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THE BULLETIN OF THE CATHOLIC LAYMEN’S ASSOCIATION OF GEORGIA THE EARLY CATHOLIC DAYS IN ATLANTA Personal Recollections of the First Priest Ordained In Atlanta BY REV. JAMES A. DOONAN, S. J. This is the second, and last of a series of articles from the pen of the late Rev. James A. Doonan, S. J., the first priest ordained from Atlanta. Father Doonan intended to write in full before he died his recollections of the early Catholic history in Atlanta, but the end came before he was able to complete his program. The Bulletin is indebted to Rev. J. B. Doo nan, S. J., of New Orleans, a nephew of the author of the series, for the reminiscences. As has already been said, Father Jerry, Senior, was a ready speaker. Precise truth seems to de mand a qualification of this statement. He was ever ready to begin, but by no means equally ready to conclude his_ sermon. In illustration of this dis tinction another incident of his missionary labors in Georgia may be recorded. He had arranged to re ceive into the Church a certain Mrs. Taylor, having announced the ceremony of Baptism to take place before the celebration of High Mass in the country school house where he was to conduct divine ser vice. On the given Sunday, in due time, Father O’Neill appeared before a congregation, largely non- Catholics, which filled the principal room of the lit tle school house. Turning to the kneeling neophyte, he informed those present that he would explain in a few words the ceremony which they were about to witness. He began at 10:30 A. M. and as usual became ob livious to the passing of time. The expectant con gregation had all but despaired witnessing anything in the shape of ceremony or ritual, when the vener able missionary, producing his watch, remarked, a benignant smile playing upon his benevolent counten ance: “It is now past the hour when it is permitted me to begin the celebration of Holy Mass, but if you will come next Sunday, good friends, we’ll try again, and hope to get through.” The young Father O’Neill was the first resident pastor of Atlanta and for several years a beloved member of our household, in which his presence by each and every member thereof was regarded as a benediction. Under his supervision was erected the first frame Church of Atlanta, to which, is worthy of note, many years before the definition of the dog ma was attached the title of the Immaculate Concep tion. Circumstances attending the dedication of the humble temple remain indelibly impressed upon mem ory. Bisnop Reynolds, the successor of the immortal England in the sea of Charleston, then exercising jurisdiction over both the Carolinas and Georgia, had come to Atlanta, accompanied by several of his priests for the dedication. On arriving in our home, and after opening his trunks, he discovered that he had failed to place therein a copy of the Pontificale con taining the ritual for the function to be performed. It must be remembered that in those days the tele graph was an unknown servitor of man, and our modern express service was likewise buried in the future. To prucure in season the missing Pontificale, he drafted the services of brothers, Irish Catholics by the name of Sheridan, locomotive engineers on the Georgia railroad, which at that time ran two trains in the twenty-four hours, one by day and the other by night. The engineer of the day ran to Augusta was directed to go at once to the parsonage on his arrival in that city, secure the missing volume, and give it to the care of his brother for the night run back to Atlanta. I perfectly recall how on the morn ing of the day set for the dedication, Bishop Reynolds and attendant priests, surrounded by members of the family, stood on the rear porch of the Whitehall Street house, straining eyes to catch the first sight of the white column of steam from Mr. Sheridan’s loco motive, and the quickly delivered commission entrust- to myself to hurry down to the car-shed, get the desired book, and place it in the Bishop’s hands. The First Church. The little frame Church, neither in its exterior nor interior, could lay claim to any beauty. Ruddely con structed pews, untouched by paint, unrelieved by cushions, filled the main floor of the edifice, said floor being constructed of roughly planed pine boards, hav ing its only suggestion of the ornamentation in the frequently receiving pews knot holes, one of which in after years was responsible for the suspension of the celebration of a marriage ceremony. The groom on the occasion referred to, being, as is still the event of grooms in similar cases, a victim of considerable nervousness, as he extracted from his pockets the wedding ring, fumbling it, let it fall. The interested spectators watched it falling in dangerous proximity of the pine knot-hole, through which it fell before rescued, necessitating the retirement of the writer, then an acolyte, to crawl beneath the Church and re cover the missing symbol of conjugal fidelity. How meagre were the facilities for equipping even so modest a Church as that first erected in Atlanta may be inferred from the fact that the first holy water stoup was fashioned by a tinsmith from a model cut in card board furnished from our home. Another incident illustrative of primitive conditions may be recalled. I was serving Mass in the little Church, young Father O’Neill, our pastor and our house guest, being the celebrant, the congregation that morning consisting exclusively of my mother. When the cel ebrant of the offertory removed the veil from the chalice, he discovered that there was no host upon -he paten. Signalling to me, he bade me to inform my mother of the fact. She in turn ordered me to hurry home and have my aunt bake a host for the need. This was done at the ironing board by the deft use of two flat-irons, one inverte,d its handle placed be tween two bricks set on their edge. A spoonful of flour paste dropped upon the heated surface of the iron, was then baked by having the second iron super imposed. Ordinarily this process had to be operated several times before a host of the required whiteness and unscorched could be trimmed for the Holy Sac rifice. Naturally, both my aunt and myself were eager to secure one such. Yet for myself I contrived to suppress all useless anxiety and futile hurry by the reflection, like the man who is going to the gal lows to be hanged: “Nothing can be done at the altar till I get back with the host.” Catholics in Old Atlanta. Of leading members of the congregation of those early days, a few cherished names still linger in membory; the brothers Lynch, three or four, two of whom, married men, had large families: my good father, his estimable wife and four sons. Eminent in the little flock was Mrs. Daniel Daugherty, a lady held in high esteem for many amiable qualities, not less than for her stalwart Catholicity. One of my (Continued on Page 16)