I had one year of high school at
Bishop DuBouet H.S. Bishops and brothers and priests were the teachers and it was right on
152nd and I think Amsterdam or St. Nicholas, right around there. All boys. It was an all
boys' school.
And out of that, one experience. I
was fourteen, and I had three great teachers... one, a Father who taught Latin. He was
actually a lousy teacher as far as teaching the subject. He was like a movie star,
handsome and neat and gentle and patient and caring and we boys drove him up the wall. We
did everything but destroy him, and he turned red with anger and you could see him say a
prayer and calm himself and treat us gently.
I mean, somehow, he helped me get
through Latin, but he wasn't a good Latin teacher, but he was a good example of neatness,
and gentleness and patience and compassion. There was another brother, Brother Morgan who
was a very great teacher, if not the greatest teacher I ever had who taught algebra and
geometry. And I've kept in touch with him on and off, and he's long retired but he was
memorable. And I've used lots of his techniques myself in teaching. And then the third
priest I kind of remember him, his name was Father Cahill. And the reason I remember him,
he taught English and religion, and history and religion were both subjects I was
passionate about and knew a lot about; and he liked the subject, but he wasn't passionate
about it. He was passionate about fishing. His whole life was fishing. And he would say to
us during the year, "You boys better pass the test at the end of the year because I
don't want to lose my fishing vacation at the end of the year to hang around and give you
remedial work. I'm not going to be happy and you're going to be VERY unhappy".
Anyway, he would always say that. Once I mentioned, "Where are you gonna fish,
Father"? And he said, "Oh, I fish in Maine". And I said, "Oh, I go to
Maine a lot. I have a lot of relatives there". And he's said,"You know Rangeley
Lakes"? And I'd said, "Oh, yeah, I know Rangeley and Moosehead and Sebago and
Lobster Lake". And he would say, "Well they're all great fishing places and I
love it".
And later on, that made him pay
attention to me. He kind of liked me now because by now, the story was instead of you boys
are gonna be very unhappy, Father Cahill would say, "d'Amboise will tell you how
important my fishing is... tell 'em where I'm gonna be when school ends. I'm outta here...
tell 'em".
Anyway, he never would have paid
attention to me, I was just one of the boys. 1948...I have not thought of Father Cahill
since then.
When we were up in Maine, we had
some very good friends... Gail and Larry Warren, and we had done and NDI program maybe 13
years ago up in that area... and vestiges of it were still running. Gail and Larry Warren
were helping us slack-pack. Now slack-packing means you don't have to carry your pack.
Someone puts you on the trail; you hike as many miles as you can and they pick you up on
some highway or forest service road and you go back to their house, or at a motel, and
that way, you don't have to hike with a backpack. You just carry your water and a
sandwich.
And for several days, Gail and
Larry Warren were setting it up so we could slack-pack... and they suggested we set it up
so we could stay at a fishing camp that was kind of center to the area we were hiking in.
We had a little cabin. They give you breakfast and a wonderful dinner. Though we'd never
had breakfast, we'd be out on the trail by then. We would make it back for dinner and it
was great. For several days we did this until there was no more slack-packing and we had
to go back to carrying things and sleeping in the woods.
So the day I got there, the first
night, we had a little cabin. I woke up in the morning and I said, "George, did I
ever tell you about Father Cahill and how he loved fishing in Maine"? And I started
telling him all about Father Cahill. I have not spoken or thought of Father Cahill since
those 40 some years ago.
We went in to hike that day and we
came out to have dinner and at dinner, George mentions to the owner of the place.
"Did you ever meet a fisherman, that was a priest named Father Cahill"? And
Stephen's mouth fell open and he said, "Oh, my god, how do you know Father Cahill?
What's happened"? And George said, "Well my Dad knows him" and George
recounted all about how Father Cahill wanted to go fishing in Maine and all I'd told him
about high school.
Steve said, "Father Cahill
died a few years ago. He was my father's best friend. He came for 35-40 years to fish in
our mountain camp. In fact, you have his cabin and you're sleeping in his bed. And up in
the attic is his fishing equipment and his stuff is still up there that he kept
here".
So, this was a kind of Stephen
King kind of thing that happened, although not malevolent. Father Cahill was talking to
me.
Maybe there are ghosts. Maybe
they're in us, certainly everyone we meet - our parents, our friends -make us what we are.
