The Day The Pope Came
— Boston 1979, Pope John Paul II, Good Friends and LSD
Back then my friends Neal, Timmy and Morton from Norway were renting the top two floors and roof of a large Brownstone on West Concord Street at the corner of Columbus Ave. in Boston’s South End. The Christian Science Building, Prudential Tower and Back Bay areas provided spectacular views for the rooftop parties.
For a long time, this apartment had served as Party Central for a lot of very hip people. Meanwhile, I was living comfortably with two lovely female Emerson College students — one an artist, the other a stripper — at the other side of the South End. We were on Waltham Street. In those days both of our apartments were interchangeable.
A one for all and all for one attitude smilingly prevailed in our circle of friends. Jimmy Carter was president and they were realistically thinking about legalizing pot back then. We had survived the Blizzard of ’78 and we were living in fun times. Best of all, Boston was still affordable. But this was before the Pope came. Our city later gentrified from an invasion of too many New Yawkers coming into town wearing Yankee hats!
But mostly during those days, we partied. Our party friends were musicians, artists from Cambridge together with a very hip Beacon Hill crowd. We had a nice scene. The pubs we frequented were The Plough and Stars, The Rat, The Sevens and The Beacon Hill Pub (formerly Fathers). We’d always draw in nurses from the Hawaiian Gardens pub located across from Mass General Hospital. Our parties were always overnighters. Often, they’d last two or three days.
My thinktank gang in those days? Neal, Timmy, Morton from Norway and myself? We were each winners. Whether for ego or pride — perhaps due to common sense — we each determined to win at everything we did. We were great at darts, chess, scrabble and a variety of board games. We dabbled in Go and made Tic-Tac-Toe tactical. Sometimes we’d invent our own games! We once added two extra rows of squares to a chessboard and assigned two new pieces with extra power and capability. We called it Super Chess!
Although amazingly nice guys overall — nobody would have thought otherwise — when we got together and were competing, our games would often become incredibly lowdown. In fact, they were downright cut-throat. Many of the Marvel Villain Team-Up deals we saw and played back then were sorrowfully pitiful and held devastating effects upon an opponent! But how else was a winner gonna win when playing only among winners!?!
Somehow, overall, it all worked out. Why? Because we were very great friends. We loved other people and we each possessed a strong sense of humor. We knew how to deliver and insults were always taken kindly. Neither of us do any wrong. Despite competitive turmoil, we backed each other with goodness.
So when the Pope came to Boston on Monday, October 1, 1979, we were in tip-top shape after a whole weekend of partying. As a dedicated group, we weren’t necessarily Pope-worthy, but we were certainly Pope-ready. We were like: “Bring on the Pope!”
Unfortunately, we lost Morton from Norway. You see, his parents were super-connected to the church hierarchy and Morton actually got to go to the Pope Ball or whatever the event was for international dignitaries. When the Pope gave his speech on the Boston Commons? Morton, with his family, had front-row seats. He even got to shake the pope’s hand and a close-up view of The Pope Mobile.
Meanwhile, the rest of us were teamed up, reasonably well-dressed and prepared for anything. We dropped some LSD and made our way early to The Boston Commons. Once there we were impressed by the crowds of people and what we were witnessing as we wandered around. Two things stood out:
Firstly, it was more than overwhelming the commercial hucksterism associated with the Pope. Christian opportunists were abound. You couldn’t walk a city sidewalk or a park pathway without being overrun by profiteers hawking pamphlets, books, photos, postcards, beads, buttons, pins, crosses, goblets, statues and various fashionable forms of pope-wear. It was like a medieval circus.
All in all? It was disgusting! These profiteers drained so much of the beauty and allure away from our virgin LSD-enhanced impression of the soon-to-appear Pope. Seeing people profit from the pope, while tripping on acid? Call it a bummer! Let’s just say The Doors were right: People Are Strange!
But I’ve gotta admit that the smarter vendors we saw were the ones who were selling umbrellas. You see, with or without the pope, it was gonna rain very, very hard that day.
Secondly, the activity that enraptured our total attention was the tingly feeling and reshaping of reality patterns as the acid kicked in stronger everywhere we went. It was if we only wanted to merrily bounce along. This feeling became entwined with soothing heavenly soprano-like voices that could be heard everywhere. It was voices from the trees tops. Not only was there an extremely large PA system set up in the main, they also had wired speakers into the trees. Everywhere we went all we could hear were sweet voices of angels singing.
For us, The Boston Commons had morphed into La-La Land!
It was beautiful. It would have remained a sensuous, invigorating and highly comforting experience had it not become ruined by the incessant, never-ending obnoxious chatter and banter of someone in your face trying to sell a Pope-this or a Pope-that. I suppose I should have taken comfort when someone appeared out of nowhere and handed me something for free. My free item was a photo of a very white, seemingly middle-class, well-robed Jesus and it included an inscription telling me I was saved.
I put it in my pocket. No doubt. The acid I consumed was damn good!
As the hour neared when the Pope would speak, we positioned ourselves perfectly at the top of the hill, under the trees near the tall statue. The acid was peaking and we had an excellent overview of everything. I was wearing a brown full-length Franciscan cape that had been given to me by a friend of family monk a long time ago. With my close friends, the acid and all, me in my cape — I felt like I achieved a movie-like Biblical scene in real life.
I had become Holy. So also my friends! It was like the pope was on a crusade and he came to see us! All we had to do was stand on a hill and be cool! That, we did!
So the stage was set. All that remained to change the balance of this incredulous experience was for something pagan-like to happen. Sure enough, it did. It came in the form of darkening skies and very hard rain!
The theme of the Pope’s address was youth. He sermonized we in society should go to extraordinary lengths to nurture Jesus to youth, to make young people the best that they can become, that no youth should be left behind in the name of Jesus.
Given what was to come in future, regarding the enormous pedophilia scandal within the church, perhaps the Pope should have chosen a different topic. Helping poor people perhaps? Old folk maybe? Care for humanity in general? Anyway, it was what it was — everybody absorbed the message, the media reported accordingly.
As Pope John Paul continued his afternoon sermon, the skies grew darker and darker. Eventually, sprinkles began. Soon, a deep storm enveloped the entire city and everyone who showed up wearing their Sunday best got laced with a royal soaking. Many of the better-dressed people suffered identity loss as the hard rain pelted everyone into oblivion. Multiple umbrellas opened at once, some folks got poked in the eye, others had close calls.
The rain didn’t bother us. We were at the top of the hill, somewhat protected being under the trees.
Due to the large crowd we made a point to stay close together. We didn’t mind the rain. After all, we were on acid. We were immune to it. We became one with the storm as we adsorbed into the experience of observing everyone else. How, at the key moment of the delivery of the Eucharist everybody lost their identity as they anxiously pressed forward against each other, slow and subtle nudges towards a priest with a chalice. This became a feature to our acid trip as we remarked how pagan everyone unwittingly seemed to have become from the whole experience.
Finally, the rush was everywhere upon the Eucharist as the army of white-robed priests grew even greater, pressing deeply into the mob of people — half carried and gave out wafers; half offered something wine-like. As this happened, the skies opened greater and harder rains came thrashing down. Everyone wanted the Holy Sacrament. It became madness as both the priests and now mob-like crowd pressed flesh together — all in the name of Jesus.
So there I was, one raised as a high Episcopalian, standing in the middle of a field full of devout Catholics and experiencing what for many was the ultimate religious experience. This, while tripping on acid. I was still a member of The Brothers of The Common Life, an alternative independent Religious Order where we vowed into poverty and gave away all of our money at the end of each year. As pacifists, we paid no war taxes — but that’s a whole ‘nother story!
Anyway, the Eucharist delivery happened quickly and under very harsh conditions. There couldn’t possibly have been enough to go around for everyone present. Moreover, the priests were clearly functioning under duress. Indeed. On that rainy day in the autumn of 1979, when Pope John Paul II came to Boston, not everyone was as lucky as Morton and his Norwegian family.
Ironically, only a few of us knew this. We were the ones tripping on acid. We held knowledge about how the Wheel of Karma and the Hands of Time played out on that fateful day: How some were privileged, were blessed enough, to get served the Holy Communion by hands from the Pope; this while others were unlucky and received nothing at all.
But I don’t blame the Pope, perhaps his political operatives. I believe the Pope, and the priests, did everything they could that day … and much, much more! He stayed till the end and bid everyone a warm farewell. I’m sure he sought sanctuary in the warmth of a dry church somewhere close to the Commons. On balance, I’m convinced he did a great job and proved that he loved not only his supplicants, but people everywhere.
Given the weather, the crowd rapidly dispersed. Lots of folks left the Boston Commons that day not only with a soaking, but deeply disappointed they couldn’t partake in a most special and rare Holy Sacrament, one delivered via the hands of the Pope. Still, everyone present had to have felt exhilarated by the whole experience. I know I did and my friends as well.
While the Pope sought sanctuary, we retired to my apartment where we spent the rest of the evening listening to Hawkwind, Lothar & The Hand People, UK Squeeze, Led Zeppelin and Jethro Tull’s Aqualung! We debated much of the day. When all was said and done and we eventually regrouped with Morton from Norway only to discover he had a completely different experience than we did.
We concluded with the question: Why go out there in order to make tomorrow become so?
PS: It turned out that was my last acid trip. It sure was a humdinger!
