By Vic Gronek
I was raised a Catholic and was an altar boy throughout most of my youth at St Edwards Catholic Church in Lakeport, Michigan. I served with the likes of the Conger brothers, The Toodzio brothers, and the Mathew brothers to name a few. We were altar boys for Father John R Hogan and we all loved him. He was charismatic and a true authority figure for all of us young men. In many ways, he was instrumental in instilling the character in us that we would all live with for the rest of our lives.
I remember many times in the heat of the summer when we altar boys would wear our cassocks and surpluses. There was no air conditioning in those days when Father Hogan would be standing at the lectern delivering his sermons. I think he would often get a kick out of it when some people would start to get drowsy and begin to nod off on those warm, humid, lazy summer mornings or afternoons when he would suddenly raise his voice and deliver a loud bang with his fist on the lectern during a thunderous portion of his sermon. I remember many people, myself included, would jump at being startled with the loud bang accompanied by his loud thunderous oratory remarks. We would jump even more if we were actually nodding off.
I think my favorite passage in the Bible is Mark 11 verses 12 through 24 where Jesus is telling the parable of the fig tree.
When they had passed by a certain fig tree on their way to a small town, Jesus wanted a fig from this tree (even though the time of figs were not yet) and finding no figs, said: no man shall eat fruit of thee forever and his disciples heard it. When they passed by this tree later in the day on their way back to camp, this particular tree was withered and dead, even though it had been just a few short hours. When his disciples asked about this tree, Jesus told them to have faith, that they should have faith in God, for verily I say unto you, that whosoever shall say unto this mountain be thou removed and be thou cast into the sea and shall not doubt in his heart, but shall believe that those things which he saith shall come to pass, he shall have whatsoever he saith.Mark 11: 12 – 24
Simply said, if we have enough faith we can move mountains and I for one believe this literally. So very often it is so difficult to have this amount of faith, as can be read further along in this article.
Just a couple photos of my Dad.
I remember when I was in the 11th or 12th grade and my Dad, (45 years old at the time) needed some very serious surgery on his abdomen. Doctor Hazeldine was his surgeon and I remember him coming out to talk to us after the surgery to tell my mom, my brother, and I that he had done everything he could do to stop my Dad from bleeding to death on the operating table but he could not stop the bleeding. I specifically remember Dr. Hazledine telling us that someone other than him, that God would be my Dad’s only hope. We were all crying and we were so very upset when we left, with my Dad being in intensive care (if that’s what they called it in those days). I also remember that this took place in the dead of winter on one of the coldest days of the year. I seem to recall that the temperature was well below zero and we lived in a house that was somewhat close to the lake. We had an old large station wagon that had a huge chrome bird with wings open at the front of the hood. I specifically remember going out to this station wagon after dark on this very cold evening around 9:00 PM and while I did not start the car for the heater, I just sat there in the front seat behind the steering wheel praying like I had never prayed before. This was a very private and personal conversation between God and myself where I was asking God to spare my Dad and to please please please stop the bleeding. I prayed for at least an hour in the freezing cold in that old station wagon. I remember all the frost on the inside of the windows from the condensation of my breath on the cold glass.
When we went back to the hospital early the next morning, Doctor Hazeldine met us and told us that during the night, the bleeding had stopped and my Dad was on the mend and he was hopeful for a full recovery. While he still had to stay in the hospital for a few days, he did not think my Dad was in any immediate danger of slipping away. To this day, there is NO ONE that could ever convince me that my prayers were not answered the previous night. My Dad would live nearly another ten years before finally slipping away in August of 1973.
In August of 1973, my Dad’s health was deteriorating as he was suffering from Cancer and the debilitating drugs of chemotherapy and radiation and they were taking their toll on him. I remember that I was scheduled to have surgery the following day for hernia repair and I would be off work for six to eight weeks. I remember laying on top of the bed next to my Dad alongside him, his dark hair was falling out and it was clear that he was very, very sick. I was telling him that I did not want him to try and come to the hospital to visit me as I wanted him to conserve his strength. I would be in the hospital for three days or so and I would be off work for nearly two months and would be seeing him quite a bit in the next few weeks. He grudgingly said okay and he told me then that he was going to beat this cancer. He then did something that he had never done before all the time I was growing up, he told a short story about a time when he was in the Army during WW2. He proceeded to tell me that when he was on patrol in the jungles somewhere near the Philippines when suddenly a mortar or bomb had gone off killing a number of the men he was with. He asked why would God allow him to live through something like that without a scratch when so many of his buddies were killed?? I of course did not have the answer for this question but, in retrospect, I don’t think he was really looking for an answer from me.
The following day, I went in for my hernia surgery at what was then called Port Huron Hospital. It was a lot different than it is today, I was scheduled for my surgery, then would be in the hospital for about three days before being discharged. I remember groggily waking up from my surgery and anesthesia to see my mom and brother standing over my bed crying while I slowly regained consciousness. I remember asking why they were crying and they told me they had just brought Dad into the hospital. I asked how he was and they told me it was not good. I then asked where he was and they told me he was directly across the hall. I then said I would like to see him and asked if they could get a wheelchair for me to wheel across the hall to see him. I just had about an eight inch incision in my lower abdomen and while the pain was pretty intense, it did not matter, I was going. When I finally managed to get across the hall to my Dad’s room, my Dad was laying in bed, his breathing was very labored and he was not conscious. Back in those days, it was not common knowledge that one of the last senses to go is our hearing. While I did not say anything verbally to my Dad, I did put my hand on top of his as his breathing slowly became more and more shallow. I said some quiet prayers for him as he lay there slowly slipping away. I was probably in his room with him for perhaps twenty minutes or so before I went back to my room. He ended up passing away over the next couple of hours.
I was determined to get out of the hospital earlier than I was scheduled and while I do not remember what day I got out, I do remember going to the funeral home to see my Dad. While this may seem very strange, even weird to some people, I remember using crutches and slowly walking up to the casket where my Dad was laying. I slowly and tearfully put my hand over his and with everything in me, I literally willed him to open his eyes and get up, I truly believed with all my heart that he would open his eyes and move but, it was not to be. To this day, I sometimes feel that I just did not believe enough in my heart that it was possible for my Dad to indeed open his eyes and get up because of my request. I think in my heart that the reason he did not arise was because I knew that my Dad was indeed gone from this life. He was now in heaven with our good Lord and the rest of his family that had gone before him. It is still very hard when I tell this story even today, forty eight years later, I will often get emotional when telling someone about this very personal experience. I know that my Dad had been suffering and that God in his infinite wisdom has his own master plan and it’s really not up to us to question him.
What I do know is that God has been with me all my life. When I have called on him to help when a loved one is undergoing surgery or having other problems, I will often get on my knees in the privacy of my bedroom and I’ll pray to our good Lord. He has always been there to walk with me and my loved ones. How anyone can go through this life without believing in our good Lord is beyond me but, I for one have always had a deep personal relationship with our good Lord and can only hope that anyone who reads this will be touched by this heartfelt and personal story. I know I’m not the only person who has a story similar to this to tell but, this is my story, which for a very long time has been a very private and personal story that until now, I have shared with very few people over the years.
Vic Gronek
