What would you like to know about St. Joan of Arc? Do you have a story about our parish or of general interest that you think others would like to hear? For story ideas, contact Jeff Rholl, jeff@stjoan.com. Prologue:
Three weeks ago a tall, good looking man strode to the altar of St. Joan of Arc to give the traditional welcome to the congregation at the 11:00 Mass. In a New York accented voice, he said he trusted that he would be accepted where he, personally, was in his 'journey.' Some minutes later, he had issued a clarion call to hear the anguished voices of his compatriots in New York, to honor our military and their history, and to support the men and women who, today, "put themselves in harms way." He acknowledged the good people, conflicted and torn as he is, by the variety of messages we hear from the pulpits, the governments, theologians, media 'experts' and each other.
Sitting in that congregation, I heard the ovation he received. It sent shock waves through me. For the first time, I wondered if there were silent voices at St. Joan of Arc. And I wondered who this man was who seemed to have touched a wellspring. What had propelled him to the altar of St. Joan of Arc, flaunting tradition, commandeering the microphone to give his message -- what formed him and brought him to that moment?
I asked him those questions and here is his answer. |
Meet Paul Moss
"The world is not always the way I wish it was" - That is the mantra of Paul Moss and it is his hard earned view of life .
Paul Moss spent his formative years between Brooklyn, living in the shadow of Ebbetts Field in the heydey of 'dem bums', the Brooklyn Dodgers, and the 'mean streets' of Manhattan, a hard landscape that Charles Kuralt called "hunkering concrete." His life reflects these worlds, a life that taught him harsh lessons and also provided him the savior-mentors who reached out to him with encouragement.
He was a tough little Irish Catholic kid, whose father died when he was seven; a kid who went to work early and hasn't missed a day since! His mother and he, estranged from her family of eight siblings, were left to make their way alone. Moss says "I was an angry kid, an angry young man -- and am still an angry man when I perceive injustice or unfairness."
Moss describes himself as "a product of a Catholic grammar school in Brooklyn, a Catholic High School in Harlem and a Catholic college in Westchester County - a surefire recipe for therapy!" At 10, his boyhood strivings took him to the Flatbush Boys Club which should have been a haven. Instead, he was physically abused by an instructor there. When he reported the situation to a teaching Brother who wore a Roman collar, the man turned out to have the same proclivities. Then, and later even with strong allies at his side, he was not able to have the injustice acknowledged or rectified. This experience instilled in him "an anger and a willingness to take on authority." He says he learned early that he "was bold and outspoken, understood power, had the ability to sell and a determination to make things as right as he could."
His mother was an independent woman who worked for years at the Planter's peanut store on Times Square. Moss smiles as he describes the landmark symbol, a sixty foot Peanut with a monocle and top hat fronting the store. Moss also worked in the theater district, selling orange drinks and candy to the theater crowds. While Moss was in college, his mother became ill with cancer and twice he left college to care for her. He describes dealing with a doctor with "the bedside manner of Patton" until he could find care for her at Mount Calvary Hospital, a hospice for dying patients. Watching her suffering was a shattering experience for a young man and he "went back to school with a strong interest in euthanasia." He was twenty years old and on his own.
It was on the paper route he worked during his early school years that he met the first of the mentors who changed his life. He describes meeting and talking with one of his customers, a man who "who had an apartment with one whole room with just a desk and books. That was pretty impressive for a street kid like me." The man turned out to be Jerry Bloom, the Whip of the New York Senate" who taught Moss about politics and the importance of knowing the right people and getting them together. They remained friends through the years and, later, Moss worked for Bloom, handling correspondence and occasionally represented him at civic affairs.
Moss talks fondly of the "people who took an interest in me and gave me a break. A high school principal, a politician, and a "priest of a Middle Eastern rite" he met in his senior year." It was this priest who introduced him to the "Just War Theory." It took the Vietnam War to teach him that his "government could be wrong and that the world isn't the way I want it to be."
During high school summers, Moss worked as a waiter at the Catskill Mountain resorts, home of the renowned Borscht Circuit where the famous Jewish comedians performed. He saw stars like Jerry Lewis, and saw a lifestyle that was opulent and a sharp contrast to the simple life he lived with his mother. Besides, he said, "The money was great and whenever I needed cash, I'd pick up my tray and start waiting tables. I could make enough during a summer to pay for my school expenses the next year."
Today Moss is a successful businessman, a Manufacturers' Representative with grand and glittering showrooms in the Gift Mart in Minnetonka. Getting there wasn't always an easy road. He says he has "worked since I was five”. His career in retail started when he worked as a stock boy at Abraham Strauss and at A & S in New York, where he worked after college and rose to the position of Buyer. When his boss moved to Minneapolis to take over an Allied store, Donaldsons, he brought Moss with him. Moss worked there until, at age 29, he set out on his own as a manufacturers' rep. "The early days were a struggle but soon the business prospered. At 32 I was on a roll -- and at 35, I was in treatment at St. Mary's, divorced and broke." Moss expresses appreciation and admiration for the pioneers "who made AA an okay thing to be in." He has 21 years in the AA program and has been active in service work during those years.
Twenty-three years ago a friend, Wyman Spanno, a lobbyist with whom he sang in a contemporary music choir, led him to St. Joan of Arc. It was a home for Moss, self-described as "a liberal - politically, philosophically and theologically." He had heard about Father Harvey Egan, heard Daniel Berrigan speak and believed he found "people who let in the sunshine”. "The church was politically active and worth the 25 mile drive from Minnestrista on Sunday mornings. It brought meaning and relevance to my life."
He met Deanne Huseby, who is now his wife and partner in life. He describes her as a dynamic woman who challenged him to "clean up my act and made me a much better man than I would have been. I was drawn to be bigger because of her." Deanne Huseby-Moss started her own company thirty-two years ago, which has national distribution and is involved in design and importing trend merchandise for the retail industry.
Moss' world view shifted dramatically during trips with his wife to Israel and Palestine. He saw "kids on the weekends heading for home”. Instead of blazers and sweaters, they were in uniforms with rifles over their shoulders. “On a walk to a park where an event was being held, two young women came up beside me. They carried M-15 rifles over their shoulders. I told them if I could walk the streets of New York, I sure wasn't afraid to walk these streets. But they knew I was with a group of Americans and insisted on escorting me. These were kids whose youth was being stolen from them." He saw people living in a state of siege mentality and it caused him to reflect on the open, free environment he lived in and raised his own children, Paul Jr., Jason, and his stepchildren, Molly and Andy.
He remembered arguing through the night with his older brother, a career military man, who espoused the view that the sacrifices of the men and women in uniform during the wars, including the second world war, are the reason we are free now and not under German or Japanese rule. And he felt his ideas shifting.
Moss describes himself as a "history buff" and looking back he remembers experiences as disparate as his rage over the Kent State slayings; being in Israel in 1992 and in Normandy in 1993; visiting the Vietnam War Memorial and feeling, in the silence, that he was standing on sacred ground. He thinks of Martin Luther King and Gandhi, and realizes that they had bodyguards, armed, ready to defend them. He thinks of the police and observes, "If I call them they must use a weapon, not a rosary."
Today he is distressed over 15 of his fellow alumni from his small Catholic college who were murdered that day. He is upset thinking of his stepson who works seven blocks from the World Trade Centers. "He walked down those 50 flights of stairs and was caught up in the dust storm from the remains of the dead blowing in the wind - the dust of the cremation of thousands of innocent people." He is torn thinking that the people of his home town have not finished burying their dead. And he remembers his brother saying "They buried our fathers in France."
He doesn't think the acts of his government are retribution but are performed in our defense and designed to keep us safe.
Finally, that is what brought him to the altar of St. Joan of Arc. His passion and a belief that there were voices in the family of St. Joan that were not being heard. That belief propelled him to disregard the instructions of the welcome giver's format. It led him to appropriate the microphone to say what he felt compelled to say.
When asked why he chose the altar to make his feelings known, he said "I thought of writing an op-ed piece but wondered how many people would see it. This seemed like the most direct way to get my message heard. I meant it to be a message about balance." He's sorry if the anger came across. "I don't really want to be a troublemaker" he sighed.
But on that day, the 'aggressive kid from the mean streets', with some trepidation and a vision of his truth, stuck his chin out, mounted the steps to the altar and had his say.
Paul Moss welcomes your thoughts at paulmoss@aol.com.
Epilogue:
St. Joan is a peace church. It has clearly and unequivocally taken its stand. Long ago, under the pastoral leading of Harvey Egan, it declared its position. Its members took placards and took to the streets in protest. They demonstrated at Honeywell and chanted, no more war, no more war! With pastors through the intervening years, and under the leadership of George Wertin, it reiterates its stand today. But there are also, today, in the fellowship, veterans, people whose sons and husbands and family members are in the military, and there are hearts torn and minds seriously troubled.
We are fortunate to have leadership that is open to hearing the voices of the people, and to encourage me, a webreporter, to tell the story of a voice that is dissonant - passionate and convinced that in the intellectually stimulating and challenging climate provided by the leadership and members of St. Joan of Arc, he can speak his heart and trust that he can be accepted for the difficult path he now walks on his journey.
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| Ronnie Angelus says: "There are three things that make my life work: Talking to my daughter who
opens vistas to me and makes me laugh; being in the circle of the Divas, my
writing group, who shout "go girl" and give me standing ovations with their
smiles and tears; sitting next to Mary and Claude Paradis during Sunday Mass
at St. Joan of Arc, which is as close to pure goodness as I will know in this
lifetime."
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