July 17: Pile of Dough, Cadillac, Oil Change

...Anyway, he gave Pencey a pile of dough, and they named our wing after him.  The first football game of the year, he came up to school in this big goddam Cadillac, and we all had to stand up in the grandstand and give him a locomotive--that's a cheer....

Holden is talking about a man named Ossenburger who donated a great deal of money to Holden's current school, Pencey.  Holden doesn't like Ossenburger, thinks he's a "big phony bastard."  But Ossenburger's a rich phony bastard who drives a Cadillac.  The world pays attention to people like him, because things like money and cars are status symbols for most cultures.

Me, I drive a 2006 Ford Freestyle that just cracked 100,000 miles.  It's a good car with plenty of space.  I've owned it for around four or so years.  It has now reached a point in its life that, every time I bring it in for an oil change at the dealership, some major problem gets discovered.  Last time, I needed a brake job to the tune of over 400-plus bucks.  I'm not Ossenburger.  I can't afford to drive a brand new Cadillac, and I don't have a pile of dough.

I'm dropping my Freestyle off at the dealership tomorrow morning for an oil change.  I'm already dreading the phone call from the mechanic that starts like this:  "Well, I've got some bad news."  I can't afford any bad news right now.  I simply want an oil change.  Period.

That's my biggest worry this Wednesday--an expensive auto problem.  I've already put off one repair until the fall.  I really don't want to go double or nothing.  Until I get the mechanic's phone call telling me I'm free and clear, I'm going to be holding my breath and saying a lot of prayers.

Eventually, Saint Marty is either going to turn blue and pass out or heave a very big sigh of relief.

This guy could ruin my day tomorrow

May 1: Ossenburger, Pot of Dough, Car Repairs

When I lived at Pencey, I lived in the Ossenburger Memorial Wing of the new dorms.  It was only for juniors and seniors.  I was a junior.  My roommate was a senior.  It was named after this guy Ossenburger that went to Pencey.  He made a pot of dough in the undertaking business after he got out of Pencey.  What he did, he started these undertaking parlors all over the country that you could get members of your family buried for about five bucks apiece.  You should see old Ossenburger.  He probably just shoves them in a sack and dumps them in the river.  Anyway, he gave Pencey a pile of dough, and they named our wing after him...

It's no big surprise that Holden thinks Ossenburger is a rich phony bastard.  That term can be applied to practically every adult Holden knows.  Ossenburger's brand of phony has to do with his money, his car, his religious convictions, and his memorial wing.  While Holden comes from a privileged background, he finds wealthy people (like Ossenburger)  inauthentic.  Morally and spiritually bankrupt.

You're probably wondering what I'm going to say about inauthentic, privileged, spiritually bankrupt wealthy people.  Well, I dropped my Ford Freestyle off at the dealership this morning for an oil change, tire rotation, and checkup.  About mid-morning, I received a phone call from "Jeff."  Jeff told me I needed my brake pads and rotors replaced on the rear wheels.  My reaction was pretty simple:  "You have got to be shitting me."  No, Jeff said, unfortunately he wasn't kidding.

I'm going downstate this weekend for my daughter's dance competition.  It's going to be about an 800-mile round trip.  I don't want my brake pads or rotors to fail half-way across the Mackinac Bridge, plunging me over the railing into Lake Michigan.  Therefore, I'm going to end up paying about $400 more than I budgeted for this little visit to the dealership.

What does this have to do with Ossenburger?  Right now, I wish I was Ossenburger.  I want to be an inauthentic, phony bastard.  That's what I wish.  However, I'm not.  I will go to the dealership tonight and pay for my repairs.  I told Jeff, when he phoned, that, for the amount of money I'm going to shell out, he should put some chocolate on the driver's seat, fill up my gas tank, and be prepared to do a pole dance for me.  He laughed.  He thought I was joking.  I wasn't.

The summer of Saint Marty's money worries has begun, and it's only the first day of May.

Brakes AND rotors?

January 8: Ossenburger, Our Buddy, Saint Fillan

...Then, the next morning, in chapel, [Ossenburger] made a speech that lasted about ten hours.  He started off with about fifty corny jokes, just to show us what a regular guy he was.  Very big deal.  Then he started telling us how he was never ashamed, when he was in some kind of trouble or something, to get right down on his knees and pray to God.  He told us we should always pray to God--talk to Him and all--wherever we were.  He told us we ought to think of Jesus as our buddy and all.  He said he talked to Jesus all the time.  Even when he was driving his car.  That killed me.  I can just see the big phony bastard shifting into first gear and asking Jesus to send him a few more stiffs...

Holden does not have a high opinion of this Mr. Ossenburger.  Ossenburger is a graduate of the school Holden is currently being expelled from.  Ossenburger is rich.  He's donated tons of money to the school.  Ossenburger is an undertaker, hence Holden's joke about Jesus sending him "a few more stiffs."  Holden thinks Ossenburger is a phony, but Holden pretty much thinks every adult he knows is a phony.  He may be correct about Ossenburger, who strikes me as a little bit of a fool.  The kind of guy who thinks any problems a person may have are the direct result of a lack of faith, a lack of thinking of Jesus as "our buddy."

I can't stand people like Ossenburger.  If my daughter develops biploar when she enters her teenage years, I don't want an Ossenburger to tell me that I didn't get down on my knees enough,  that I didn't pray to God enough.  My daughter is sick.  I don't want to hear about my lack of faith, my inability to see Jesus as my friend.  Bad things happen, whether Jesus is camped out at your house or not.  Bad things happen to Holden.  Bad things happen to me.  Bad things happened to Jesus.

Don't misunderstand me.  I believe that prayer is a powerful force, and I believe that Jesus is a constant presence for good in my life.  The universe is too structured a place to think everything that occurs is random.  I don't buy that chaos theory line of thought.  What I'm trying to say is that bad things do and will happen to the best people, whether they are card-carrying members of the Jesus fan club or not.

Mr. Ossenburger has it at least partly right, I think.  Prayer is important.  Jesus is our ally.  But, Jesus doesn't make you a rich, successful undertaker.  Jesus doesn't shield you from the Kryptonite life throws at you.  Jesus isn't your lucky charm.

Saint Fillan, the patron saint for January 9, had Jesus as a buddy, but Fillan had his share of problems, I'm sure.  He lived most of his life as a monk and hermit.  Just the haircut was an affliction, not to mention the whole eremitical lifestyle of deprivation and poverty.  Fillan embraced the hardships of the world and, through his relationship with Christ, was able to overcome them, transform them into things holy and sacred.

For Holden, mental illness is an issue.  He's severely depressed, on his way to a mental breakdown.  Mental illness has been a part of my life for a very long time, as well.  One of the traditions surrounding the cult of Saint Fillan deals with mental illness, as told in my copy of Illustrated Lives of the Saints:

Those afflicted with mental illness were dipped in the pool of Strathfillan, then tied up and kept overnight in a corner of the ruins of the Saint's chapel.  Those who were found loose in the morning were regarded as cured.

Fillan was renowned for the miracles of healing he worked during his lifetime.  Many of those miracles must have centered on mental illness for the above practice to have survived into the early nineteenth century.  Fillan must have helped the mentally ill during his lifetime, and he did it through prayer and the help of Christ.

I don't mean to sound all evangelical in this post.  I will not be dragging out the rattlesnakes and poison later tonight for a tent revival.  What I'm saying is that there are phony bastards like Ossenburger out there who wear their Christianity like blazers at an exclusive country club.  And then there are saints out there like Fillan who put their Christianity into practice, bringing compassion and healing into the world.

Saint Marty doesn't want to be a phony bastard.

Saint Fillan's cave