meaning her intent,
stories for young minds,
woven by the old nun to
scare us into heaven.
Hell fire, demons galore,
demonic possession, the
tools in her spiritual chest,
to save our young souls
from eternal damnation;
tales placed so deep in our
subconscious, their roots
never eradicated by time,
lay dormant waiting.

Long steeped in fear and
ignorance, our nation
no different than I, though
possessed by another
spiritual force as evil.
Racist roots sunk so deep,
that no amount of Civil Rights
passed by law could attack
the evil at the heart of
our nation. Evil, as ancient
as the dark heart of Evil
personified, is hard to extract,
lay camouflaged, awaiting
the moment to strike.

Like Dante’s poetic journey
of redemption, passing through
the Inferno, Purgatorio, and
Paradiso, a descent, I, too,
must make, no Virgil as my
guide, alas. Passing through
the double doors of the
theater, no sign posted
saying, “Abandon Hope,
Ye Who Enter Here,” I take
my seat in the darkened
auditorium, this not the
occasion for Red Hots and
Milk Duds. The dark grows
even darker as “Tubular
Bells” signals the beginning
of the story, a young girl’s
play with a Ouija Board
opening the door of her
soul to an Evil sworn
to tear apart her spirit
and the spirits of all
whom she loves.

One priest battered in body,
the other, battered in faith,
encounter the epitome
of Evil malignant, no simple
haunting, no mere ghost.
The absence of light,
ironically glaring shows
how Evil inhabits dark
places and dark hearts,
the sound more horrific
than the visual, relentless
the hope of a mother
much stronger than those
empowered to exorcise,
self-sacrifice out of love,
the final tool used to uproot
and eradicate the Evil
from the girl. Climbing out
of the theater in the
manner of Dante, I reach
the lobby, the blessed
brightness of the sunshine
outside takes the edge off
the darkness of the film.

I pause to reflect prayerfully
at the concession stand,
what nourishment to take.
Guided to the Coca-cola
and buttered popcorn,
I walk through another set
of double doors only to be
met by Mel Brooks, my
guide and mentor for the
next journey. Fooled into
thinking that Purgatorio, be
far easier than the Inferno
through which I just had
walked, I was confronted
with an ancient Sin, one
that had broken my nation
asunder just a hundred years
earlier, a necropolis of Sin
that continued to swallow
alive the souls of so many people.

The Evil of racism,
a pandemic striking the
souls of white American
society crosses the screen
in images both meant to
amuse and to accuse.
The humor highlighting
all the more the façade
of respectability, the
racist’s shell game
playing the suckers,
drawing them into their
own sickness. Hucksters,
like the demons of Dante,
use the beans they eat
around the campfire to
trumpet their asses emitting
a substance just as putrid
and foul. Only relentless
goodwill and hope frees
the hearts of those manacled
to the pillar of racism.

I, seeing this comedic vision
examine whether my hands,
my feet are as manacled
as those portrayed in the film.
While bound by chains
not quite as thick and strong,
the chains are there, and
the manacles intact.
I rise and pass through the
doors back into the lobby,
the humor of the film
taking the edge off the
darkness that lay outside .

Confronting one’s fears
does not always defeat
but makes one aware of that
which is hidden inside.
True victory over Evil’s darkness
comes only with allying in trust
with the primal source of love,
the love that overwhelms
all darkness with light.
It will take more than
this Dantesque day’s cinematic
journey to defeat the fear
that is present within my life.
You, will play a big part
in the future triumph
of my spirit over darkness,
our God revealing in you,
so clearly that my eyes
may see, the source of love,
the center of God, who
conquers all darkness.

©2015. The Book Of Ruth, Robert Charles Wagner. All rights reserved.

This poem by Chesterton begs the question as to where we will find Jesus Incarnated in our present time. The Incarnation of Jesus is certainly not found among the wealthy and powerful of our nation. The Incarnation of Jesus is not found among those gathered on Wall Street, or in the halls of our legislatures. The Incarnation of Jesus is not even found in the mansions of bishops and other religious leaders. As those of spiritual wisdom have found, the dwelling of Jesus is among the poor. If we are looking for Jesus, we need to search out the poor.

GK Chesterton (1874–1936)

The House of Christmas

There fared a mother driven forth
Out of an inn to roam;
In the place where she was homeless
All men are at home.
The crazy stable close at hand,
With shaking timber and shifting sand,
Grew a stronger thing to abide and stand
Than the square stones of Rome.

For men are homesick in their homes,
And strangers under the sun,
And they lay on their heads in a foreign land
Whenever the day is done.
Here we have battle and blazing eyes,
And chance and honour and high surprise,
But our homes are under miraculous skies
Where the yule tale was begun.

A Child in a foul stable,
Where the beasts feed and foam;
Only where He was homeless
Are you and I at home;
We have hands that fashion and heads that know,
But our hearts we lost – how long ago!
In a place no chart nor ship can show
Under the sky’s dome.

This world is wild as an old wives’ tale,
And strange the plain things are,
The earth is enough and the air is enough
For our wonder and our war;
But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings
And our peace is put in impossible things
Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings
Round an incredible star.

To an open house in the evening
Home shall men come,
To an older place than Eden
And a taller town than Rome.
To the end of the way of the wandering star,
To the things that cannot be and that are,
To the place where God was homeless
And all men are at home.

Our journey began on September 3, 1968 in the bandroom of St Bernard’s High School, on Rice Street, St Paul, Minnesota.

My dad’s company, Westinghouse Air Brake, transferred him from Chicago to head up the St Paul office. That September I was beginning my Junior year of high school. My dad had been transferred a number of times before, so I was use to transferring from school to school, however, this was a hard move for me. I was leaving a lot of my life behind in Chicago, a great high school and high school band, a girl friend, good friendships. That first day of school, I was walking into a school in which everyone knew everyone, students that had for years been pigeon holed into the normal clics that form in high school. As the new kid in the school, I was getting sized up by the other students. No one really talked to me, they just observed. I am introvert by nature and not very outgoing, so I was rather trepidatiously living through that first day of school, trying to learn not only the written rules of the place, but the unwritten rules of the place. Compared to my former high school, this was a strictly run school with strict rules about uniforms, hair, we had silent lunches (you got slugged by the Dean of Discipline if you spoke during lunch … as I quickly learned). My former school was a suburban school, this school was an inner city school which might account for the strict policies of the school. It was not a college preparatory high school, but one in which many graduates went from high school into a blue collar factory job or attended vocational school to learn a trade. Nevertheless, the education at this school was top rated, with many of the teachers possessing graduate degrees in their area of expertise.

After my first lunch period, I went to band. Having had many years of taking piano, I had a good musical background that allowed me to play a number of brass instruments, the french horn being my primary brass instrument. I played first french horn in my previous high school band, but this band already had a first french horn player. The band director pointed me to the french horn section, and I found myself sitting next to this absolutely stunningly beautiful girl with brunette hair. She welcomed me warmly, smiled a smile that melted my heart and introduced herself as Ruth Ahmann.

She was a senior and I was a junior. On that day of September 3rd, 1968, my life was wonderfully altered for the better. Toward the end of the year, Ruth and I grew into being good friends, and, having falling in love with her, I finally worked up the courage to ask her out on a date. She said, “yes.”

It was May 29th, 1969 when we went out on our first date. It was a stormy, rainy night, but for me it was memorable. This is how I remembered in a poem.

FIRST DATE

Pouring down rain drenching the night
as I climb the steps to your  home.
With one knock, light from within
greets me, and there you stand,
the scent of herbal essence from your hair,
your brown eyes looking deep into my soul.
You bid farewell to your Aunt and Uncle,
open the screen door
and step outdoors.
The drenching rain suddenly
frozen in time
as your hand touches mine
and you laugh,
aware of the secret
I have hidden deep within.

© 2011. The Book Of Ruth,  by Deacon Bob Wagner OFS. All rights reserved.

Ruthie lived with her Uncle Harold and Aunt Evelyn a couple of blocks from our high school. Ruth and her older sister, Annie, shared a bedroom on the second story of Ev and Harold’s house on Marion Street. Because Ruthie never spoke of her mom and dad, I figured that she and her sister were orphans adopted by her Uncle and Aunt. It was not until I was invited to her graduation open house that I discovered that Ruthie had a much larger family living on a farm in Scandia, Minnesota. Both Ruthie and Annie went to St Bernard’s High School and boarded with their Aunt and Uncle during the school year.

Completely captivated by her, I fell only more deeply in love with her and resolved that some day I would marry her.

Though Ruthie dated other guys, I dated Ruthie exclusively. I had plenty of good friendship with girls throughout college. However, as fine and as fun as all my female friends were, none could come close to Ruthie. During the summer months I worked the relief shift as a maintenance man at Har Mar Mall to earn money for college. During the school year I worked weekends in maintenance as the same mall. Ruthie, upon graduating from high school, worked initially as a clerk in an office in St Paul, but soon started working as a nurses aide at St Joseph’s Hospital. It was there she fell in love with nursing, and began her studies to become an RN at Anoka Ramsey Community College. When she started her studies, she lived at home on the farm (which was closer to Anoka Ramsey) and would come and stay with her Aunt and Uncle in St Paul on the weekend so we could go out on a date. There were some nights she would stop by Har Mar Mall and keep me company when I was working.

My initial goal in life was to major in music and become a composer of music. However, in meeting Ruth, my principal goal was to marry Ruth. Musicians are a time a dozen, and only those with connections and good breaks ever make music a living. At the beginning of my sophomore year in college, I decided to refocus my music career by becoming a music educator. Adding education classes in the middle of my sophomore year, added another semester to my college, but I was determined to marry Ruth and support our family as a music educator. I would compose music on the side for my own enjoyment.

It was during this time I began to compose music for Ruth. Here is a short little song I composed on piano for her in 1971. The melody came to me in a dream.

Ruthie’s best friend from school, Cheryl was engaged to Robert DuCharme. Cheryl and Robert were married in the Fall of 1973. Ruth was Cheryl’s maid of honor.

I remember going shopping with Ruthie prior to Cheryl and Robert’s wedding. She needed shoes to match her maid of honor dress. The only shoes we found that matched her dress were a size too small for her feet (see picture). Ruthie, loving woman that she is, put up with the pain of the shoes until the wedding dance. The shoes were quickly lost at the dance.

A good friend of mine, and fellow music major, Larry Hennessy, married his college sweetheart, Charlotte, in December of 1973. Larry was a percussion major, and I played piano for part of his graduation recital. Larry got married in Ortonville, Minnesota. We traveled out to Ortonville, on the far western border of Minnesota on a really cold winter day for the wedding in Ruthie’s Ford Mustang. On the way back, the car had no heat. We found out later that the thermostat had gotten stuck. That was one very cold ride. We were scrapping the frost off the inside of the windows all the way back. Ruthie dropped me off at my home. Needless to say, she got that thermostat fixed.

The weddings of our friends only made me more determined that Ruthie and I would be married, too. Of all the things I was busy doing at that time, my main focus was to graduate from college, get a teaching job so that I could marry Ruth. As a music major, I was required to do a graduation recital in the Spring of my senior year. I had been practicing hours every day, practicing and memorizing to perfection all the music that would be performed at my recital. In spite of the time I spent in practice rooms, in classrooms, working at Har Mar Mall, Ruthie was my primary focus. I was trying to excel at my studies and performance for the primary reason of marrying Ruth.

Though I had been up against some stiff dating competition, Ruthie consented to marry me in December 1973. Happiness is a poor word to describe how happy I was. We planned to be married on December 24, 1974.

During the Spring semester, Ruthie was busy studying for the nurses boards and I was pretty much confined to a piano practice room. I remember one Saturday in which I went with her to Anoka Ramsey and found a rehearsal room to practice piano while she did some group study for the State of Minnesota Nursing boards. When her group study ended, she came by the rehearsal room and we decided to go to the local Mr Steak for a steak and lobster dinner.

Ruthie graduated from Anoka Ramsey in May, 1974 with a degree as a registered nurse. She passed her nursing board and started working at St Joseph Hospital in St Paul as full time nurse. Her work shifts varied from days, reliefs, and nights. She floated to whatever floor the hospital needed her.

The time came for my graduation recital. 90 minutes of memorized music. Programs printed. I discovered at the time that there comes a time when you cannot practice anymore or prepare anymore. I told Ruthie that following the recital we would go out on the town and let off some steam.

There is something akin to a myth for music performance that dictates no sexual behavior prior to the performance. My piano professor, Dr Callahan, knowing that by this time Ruthie and I were practically joined at the hip, strictly prohibited me from any contact with Ruth the three days before my recital. I told him that apparently the great composer and pianist Franz Liszt never heard that advice. Liszt was among a number of composers who were quite the playboys during their time, with all sorts of sexual dalliances. Dr Callahan, however, was quite adamant and put his foot down. So as the time of my recital approached, I was tired living the life of a cloistered monk, and in need of seriously painting the town.

My recital required me to play music from all periods of music. There was a prelude and fugue by Bach for the Baroque period. A Suite of music by Bela Bartok for 20th century music. A Schubert piano sonata for the Classical period. A Liszt Hungarian Rhapsody for the Romantic period. Since I had a minor in voice, I had also performed two aria from the Mozart Opera, The Marriage of Figaro. I concluded with seventeen variation on a theme by Felix Mendelssohn. My mind was so fatigued by the 17th variation that my mind went blank. Fortunately, there is muscle memory built into the hands, and the hands carried me through till I could remember the score and finish the piece. I was so exhausted by the end of the recital, there was no way for Ruthie and I to paint the town. I went home to bed.

That summer, Ruthie and I were busy planning our lives together. We were searching for a place to live. After quite a while of looking we found a two bedroom apartment on the corner of Larpenteur Ave and Dale Street in St Paul. Ruthie moved into the apartment while I remained at home with my parents. We shopped and found some bedroom furniture at Dayton’s Department Store, and a couch at Donaldson’s Department Store.

We spent a memorable time with Ruthie’s family at her Uncle Bud’s Cabin on West Battle Lake.

In the Fall of 1974, I began my student teaching at Highland High School in St Paul. Between student teaching and finishing up some classes, I was busy composing some music and arranging music for our wedding.

Two weeks before our wedding I graduated with a B.A. in Music from the College of St Thomas.

Everything was ready for the wedding. We chose the readings, I took care of the music. Tuxedos ordered. Ruthie bought her wedding dress and ordered our wedding cake. Bridesmaid’s dresses were ordered from Dayton’s. We were all ready, or so we thought. Our wedding dance couldn’t be held at the church, but we were able to rent a little hall in Shafer, Minnesota, outside of Lindstrom. For all the preparations we made for the church wedding, we hadn’t really planned for anything at the wedding dance. At the last minute, Ruthie, her family and I were busy cleaning the hall, putting up decorations. Since we could not have any alcohol at the church hall, where we had the wedding dinner, we hadn’t taken into account that people might want some at the dance. At the last minute, we ordered a couple kegs of beer and soft drinks for setups in case people wanted to bring something harder to drink. Rosemary, Ruthie’s mom, thought Ruthie was the worse bride when it came to providing for the party aspect of our wedding. I suppose because our priorities were more focused on church than the party, we were negligent when it came to the comfort level of our wedding guests.

The day finally came for the wedding. Ruthie had been working full time night shifts the week of our wedding. Ruthie only had about three hours of sleep prior to our wedding. We got married at St Bridget of Sweden, Lindstrom, Minnesota. The wedding was scheduled for 7 pm. Pictures were to follow the wedding and then the wedding dinner was in the lower level of the church.

Early in the afternoon of the wedding, my brother, Bill, who was also my best man, took me to the Ground Round where we had a drink (Rum and coke was what I was drinking then), and he lectured me on what he meant to be married. We got home, I showered and got dressed in my tuxedo, while my folks and my sister got prepared for the wedding, too. About two hours before I left for the church, I got word that the band that was to play the dance canceled the gig. As I was leaving for Lindstrom, I told my folks to bring records for the wedding dance. Fortunately, my mom had a friend in the music union, Lou Piahelli, who got a 3 man combo to play the dance at the last minute.

I was cool, calm, and collected prior to the wedding, that is, until my soon to be father-in-law, Al, came. He was in a bit of a nervous fluster about the wedding flowers. His nervousness was contagious and got me nervous, too. Our wedding was in the middle of the octave of Christmas. The church was beautifully decorated in Christmas colors. I didn’t give a hang if we had flowers or not, that is up to the time Al got to the church. However, the flowers came in plenty of time for the wedding.

The time for which I had been waiting from the first time I met Ruth finally arrived. I stood in the sanctuary of the church with my groomsmen, awaiting that moment around which my whole life was based. Then, my bride, accompanied by her parents, processed up the aisle of the church.

Ruthie didn’t tell me this part of our story till far later. Perhaps, it was because Ruth was the first of Al’s daughters to get married. Perhaps, it was because Ruth was marrying an out of work musician (though I was working part time as an X ray aide at Miller Hospital in St Paul). It is true, musicians do not make the best of spouses, so I could understand Al considering me a poor choice of a son-in-law. As Ruthie told me later, as she was processing up the aisle with her parents, her dad kept saying to her, “You don’t have to go through with this if you don’t want to, I won’t be mad.” When I saw the super 9 movie, my sister-in-law, Wanda made of the wedding (Wanda was my brother, Bill’s wife) Ruthie just smiled at her dad and kept on processing up the aisle. In her great wisdom, Ruthie knew that it would be better not to tell me that story until long after her dad and I became good friends. Had I known at the time it occurred, I would have been incredibly angry.

The readings were proclaimed. And, then, the time arrived for Ruth and I to exchange our vows.

Following the vows, the song, “One Hand, One Heart” from Bernstein’s musical West Side Story was song, by my friend and voice major, Diane Strafelda. During the preparation of gifts, a song I composed for the wedding, “Take Me as a Seal”, text derived from the Book of Ruth, was sung. Here is a reimaginated version just for piano of the song I composed for our wedding so many years ago. The original melody begins and ends the song. The middle part of the song I composed in 2016 and added to the song.

The typical wedding Mass lasts about an hour. However, caught up in the emotional high of being married to the person I loved the most, that hour seemed like only 5 minutes. I heard nothing of the priest’s homily. I remember the vows. and with the exception of an extra song thrown in by the organist and Diane to cover communion, “O Come Little Children”, the next thing I remembered was processing down the aisle during the recessional, an arrangement for organ and trumpet of an organ fanfare I made for a choir member who played trumpet and the church choir organist for my choir at Maternity of Mary.

I wrote a poem in 2011 trying to express what I felt that day as I walked down the aisle with my bride, Ruth.

WEDDING VOWS

The moment for which I have waited
from the time I first proposed to you,
arrives like music on the air.
Chosen scriptures read,
homily preached, all unnoticed,
unheard by me, so utterly
captivated am I by you
kneeling at my side.
I pinch myself, “Am I dreaming?
Is it really you next to me
and not some hologram?
Is the culmination of all
for which I have wished
and hoped, actually happening?”
We stand and as the priest
says, “repeat after me,”
you begin, “I, Ruth, take you Bob
for my husband …”
Rings placed on proffered fingers,
the mutual signaculum
of covenantal love.
A kiss seals the covenant,
life takes on the dream.

© 2011. Deacon Bob Wagner. All rights reserved.

The one thing Ruthie and I would have done differently would have been to have the pictures taken prior to the wedding. We thought it important to keep to the tradition of the groom not seeing the bride prior to the wedding ceremony. We were wrong. While we were still up in the church getting pictures taken, our guests were starving in the hall below the church. It was 8 pm and no one had eaten, so people were very hungry awaiting Ruthie and I to get down there and begin the meal.

The other thing we would have done is to not allow others attending the wedding to take pictures at the same time as the wedding photographer. As a result, there is not one picture of all of us looking at the photographer’s camera.

The excitement of that moment has erased all memory of what we ate. I somehow remember something like turkey, with the dark meat in the middle and the white meat surrounding the dark meat. Mash potatoes and gravy. Oh, and of course, the wedding cake.

Then, off to Shafer and the little hall for our wedding dance. I think that the dance began at 9:30 pm. Time seemed suspended for me. We did not have the grand introduction of the couple like many weddings do today. Everyone just gathered. Some line up for beer, others bringing their favorite form of alcohol and enhancing it with seven up or coke and ice. The three member combo started the music. Ruthie and I danced, others joined us. Being musicians, Ruthie and I aren’t really dancers. We normally played the music for dances, not actually doing any dancing. Ruthie threw the bouquet, I shot the garter, and at 11 pm we left the dance to go to the family farm to change clothes and drive north to Duluth.

It was around midnight by the time we left the farm and started the two hour drive up to Duluth. I drove all the way, while Ruthie dozed on the way up. I remember how bitterly cold it was outside. The more north we drove, the colder it got. The 55 mph speed limit had been mandated by the President and so it was very slow going on a freeway that was designed for 70 mph. I was very tempted to stretch the speed limit, however, every time I tried a State Patrol car would come off the ramp onto the freeway behind me. The State Patrol must have designed it like a relay race, with one State Patrol car handing off the baton to the next one following me. That was such a long car ride to Duluth. It was 2 am when we finally checked in to the Radisson Duluth.

I don’t think we got up in time for breakfast. The Saturday following our wedding, the Minnesota Viking were playing the Los Angeles Rams for the semi-finals. I am ashamed to say that the “dumb gene” that many males possess kicked in and I felt compelled to watch the stupid game. I expressed my idiocy in a poem in 2011.

HONEYMOON

Duluth, bitterly cold,
nestled along Lake Superior,
an unlikely honeymoon destination
for newlyweds in winter.
Two days, two nights
to begin a life together.
Chinese food,
smuggled bottle of rum,
bottles of coke,
lovemaking, card playing,
football watching?
An incredulous choice,
Vikings and Rams
to be chosen, for even
one moment, over the
most beautiful woman
in the world, the folly
of youth, the
penultimate of idiocy
quite deserving a hard
kick in the ass
and punted into
freezing cold Superior!
You withheld your
foot, and patiently
awaited the end of
the game, to
show me what
I had missed.

© 2011. Deacon Bob Wagner OFS. All rights reserved.

While in Duluth we decided to see a movie that night. Duluth was a depressed city in decline at the time we were there for our honeymoon. There was no Miller Hill Mall with all the shops. There were only two hotels in town, the Radisson and the Duluth Hotel. The area around the Lift Bridge had not been developed. There were no hotel resorts and fancy shops on the shore of Lake Superior. There were three theaters in town. Two were showing porn, “The Devil in Miss Jones” and “Deep Throat.” The third theater was showing “Winnie the Pooh and Tigger, Too”. We left the movie humming “The wonderful thing about Tiggers, are Tiggers are wonderful things ..” We then went to Duluth’s and the State of Minnesota’s best Chinese Restaurant, The Chinese Lantern, at which Ruthie introduced me to the wonders of Chinese food. The decor was early white slavery ring, heavily done in dark reds and blacks. As we walked back to the Radisson, I remember it being bitterly cold.

We helped ourselves to some rum and coke, and played double solitaire. Poor Ruthie has still very sleep deprived. I am sure that the rum drinks didn’t help.

Come Sunday morning at 11 am, we packed our few belongings, checked out of the Radisson and headed back to the Cities.

When we got back to her mom and dad’s farm that afternoon, we opened up our gifts, ate a wonderful meal and listened to the escapades of her brothers and sisters, I think Jeannie and Gary were still recovering from some excesses of the wedding dance at that time. We loaded up the car and headed to our apartment to begin our married life in earnest.

We were both back at work Monday morning. Ruthie working at St Joseph’s Hospital and I, two blocks away at Miller Hospital. I remember a co-worker of mine, Helen Syrup, talking with me two weeks before my wedding. Helen was in her sixties and a widow. During one of our breaks, she looked at me and asked, “Do you know how to have a happy marriage?” I answered I thought so. Then, Helen gave me the best advice I have ever received about marriage. She said four words that have shaped my idea of marriage. “The courting never ends.” She then told me that when she married her late husband, Barney, she made him promise that they would go out for a steak dinner every Friday night. Barney, worked in the South St Paul stock yards, so I am sure steak was easily available to him. But what Helen told me is you have to continue to court your wife after marriage as you did while you were courting her. Helen was such a wise woman. The first twelve years of marriage, we were living under the poverty line, with four children. We could only afford to go out on a date maybe twice a year. However, Ruthie and I made it a point to “eat out” even if it was pizzas from the Dairy Bar, or a Momma, Poppa, Baby burger and root beer from A and W. The lesson I learned from Helen was never, ever take your wife for granted. I never have.

My whole life long, I have never taken Ruthie for granted. All the years we have been married, 46 counting this year, I continue to center my life on her. I am her greatest student. I have observed how she has loved me, how she has loved our kids, how she has loved others, whether they be her family, or the many men and women for she has cared as a nurse. The words “self-centered” or “selfish” are words totally absent from her character. I have told her on many occasions that when I grow up, I want to be exactly like her. I have struggled and have dedicated my life to love as Ruthie loves. I will always be the student at her feet, learning how to love.

I expressed in a poem I wrote her on a birthday a few years ago:

To walk with you is
to learn how to love,
each measured step,
a grace-filled journey
to something greater,
far beyond and far better
than the stumbling steps
that I could have
made on my own.

To  walk with you,
is to see the
world with different
eyes, colors bursting
through the greys,
warmth on the
coldest of days, your
voice floating, playing
delightfully in the air
alongside until the
sound settles gently,
gracefully in my ears.

We have walked many
steps together in life,
my gait now not as steady,
these days of uncertain
limbs, joints and cane.
In walking with you,
new discoveries never
end, new beginnings
abound, and that
with you, the first
and the finest of
all teachers, learning
to walk is never
fully learned.

© 2015. Deacon Bob Wagner OFS. All rights reserved.

On our 10th anniversary, shortly before our fourth child, Beth was born, I composed a special song in honor of our wedding anniversary. It is fugue, however, it sounds a lot like Aaron Copland rather than Johann Sebastian Bach.

On this night, 1984, we invited our dear friends, Robert and Cheryl DuCharme to our apartment to play games of 500. As always, there was wine, and later, rum and coke consumed. Ruthie and Cheryl beat the snot out of Robert and I, as always. Those two are 500 savants. Robert is seeing impaired so we always played with braille cards. He would turn off the lights and say, “Now, let’s really play cards.”

One year, Robert and I decided that we would not consume any alcohol while we teamed up against Ruthie and Cheryl. All we drank was coke. Ruthie and Cheryl killed a quart of 180 proof rum. They could barely hold their cards, and they still beat the crap out Robert and I, who were stone cold sober. I did nurse my bride back to health when her head and her stomach rebelled at night at all the rum she had consumed.

Ruthie has always stood my side, during my graduate school days, during my formation as a deacon, by my side during the many long injuries and surgeries that resulted, when I was suffering from depression and anxiety. This beautiful woman, whom I met so very long ago in high school, has been the sole constant in my life. She is the living embodiment of God’s love for me and I celebrate every moment I have been in her presence.

I have composed many songs and poems to this incredible woman over all my years. Just this year, I composed a Tango and a Rhapsody for her. Of all the songs I have written for her, the one I treasure the most is a song I wrote for the 49th anniversary of our first date in 1969.

I will conclude this with one last poem I wrote for Ruthie in 2015.

AT 2 AM – A POEM FOR RUTH

Quietly
you enter,
and with feline
stealth, pick your
way through the
darkness of
our bedroom.
My senses,
honed
over the years
like radar to
hear the pings
of children’s cries,
pukey wretching,
and troubled
hearts and spirits
detects you
as you silently
remove your clothing,
the wisp of your
nightgown falls
with a slight breeze
over your
outstretched arms,
you slip within the
sheets. “Are you
sick?” I quietly
ask, as I turn
my warm body
to embrace the
coolness of yours.
“They were overstaffed,”
you softly reply,
and I slip contentedly
back to sleep,
our marriage bed
complete.

© 2015. Deacon Bob Wagner OFS. All rights reserved.

Lastly, a few pictures of Ruthie culminating in my favorite of all our pictures as couple.