Reminiscences

Greetings friends and family. Last week, we asked readers to write about how they "arrived" at St. Peter Roman Catholic Parish in Greeley. Here's Wendy's response. (Send yours to tnl@peakpeak.com)

A good friend of ours got into some trouble and had to move in with his parents for a while. One of the conditions for him to stay at home was to attend Mass every Sunday.

Fred is a cradle Catholic who hadn't been to Mass in YEARS and I was raised Pentecostal but had always had a burning interest in Catholicism.

Fred told our friend that he would go to Mass with him if he thought that it would help. At that time, I usually worked on Sundays, so for the first few weeks Fred went with our friend alone.

Fr. Greg Ames was our priest at St. Peter's then, and he made quite an impression on Fred. I was very curious, as I had never seen this reaction in Fred before.

All that I can say about my experience is that from the moment I stepped through the door, I knew that I had found my home. The very atmosphere does something to you -- I am sitting here in tears just remembering.

We have never turned back -- it turns out that our friend was sent to bring us home, not the other way around as was the original intention.

Sadly, he no longer attends Mass and we have fallen out of touch. I can never express how our lives have changed in the years since we have come to St. Peter's -- it is truly a blessing and a privilege to be part of such an awesome parish.

-- Fred Cruz and Wendy Parker-Cruz

Once in a lifetime

Dad had decided to buy a new car. The year was 1959, an exciting year to buy almost any new car. Except maybe a Renault or a Hillman Minx.

The folks would get a new car regularly -- once every eight years was the pattern.

The 1959 was to be an Oldsmobile. Prior to that there were the 1952 Pontiac, the 1946 Pontiac and the 1940 Ford. The '40 -- and a couple of school buses -- formed the Ford preference I have today.

Ah, but the '59. That was a car. Brother Richard can correct me on some details, as the car became his and Mary's later on.

My memory has it as a "Super 88." I don't remember the engine size, but it was huge. I think maybe 450 cubic inches of displacement, fed through a four-barrel carburetor with copious amounts of inexpensive fuel. Spent gases got a dual exhaust system.

There were four doors and a huge expanse of glass. The windshield wrapped around the sides into the doors and up three or four inches into the roof.

Everything about it was big -- and fast. It was long, low and wide. Four widely-separated headlights lit up the teenaged night. And the taillights. Oh my. They were placed high above the fenders on unique Olds tailfins.

All this was just too sexy for words. We'd lightly touch the brakes on dirt roads and watch the red "rockets" streaming out behind in the trail of dust.

Power steering. Power brakes. Horizontal speedometer. As a "Super 88" it was lighter than the more-expensive "98" models. Lighter but with the same horsepower. Get my drift? This thing was incredibly fast. Still gives me goose bumps just to think about it.

Wide, firm bench seats meant six persons could actually travel in comfort. Dick later installed seatbelts. I'd sometimes take the dog-dish hubcaps off for that "race" look, but Dad disapproved of this practice.

I did abuse the car. I admit it. I had no business driving a car 120 miles per hour. And, one time, I turned the ignition off and coasted for a while. When I turned the key back on, the accumulated gases exploded and blew both mufflers off and down into the ground.

That cost me $125 (1960 dollars) and I got away with it. The car was fixed the same day, I somehow had that much money, and I don't think Dad ever suspected the dumb trick I'd pulled.

What brings all this reminiscence to the surface? Well, since you asked. I was thinking about Mom and Dad and how well they dealt with me in so many ways.

Came the day to order the new car, the folks asked me to stop at the dealership on my way to school and make it official, to place the order.

I was also given the duty, or privilege, to pick the color in which the new car would come. That was a big responsibility for a 17-year-old.

My choice? "Emerald Mist." I'll never forget it. It was a light green with a beautiful sheen and just enough metal-flake. There's never been another car like it since.
Thanks, Mom and Dad.

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Word of the week: Purloin. Middle English, Old French and good old Latin teamed up to make this contemporary word. It means to steal or to filch. As in "The Purloined Letter." Good word to know during sessions of the Colorado Legislature.
Next week's word: Penultimate.

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