Sent to Father Charles in early May, ’08:
In regard to my smugness and boredom concerning the various duties I had as a teacher: relating to children, and their parents, and the various supervisors, principals etc.: I handled it very efficiently. It could be said I excelled at patience. But inwardly I preferred my alone time, fuck ‘em all!
I think now in my pre-dotage that if history had been different and I was ordained in 1935, for example, I would have been considered a good priest. I may have masturbated a lot and got used to that, (rationalized a justification; perhaps took two-week vacations incognito to Portugal to party for days on end ), and found relief in reading, or a few good friends with whom to share good whiskey. But I would have been noted as Father Murphy, a good and patient man, our pastor or teacher or confessor, whatever! My cross in life would have been the common folk like Mrs. McKerney wanting to know if I got anymore mass cards with the eternal blessing and absolution of the Pope or Mr. McFadden and his scrupulosity, desiring counseling in the rectory twice a week. I can’t wash my hands enough, Father. He gave us thousands of dollars so I had to entertain him.
That’s how I think I would have been.
Or perhaps I would have found the perfect life in a monastery, like Joe Young.
I am now redirected to my book. And my art. Both areas are challenging and worthy labors now. The most difficult task is dealing with others. I cannot predict the book’s or art’s impact, if any. I say, it’s all process and the results can wait. Perhaps I’ll be dead before all my poetry is retrieved via back-up disks, old binders of unedited material, my daughter’s and wife’s care to save it all and get someone to review it. The old problem. I am reclusive. In a crowd my anxiety turns me manic and I can become most obnoxious.
Your Dear Confrere,
Jim
