E.K. 1929
My last day
job prior to retirement was as the Safe Environment Coordinator for the Diocese
of Green Bay. My office was in the
Chancery building. The timing of my
retirement was seasonally driven. I
decided the previous January that I was not going to miss one more October. October, or more precisely, that golden two
or three weeks of October, when the mornings are clear and crisp with a touch
of frost, but the afternoons are golden and warm in splashes of sunlight
playing with the leaves – yellow, red, orange shimmering in the light breeze,
are my favorite weeks of the year. And
each year as I push deeper into my 60’s they seem to be over quicker and
quicker. I had a deep spiritual desire
to be out in each and every minute of them for as many times around as I still have
left.
I had been
busy documenting processes and getting as many big projects finished off as
possible so the next ones in line could keep the ball moving forward. It led me into contemplating the concept of
legacy. Legacy, as defined as, the lasting
impact of one’s existence on others.
That has also got me thinking about E.K. 1929 more often.
The Green
Bay Diocesan offices are comprised of a campus of four buildings. Many people are not be aware, but the site
used to be an orphanage. That is why
some of the ceramic tiles on the walls are still decorated here and there with
caricatures of boys and girls and toys and animals. I have heard that some folks while working
late after dark claim to have heard the echoes of children running the
halls. I have only encountered E.K.
1929.
I suppose to
make it easier on the children to move from building to building during the
season of winter snows in the old days, there are some underground tunnels that
connect some of the buildings. The door
at the end of the hall on my floor in the Chancery led into a tunnel that
connects it to Melania Hall. I knew
about the tunnel for a couple of years, but I had no interest in going in it
until I started counting steps. The
Diocese, like many employers these days, offered an insurance incentive for
those who are more active. One way of
demonstrating your activity is to wear a device that counts your steps each
day. My device sets two daily goals: to
walk at least 10,000 steps in total, and to walk at least 250 steps for each of
the nine hours of the work day. I
discovered a couple of winters ago that it is about 280 steps from my office, through
the tunnel to the door leading into Melania and back again. It was handy when it was cold and snowy and
slippery outside to walk the tunnel each hour rather than brave the parking lot.
It was on
one of my first walks in the tunnel that I encountered E.K. 1929. The initials and the date are chiseled into
one on the concrete blocks that make up the wall. They are about four feet off of the
ground. Their height, and the fact that
it would have taken some strength and real or makeshift tools to chisel the
date, suggest that they were carved by someone who was at least a
teenager. I suspect E.K. was a boy. Maybe it’s sexist, but it just sounds like
something a teenage boy would do.
So, who was
E.K. and what was his life story as it played out nearly 100 years ago in
1929? He obviously wanted to make his
mark – literally – that he was here. He
was a real person. He mattered. He had hopes and dreams and fears. How many of them were realized?
I asked
Olivia who worked in Archives if we had records that would perhaps put a face
on E.K. She thinks it’s possible. I haven’t had the opportunity to explore
those records yet. There are limited
name possibilities with the letter “e”, so it may be more likely to pin the
initials down. I’ve told several others
who work at the Curia and pointed out his mark.
I’m a little surprised that I seemed to be the only one there at that
time who had even noticed them, as everyone I have shown them to were surprised. Maybe a retirement project may be to find out
more about E.K. and what legacy he left in life. So far I settled for praying an “Ave” for him
each day as I passed by E.K. 1929.
Perhaps that is legacy enough – that someone noticed you were here; that
someone remembers; that someone prays for you.
His Peace,
Deacon Dan
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