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Volume CCXXXV, Number 87   August 1, 2005 

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Chapter 1: A Heathen New World

    The handsome young lad in the well-cut blue blazer could hardly contain his excitement as his plane touched down in the heart of godless liberalism: Boston, Massachusetts. He fingered his St. Christopher medal and said three Hail Marys as the plane taxiied to its gate.
   Others on the plane had noticed the clean-cut athletic young man with the ready smile and curly brown hair. They remarked upon his calm air of command, his natural leadership ability and his amiable piety. This youthful prince of the Church would go far, they said to themselves. Little did they know that they had shared an airplane trip with a Catholic young man of destiny: young John Roberts of Harvard.
   John recalled the day he learned he would be leaving the green fields of America's heartland for Harvard College. He had just completed a rigorous football practice, sure in the knowledge that he had done his all for his mates, for his school and for Jesus Christ.
   Back in the locker room, he kneeled before the shrine to the BVM that he kept in his locker when he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. It was kindly Fr. McGillicuddy, who said: “John, you have been called to Harvard. Be careful among the heathen, my boy. And stay pure.”
   “I’ll do my level best,” the young halfback replied.
   “Now strip off that dirty football gear and I’ll turn on the shower for you,” Fr. McGillicuddy beamed.
   But there was no more time to remember those happy days on the Indiana gridiron. His taxi was pulling up to his new home: the great brick buildings of Harvard Yard. He knew that all the knowledge of the world could be found within those venerable halls, but also much of its evil. He fingered his rosary beads, a parting gift from Fr. McGillicuddy, and prayed for strength and wisdom.
   He trotted up the five flights of stairs to his new room in Weld Hall. Although he was carrying his suitcases, his football kit, his Bible and his holy cards, the splendid young specimen of Catholic manhood was barely breathing hard by the time he arrived at his assigned quarters.
   In the living room of his suite stood a lanky young man with a ready smile and a look of purpose in his eyes. “John LeBoutellier,” the young man said, holding out his hand.
   Young John Roberts eagerly grabbed the proffered mitt and shook it with manly firmness. “John Roberts. A great pleasure to meet you.” He flashed his most winning smile.
   “Welcome to Harvard,” his roommate said. “You look like a regular chap, not like some of these types from New York City, if you catch my drift.”
   John Roberts nodded. He had been warned that some of his fellow students would be from New York, Boston and even San Francisco. But he knew that his faith was strong and would keep him from temptation. Roberts glanced at his watch, a birthday gift from Fr. McGillicuddy. It was time for Mass. “You wouldn’t know how to get to the Catholic Church from here, would you?”
   “I was just leaving myself,” his roommate announced. Soon the two lads were walking across the great green sward of Harvard Yard on the way to church. John took in the scene around him. The buildings were impressive but he also saw much that gave him pause. A young unkempt woman in dirty jeans cut across their path. Her breasts, unrestrained by proper support, bounced in the most vulgar manner. A couple, their hearts corrupted by lust, spooned on the grass. A tall man with dark curly hair, possibly a Jew, brazenly smoked a cigarette as he crossed the Yard. John Roberts said a silent novena and prayed for strength.
   To distract himself from the depravity around him, John, an affable young man with a ready smile, struck up a conversation. “So what do you think about Harvard so far?”
   “Well,” his new roommate replied, “it’s a spiffy place, but you’ve got to be careful.”
   “Careful?”
   “There are so many of the wrong type of people.”
   “Wrong type?”
   “You know, liberals.”
   “Liberals?” John had heard the word used by the priests back in Indiana but he wasn’t sure that he had ever seen one.
   “Sure. Look at that woman over there,” his roommate commanded. “Look at that tank top.  Those unshaven underarms. Those indecent shorts. She’s been plucked more often than the Rose of Tralee.”  John Roberts nodded sagely.  Fr. McGillicuddy had warned him about women like that.

   “And look at that man she’s with. His hair is longer than hers!  He probably came to Harvard to plot the violent overthrow of the United States Government.”
   “Wow,” was all John Roberts could say. There was so much he had to learn about Harvard!
   They had left the Yard and crossed Massachusetts Avenue. “See that woman over there?” his roommate asked. John Roberts stared at a plump dark haired woman in a too-short skirt. “She had the effrontery to stop me in the street and ask me to support abortion on demand!”
   “No!” Roberts ejaculated.
   “I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true!” John shook his head, trying his best to hate the sin but love the sinner. He decided to steer his thoughts to something more positive. Tomorrow he was going to try out for the Harvard football team. Someday he might wear the crimson and score a touchdown against Yale. He could not imagine anything finer. Besides, he knew that a young man who excerised vigorously would go far.
Next week: John goes out for the eleven and escapes a brush with the devil’s weed.