Next Thing You Know, I’ll Be Wearing a Yarmulke
Yeah yeah, it’s all true. I grew up Irish Catholic in Holyoke. And the only time you’ll find me in a church now is if a relative buys the farm, kicks the bucket, bites the dust, or hits the sky. You know—one of those. Anyway, I got kicked out of all the Catholic schools for mischief. I wore the dunce cap in the corner during my early grammar school days. The nuns never liked kids who had conversations going on with classmates while they were teaching. Hey, it prepped me for a career in the communications business.
A few months ago, I reconnected with an old friend, Rob Goldstein. He calls himself Robert now—and he’s a rabbi. The only rabbi I’ve ever known. I admit, I’ve been asked how someone could become a rabbi after hanging around with me.
Back in the day, Rob and I did traveling bandwagon concerts on the back of a big Daniel O’Connell’s Sons flatbed truck, which my old man provided. Teamster driver, lights, signs, and a silent generator all rigged up. We called it O’Brien/Goldstein Productions. We wore straw skimmers and smoked cigars. We looked all big-time and traveled all over with the Irish band The Dustmen; Pzazz, the Dixieland band from Amherst College; and The Crescents, a local doo-wop group. We always made sure to visit the elderly towers and nursing homes. Then we’d go rogue and, without any advance notice, surprise people by showing up in neighborhoods. Folks would come running out of their houses and start dancing in the streets.
Well now, Rabbi Rob is the chaplain at a retirement community in Maryland. I added him to this Dukes Up email list a while ago. And you know what he told me? These Friday storytelling emails are sneaking into his sermons and homilies, which he expands upon. He told me, “You’re preaching to the congregation.” Ain’t that somethin’? A Catholic school dunce inspiring a synagogue. Finally, the nuns would be proud. Keep your dukes up.
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