Lamentations I: The Koback Plaque
The Roman Catholic permanent diaconate is largely a magnet for little men seeking A) respect they cannot otherwise get and B) clergy discounts at country clubs. These annointed ones stick their noses up in the air and everywhere their noses don't belong and typical of Catholic bourgeoisie, think they know better than the saints and Church Doctors. Mostly they sit on committees.
Not so the late Rev. Mr. George Koback. He was one of those points of light who threw a harsh glow on the moral and general pusillanimity of God's children. "I'm not like these other guys," he once fumed to me in frustration," I do what I'm supposed to do!"
That was Charity and George did it in exemplary fashion. He was sincere. No sitter-on-committees, he was not afraid to sully his hands in action. He established a system for getting last night's leftover dinner rolls from restaurants to local charities. All rolls went through his chaplain's office at the then-called Grosvenor Health Care Center, a low-end nursing home where Medicaid beneficiaries were dumped to die.
In addition to boosting the GHC inmates' spirits for their rendezvous with The Almighty, George was not above doing their shopping. He also started the Deacon George Charity Fund to fight loneliness and depression by boosting morale and buying little comforts, sometimes medical equpiment and other necessities that the GHC ownership was too stingy to provide. Both my parents, especially Mom, served as his able elves. I was publicist for his annual fund drive and boy, did we rake in the money then! The NJC factor increased proceeds by 40%.
The way he ran around with carloads of patients' shopping and rolls, one would never guess Deacon George had a lousy heart. It finally gave out on him. His last ministerial act was giving communion to my ailing father and myself. He went home to his own rendezvous with The Almighty and to "Shadow Sainthood." A nice plaque in his memory was put up in the nursing home lounge.
But during the extensive remodelling of the nursing home, this plaque has disappeared. It was probably thrown out by some Carib craphead or a peroxide-blonde A.A. who yearns for hardwood floors.
Lesson: He would make monuments must make them to withstand the relentless operations of the cockroaches whom we will always have with us.
Copyright © 1999, 2003 by Neal J. Conway. All rights reserved.