We were visiting my grandparents in Brooklyn, my brother and I, back in the 1950's when we were probably about 9 and 12, during Easter vacation. We'd left winter in Maine far behind, miles and miles of railroad track between their converted carriage house/studio on Hicks Street and the family farm on Georgetown Island. Grandmother, a militant atheist, announced one morning over breakfast that she was taking us to St. Pat's so we could "see the show." We didn't have a clue, being raised as heathen. What an immense tall stone building, surrounded by even taller office buildings, and once inside what splendor to behold. And the vestments, and the incense, and the incomprehensible chanting and singing. Alien space, indeed!

Cheerily,
Charley Noble