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PAGE 4
The Georgia Bulletin
November 22,1979
Hostages
A Venture In Beekeeping
Teresa Gernazian
The final score at the recent clash
between Georgia and Auburn was
most unfortunate. Especially for the
highly expectant followers of the Red
and Black. “Them Dogs” were not
exactly the best that Vince Dooley
ever led on a leash.
Besides the beautiful day, the
record-breaking, highly vocal crowd
and the amazing running backs from
Auburn, one other fact haunted the
young minds of the college city of
Athens. Iran was holding Americans
hostage.
Everywhere signs of protest and
anger could be seen.
Non-complimentary names and titles
were hurled at the dour Ayatollah. A
solid unity could be felt emerging as
concern for those helpless captives
was the overriding thought. But how
deep does the concern run?
As the 60,000 spectators rose to
face the flag and sing our sacred
anthem, the careless disrespect was
tryingly obvious from the stands.
Spectators young and old rambled in
searching for hidden seats, team
managers raced about on frantic iast
minute messages, band people jostled
each other on the field - all while the
strains of the National Anthem
played.
Not very long ago a young man, whom I
respect and like very much, came by to see
me. He came in just for a friendly visit. I
knew that he had thought about the
priesthood from time to time in high school
and I decided to ask him where he was in
terms of his vocation. He said, “I really do
not know if I am good enough to be a
priest.”
I guess a lot of people wonder about a
vocation to the priesthood and religious life
and never pursue it because they feel they
are not worthy enough or not holy enough
to try it. I think most priests and sisters
would tell you that we live in a constant,
almost painful, contrast between .. . n we are
and what we are. There is tremendous power
given us by God in our office as priest, but
the weakness of our humanity walks hand in
hand with our marvelous priestly powers.
Father Donald Burt, OSA, expressed it as
follows: “A priest is sometimes confused
about who he is and what he should be
doing. He tries to act like a father, even
when he wants to cry like a child. He has
moments of anger and joy, love and hatred,
confidence and despair. At down times, he
looks over the fence at other gardens and
wishes he could escape. At up times, he
wonders at his luck in falling into such an
the safety of our imprisoned fellow
citizens. Of course, they are
prayerfully on our minds. Of course,
we are frustrated and angry and want
action on their behalf. But we might
support them best and in a most
striking way by showing respect for
our flag and our National Song.
Perhaps we are getting forgetful as
the nation ages. Our right to self
determination was costly and has been
maintained at the same high price.
And those Iranian prisoners continue
to pay the price. Our flag is the
symbol of our Nationhood, a family
of Americans, and when it is solemnly
unfurled, few priorities have any right
to precedence. Careless frivolity at a
football stadium is certainly not one
of them.
The blame lies with parents, homes
and educators. The next generation
will do as we do. At all times, and
especially at a time of crises, solid
outward and genuine respect for our
solemn national symbols is an
absolute priority to be clearly taught.
To overlook their importance in
favor of angry words blasting the
Ayatollah or demonstrations of
demands, is somewhat infantile and
disappointing.
amazing life. On some days he is confident;
on other days he despairs. He is just like
everybody else - except that he has been
given POWER, power to do wondrous
things:
The priest says, “This is God’s body” -
and it is!
The priest says, “I forgive you your sins”
- and they are!
The priest says. “Through this anointing
may Jesus receive you in death” - and He
does!
There is something else, too something
difficult to put into words. There is this
feeling sometimes (not all the time, mind
you, but sometimes) that you are Jesus for
the person before you. There is a sometime
awareness that Someone is reaching through
your human weakness to bring divine
strength to the one in need.”
If any of you out there fee! you might be
called to be a priest or religious, don’t stay
away because you feel you are not holy
enough • remember, “God does not always
choose the fit, but He does fit the ones He
chooses” and for me, that process of
“being fit” is still going on, even while I live
and function as a priest.
Mark Reimer and Steve Monda, St. Pius X
High School juniors are friends with a rather
unusual hobby - beekeeping. When the boys
recently displayed a jar of their raw honey
for me, I could sense a flair of well-deserved
pride in their voices. And as they explained
the various aspects of their outdoor hobby, I
couldn’t help but admire their initiative.
Here were two teenagers reaping the rich
benefits of close contact with nature and
building up a little business for themselves at
the same time.
How did this venture come about? Mark
became interested in bees several years ago
through reading. “The Joy of Beekeeping”
marked the beginning of his interest and this
was followed by many other books. Then
came the decision to purchase a few hives
and give the idea a try. He kept the hives in
the back of a nearby church where several
acres of poplar trees supplied the bees with
pollen and nectar. Through trial and error,
things went fairly well and his hobby soon
grew to the care of six hives.
Earlier this year, when Steve was getting
the hang of things with his own two
colonies, the boys decided to move the
location of their hives to private property
outside Unicoi State Park, north of Helen,
Recently CBS devoted a segment of
“Sixty Minutes” to the success of a school
run by Marva Collins a former public school
teacher. The media seemed amazed at the
effect her common sense tenets and hard
work are having on her students.
They are all reading at far beyond the
grade level acceptable in the Chicago area
public schools. In fact so strong is this black
teacher’s emphasis on the spoken and
written word that no one would ever dare
mention “Black English” to Mrs. Collins.
She says she believes that children must
learn to speak the language of the country in
which they live - and that the better they
speak it and write it the more they will be
able to achieve in life. ** *
Her program is one which requires
dedication and hard work on the part of the
teacher and discipline and hard work on the
part of the children. But what joy it was to
observe these youngsters who in the third
and fourth grades are reading and loving
Chaucer, Shakespeare, Bronte and Scott.
These kids have discovered a whole new
world - the world of books and imagination
and their lives will be a thousand times
richer for it.
Some of the children have to have their
books taken away from them at night or
they will attempt to read them under the
covers instead of going to sleep. Shades of
my youth! Many’s the flashlight battery I
wore out under the covers while pursuing
the tales of Jules Verne and Louisa May
Alcott.
There are no discipline problems in Mrs.
Collins school. The children sit quietly and
answer politely but eagerly. They are
J.E. Crow and I were the closest of
friends. We were in each others’ weddings,
but long before that we went through 12
years of school together, and played on the
same football, basketball, and baseball teams
for many years. We also played thousands of
games of marbles and ping pong, and never
did decide who could beat whom.
What we loved the most, though, was the
rhythm-and-blues and rock-and-roll music
we grew up in the midst of. It was the new
music of the 50’s, and they’re still playing it
today. In and around New Orleans was the
place to be to witness its birth, and we were
there and we loved it. J.E. and I would drive
all around, in either his dad’s old ’49 Chevy
or my dad’s old ’50 Dodge, to hear the many
great rock-and-roll bands whose roots were
in the Crescent City. There was one such
man and his band who towered over all the
others at that time. His name was Antoine
“Fats” Domino. Because he was on the road
all the time, J.E. and I had never been to see
Fats Domino in person, and that became one
of our most important life’s goals at the
young age of 16.
Fats Domino started playing the piano
when he was just five years old in a family of
nine kids, and the world became a happier,
more musical place because of it. Fats
toured the country well over 300 days a
year, bringing joy wherever he went with his
music. He wrote nearly all of his own hits,
and they came largely from his own feelings.
For instance, he had a wife Rosemary and a
house full of kids back home, and so he
wrote and sang, “If you see Rosemary, tell
her ah’m coinin’ home to stay; tell her ah’m
tired of travelin’, ah jist cain’t go on this
way.”
Georgia. The boys go up there to check on
things whenever they get a chance.
Though there isn’t a lot to be done at this
time of year, when the flow comes in the
spring, they will be kept quite busy. While
there are 25 to 40 thousand bees in each
hive now, there will be approximately 100
thousand at that time.
Now for the question that may be
buzzing around in your head - How often
do the boys get stung? “Not too often,” says
Mark, “now that we’ve learned the tricks of
the trade.” “We wear a veil over our heads
and that’s about it,” added Steve.
“Clumsiness on the part of the beekeeper is
the biggest cause of their agitation. When the
weather is bad, you’ll find them reacting
also. We just stay away at those times.”
The big plans for next year include taking
the hives in early March to Florida; leaving
them for a few weeks in some orange groves;
then on the way back, leaving them in south
Georgia for gallberry honey; and in the
beginning of summer, returning them to
North Georgia for the sourwood flow.
There were many things the boys
explained to me that I had never thought
about before. The actual process of getting
honey from the cones, for example. It’s
obviously enjoying the whole learning
process. The secret of Marva Collins’
phenomenal success seems to be personal
supervision with emphasis on developing
reading skills, spelling, pronunciation and
vocabulary. In fact since it is obvious that
we can learn nothing unless we can read -
that is the priority.
The difference is that the child learns
early that reading is enjoyment. That it
opens new worlds for them and expands
their knowledge. The way she teaches
transmits to the child the excitement
inherent in new books and new ideas.
She is not working with unusually gifted
children - they are residents of the ghetto in
which her school is situated. Several had
actually been labeled “slightly retarded” in
public schools and many of the others were
failing or on the brink of it. Mrs. Collins has
turned it all around and proved again that
we all have the capacity to learn, especially
if we are fortunate enough to have a gifted
teacher like Marva Collins.
You have to wonder where in the world
our school system is heading. Twenty years
ago a book was written entitled “Why
Johnny Can’t Read.” The author has written
a sequel “Why Johnny Can’t Read Yet”
which was released a few months ago. It
catalogues the failure of our educational
system to adequately teach our children to
read, speak and write the language we use to
communicate.
Another book by Paul Copperman, “The
Literary Hoax,” is also highly critical of the
system.
In the ATLANTA CONSTITUTION last
week there was an article by Tyrone Terry
Incidentally, back then you didn’t go to a
“concert” even when somebody big like Fats
Domino came to town. Those guys played
for DANCES in either night clubs or large
gyms. Can you imagine someone presenting
himself at the ticket window the night of a
BeeGees or Rolling Stones concert and
saying, “Hi there! I’d like two tickets to the
dance for me and my date, Ida Mae here!!!”
Finally, there came a weekend when Fats
Domino himself was playing at a nightclub
near our home town. J.E. and I got dates,
and the four of us were going to become the
first in our school to have heard the great
Fats in person. We were all set to go on
Saturday night and, the night club being not
the biggest in the world, J.E. drove over on
Friday to see if we could get reservations. He
came by my house on the way home, all
excited.
“David, you’ll never believe what
happened, but I’m gonna tell you anyway,”
he said. “They told me there were no
reservations.” I groaned, and said, “I believe
you. But why are you smiling?”
“Wait. What you won’t believe is this: I
was pulling away from the place, and I saw a
pink Cadillac with big white rims on the tires
pull into the place. And he got out - HIM! It
was Fats himself. So I drove back in, and
talked with him for half-an-hour.”
“This time you’re right. I don’t believe
you,” I replied, but he insisted it was true.
The next night, one of our dates was late,
and by the time we got to the night club,
there was a line all the way around the place,
at least the length of a football field, and
NOBODY was leaving. One of Fats’ biggest
hits popped into my head: “Ain’t that a
shame.” But I had forgotten the magical,
persuasive powers of my pal.
done by centrifugal force from a machine
called an extractor. A beekeeper can usually
count on a hundred pounds of honey a year
from every colony, they explained.
“There’s so many aspects involved in
beekeeping. We’re learning every day,” Mark
said. Both boys found their study of nature
at work, in the miraculous production of
honey, a wonderful experience. Watching
each member of the bee colony contributing
its part - the queen bee, laying her thousand
eggs in her prime - the workers, busy, busy,
busy making the honey and doing other odd
jobs within the colony - the drones, giving
life to the colony - the young beekeepers
are drawn into a greater appreciation of
God’s goodness.
While working together at this venture,
Mark and Steve like to keep their expenses
separately and each plans to put any profits
from honey sales back into his portion of
the endeavor.
Certainly Cece and Phyllis Reimer of
Holy Cross parish and Gerald and Kathy
Monda of St. John Neumann’s parish, should
be proud of their teenage sons, while each
family enjoys a variety of delicious raw
honey. Keep up the good work, Mark and
Steve, and good luck in the spring.
which described the phenomenon of “Grade
Inflation.” This involves the systematic
increase in average grades given students over
a period of time. Critics charge that it
represents a severe devaluation of the college
degree. According to Copperman, “Grade
inflation penalizes the superior, the talented
and the hardworking and rewards the
mediocre, incompetent and the lazy. It
produces a kind of intellectual fantasyland
where everyone is superior. It teaches
America’s brightest young people that there
is no particular metit to hard work.”
This method of grading is being used
currently at Georgia State University. In the
fall of 1965,10.9 percent of the grades given
to students were A’s compared to 28.4
percent in 1978.
Georgia State is not alone, many colleges
throughout the country are or already have
adopted this system. In some colleges the
system has been dropped because the
officials realized that it was actually
rewarding the mediocre student and
penalizing the hard working ones.
There will probably never be a great
many teachers as gifted as Marva Collins but
there are many teachers who are dedicated
and wonderful teachers who are frustrated
by the system as it has developed. They need
the backing of parents who are anxious for
their children to TRULY learn and not just
be given a palliative passing mark. These
teachers need our input and interest and we
need to let the administrators of out
educational system know that we are
“Angry and we’re not going to take it
anymore!!!” I
After standing there for a while, J.E. said,
“Excuse me, I’ll be right back,” and
disappeared into the crowd. He was gone for
ten minutes, after which he returned with
the manager of the night club and one of the
guards. “Is this your party, Mr. Crow? Right
this way, folks, please.” And they led us past
all those people, into the club, and across
the dance floor to where some waiters were
setting up a table and four chairs RIGHT
NEXT TO FATS DOMINO’S PIANO. They
seated us, and brought us a drink courtesy of
the main attraction, and Fats Domino was
introduced. He came out, sat down, grinned,
did a little roll on the ivories, drawled “I
faaawwwwwoound mah thrill . . . on
Blueberry Hill... on Blueberry Hill, when I
found you.”
I closed my eyes for an instant and
pinched myself under the table. It hurt, and
I knew that this was going to be one of the
great nights of my life. At the end of that
first song, Fats leaned over and winked at us
and said, “How are those seats, J.E.?” I
knew what he was going to say before he
said it - “Just fine, Fats. Thanks!” (You
devil, you, I thought.)
I still think of that night whenever I hear
the parable in Luke 14: “When you are a
guest, make your way to the lowest place
and sit there, so that, when your host comes,
he may say, ‘My friend, move up higher.’ In
that way, everyone with you at the table
(especially our dates) will see you honored.
For everyone who exalts himself will be
humbled, and the man who humbles himself
will be exalted.”
Everything J.E. did was with humility
and kindness toward others. I guess that’s
why whenever I was with him, I found
myself getting exalted.
The
V Georgia
iMt-
Catholic A rchdiocew of A tlanta
Most Rev. Thomas A. Donnelian - Publisher
Rev. Monsignor Noel C. Burtenshaw - Editor
Michael Motes Associate Editor
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Telephone 881 9732
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756 West Peachtree, N.w.
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Of course, we are concerned for - NCB
How Holy I)o You Have
To Be To Be A Priest?
Father Richard Lopez
i (Archdiocesan Director of Vocations)
Working Women
Sheila Mallon
J. E. Befriends A Fat Man
Dave McGill