Father O’Byrne; June 12, 2023

Father O’Byrne, June 12th, 2023

It must have been right around 1964 or so. I was twelve and going to Holy Family Catholic School in Lincoln, Nebraska. Nowadays the school and church are called “Cathedral and School of the Risen Christ”.

The Lincoln Diocese built a big new fancy Cathedral when we were in 9th grade in 1967 with fancy concrete and fused colored glass windows. But in 1964 we just had a funky chapel (now an auditorium) at the Holy Family School.

I was an altar boy as were most of the boys in my class. The altar boy’s schedule for Mass duties was posted up by the blackboard in our homeroom on that blue ink paper that always kinda stank.

I was to serve the 8 AM Mass on the following Monday so there I was in the sacristy in my altar boy outfit (cassock and alba) at 7:45 ready to get the priest ready for Mass. Altar boys helped the priest put on his brightly colored silk vestments and got the lavabo dish ready with the cruets of water and wine. (An odd word “cruet”. I’ve never seen or used the word since my altar boys’ days. A cruet is a small glass pitcher.)

To my surprise, in walked a new priest. He was short, maybe 5’5” tall, and spoke with a thick Irish accent. He introduced himself as Father O’Byrne and he didn’t have a clue about how to find the vestments or anything.

I figured the priest was new in town. So I showed Fr. O’Byrne the ropes and he was very grateful.

At Mass, Sister Alice who was the tall skinny Principal of the school, introduced us all to Father O’Byrne. The students all clapped in welcome. I was the altar boy so I stayed reverent.

Father O’Byrne’s Irish brogue was so thick that most of us couldn’t understand half of what he was saying during his sermon. But the Mass went just fine. He must have come straight from Dublin.

We boys soon learned that Father O’Byrne didn’t put up with any shite, as he would say, in the classroom. Father O’Byrne walked up and down the aisles between our desks with a wooden yardstick held behind his back.

If he saw a boy screwing around or not paying attention the yardstick was quickly wielded by the priest onto the offender’s knuckles.

Father O’Byrne always gave me a pass as I’d helped him out on his first day. I knew to behave when Father O’Byrne and his wooden yardstick were about.

The young Irish priest started a cross-country team for us seventh graders through 9th graders. He would have a whistle and send us running down the median of Sheridan Boulevard which fronted the school.

Sheridan Boulevard has a nice wide grassy median with a one-lane brick road on either side. It went through the ritzy area of Lincoln ending at South Street.

Father O’Byrne also had a stopwatch and he’d be waving that yardstick around while blowing that whistle and shouting at us in unintelligible Irish brogue but we got the gist of what he was saying.

“Run faster!”

I don’t think Father O’Byrne stayed long at Holy Family. I only remember him being there for one year. Maybe he missed the Old Sod and went back to Ireland.

TJM

PS: I’ll attach a photo of some Irish priests from the 1960s and a photo of an Irish theologian who looks like what I think Father O’Byrne would have looked like in his elderly years.