Olivia Maciel is a poet who was born in Mexico City, but has lived in Chicago a long time. She has written several collections of poetry over the years. She writes poetry in Spanish, but her books include an English translation on the facing page. I recently read two of her collections: Sombra en plata [Shadow in Silver], Chicago, Swan Isle Press, 2005, and Luna de cal [Limestone Moon], Chicago, Black Swan Press, 2000. All her books are available for purchase on Amazon.com.
I first met Olivia in one of my graduate classes at UIC. We took several classes together while earning our master’s degrees. She graduated from the University of Chicago with a Ph.D. When Octavio Paz died, she published an article about her reactions to his death that appeared in the Chicago Tribune. We occasionally bump into each other at UIC because we are both Spanish lecturers there. I really enjoy talking to her because she’s so creative. Sometimes, she begins writing poems as we speak. She says that I inspire her when we talk. I asked her if she would hire me as her muse.
I attended Divine Heart Seminary in Donaldson, Indiana, despite my protests. It all started when I was in the seventh grade at Holy Cross School. Two seminaries, Divine Heart Seminary and Divine Word Seminary, sent priests to talk to the boys about vocations. When I was thirteen, I thought I might be interested in becoming a priest. After all, I attended mass almost everyday. My father and all his brothers attended a seminary in Montezuma, New Mexico. My aunt was a nun, and two of my uncles were priests. But I had my doubts about the priesthood because I would have to take vows of obedience, poverty, and celibacy. Celibacy? Now wait a minute. The vow of celibacy was my main stumbling block. I knew that someday I would like to have children. Anyway, I gave both priests my name because I said I might be interested in the priesthood. Then, I forgot all about their visit.
In the eighth grade, Divine Heart Seminary called me to see if I wanted to visit their campus. They would come to my house to pick me up and drive me all the way to Donaldson, Indiana. How could I say no? Before I went to visit DHS, I truly wondered if I wanted to become a priest. I was an altar boy then and a very devout Catholic, but I did have my mischievous side. Overall, I considered myself a good person.
At the Divine Heart, I saw how the seminarians lived. I spent one weekend there and got a taste of seminary life. I slept in the dorm where I would sleep as a freshman and I got a tour of the campus with the “big brother” that I was assigned. I got to see how real seminarians lived! Well, I was disillusioned by the seminary life. I didn’t think that potential future priests should behave like these seminarians.
At Holy Cross, I was taught that just about everything was a sin: swearing, smoking, playing pool, etc. Well, I was shocked to hear the boys swearing when their were no priests or brothers present! And they were going to be priests? Then, my big brother showed me the smoking lounge. These boys were allowed to smoke? I thought smoking was a sin. But my biggest shock of all was that they had pools tables! Not one or two pool tables, but many pool tables. In fact, there were several rooms that were exclusively reserved for playing pool. At that moment, I decided that future priests should not behave like these seminarians. I absolutely knew that I would not attend this seminary because they lived sinful lives.
Later, when I had forgotten all about my visit to Divine Heart Seminary, Sister Cecilia, the principal, called me outside of the classroom to talk to me. I thought I was in trouble for something I did. She told me that DHS called and wanted to know if I was still interested in attending their seminary. I immediately told her, “No.” She said, “You’re just too shy to admit it.” We went back into the classroom, I sat down, and she addressed the class, “Well, boys and girls, you are all very fortunate! David has received a vocation. He will become a priest someday! Next year, David will be attending Divine Heart Seminary in Indiana.”
Well, that little announcement truly changed my life forever. I sure didn’t want to attend any seminary, let alone Divine Heart Seminary. Soon, my classmates started calling me Father David. In the neighborhood, the kids would see me coming and mutter under their breath, “Watch what you say. Here comes the priest.” The girl I really liked in the class lost all interest in me. The next morning when I served mass as an altar boy, Father Gilbert congratulated me on my vocation. I told him that I didn’t want to become a priest, but he didn’t believe me and said that I was just being modest.
I told my father about what had happened to me with the seminary. That’s when I learned he, too, had attended a seminary for many years. He was actually proud of the fact that I would also attend a seminary. When my mother found out about my “vocation,” she told me that she was so proud of me. No one would listen to me! I didn’t want to attend Divine Heart Seminary. I had narrowed down my choices for high school to Leo High School or De La Salle High School. Try as I might not to attend DHS, I was forced to attend DHS. Before I even started school there, I had already made up my mind that I would never become a priest. Yet everyone was so proud of me and the fact that I would attend Divine Heart Seminary!
My oldest son went to daycare at Cordi Marian, 1100 S. May Street in Little Italy for three years. They accepted all children provided they were potty trained. My son was hardly qualified, but they accepted him anyway. These three years were quite a learning experience for me because of series of unbelievable coincidences, the kind you couldn’t include in a novel or a movie. First of all, I learned that my aunt Concha also sent her son Peter there for daycare. Peter and David didn’t really know they were related because they had never met before. One day, I recognized my aunt Concha as she was leaving Cordi Marian with her son. Our sons soon became good friends and since Peter was a year older he kind of looked over my son to make sure he was fine.
Another surprise was that the nuns who taught at the school knew our family. In fact, the nuns were all from Mexico. So were all the lay teachers and teacher aids. All the parents liked the fact that the children were learning Spanish. Since most of the teachers spoke very little English, most of the children were speaking Spanish. One day, Sister Teresa, the principal, asked me how my father was. She knew my father by name. We talked a while and then she told me how she knew not only my father but also his brothers and sisters and their parents, my grandparents. Since my grandfather was a carpenter, he did some carpentry with his sons at Cordi Marian. Sister Teresa showed me some of the shelves and bookcases that they had made for the school. And three generations later, my son is using these cubby-hole shelves to store his backpack and blanket.
One day my father told me to me that his sister, Sor Ancilla, had come from her convent in Texas where she is Mother Superior. I go to Pilsen to pick up my father and I ask where we have to go to pick up my aunt. He asks me if I know how to get to 1100 S. May Street. Of course, I do! That’s were I take my son to daycare, I tell him. Well, I get there and sure enough, my aunt Sor Ancilla is staying at Cordi Marian for the weekend. What a coincidence! Or rather, what a series of coincidences that no one would believe if I wrote them into a novel.
I worked at Derby Foods, Inc., 3327 W. 47th Place, Chicago, IL 60632, for twelve years. I started working on the midnight shift two days before my eighteenth birthday, but Jessie who hired me told me to tell everyone I was eighteen so the factory wouldn’t get in trouble for violating federal child labor laws. The factory-made Peter Pan Peanut Butter and Derby Tamales. Occasionally, they put the generic “Giant” labels on the Peter Pan Peanut Butter jars that were shipped out east somewhere. Many people laughed when I told them I worked in a peanut butter factory. Now that I think back, it does sound kind of funny. Besides, how many people would admit to working in a peanut butter factory–I mean besides me. I worked there for twelve years in all, but not consecutively. I started on May 7, 1974, and worked continuously, not counting two layoffs, through May of 1978 when I went to Mexico on vacation for a month and didn’t come back to work on time from my vacation. I heard that I got fired, but I didn’t care. My mother was extremely upset because I had the dream job that she had always wanted. She couldn’t get it, so she did everything in her power for me to get it. When I returned from Mexico, I went to the unemployment office and filed a claim because I had heard that I was laid off again. Well, I started receiving unemployment insurance checks which led me to believe that I was laid off and not fired. I never actually talked directly to Jessie or anyone else from Derby Foods to find out what my actual job status was. On August 23, 1978, I enlisted into the United States Marine Corps, mainly because my unemployment benefits would soon end because I would be called back to work and I didn’t want to work at Derby Foods anymore. While I was in the Marines, my mother had talked to Jessie at Derby Foods about me getting my job back–the job I never even wanted in the first place! I soon received a letter from Derby Foods stating that I could have my job back when I was honorably discharged from the Marines. My mother called me up to congratulate me even before I received the letter, which I immediately threw away upon receiving it.
When I returned to Chicago in July of 1981 after being honorably discharged from the Marines, my mother wanted to know what I had done with the letter, so I could take it to Derby Foods and get my old job back. I told her that I couldn’t find it. I really didn’t want to work there anymore, but I didn’t want to go to college at that point in my life either. In September, my life savings from the Marine Corps had been spent in a mere two months. I didn’t have all that much money because I pretty much earned about minimum wage working for Uncle Sam. Well, I had found my own apartment near Marquette Park at 3006 W. 64th Street and I had to pay the rent somehow. My mother was upset that I wouldn’t live with her in her house, but she would go to my new apartment every day to clean, bring me used furniture, and unpack my things. I started working at Derby Foods again in September. As luck would have it, I didn’t lose any of my seniority or benefits while in the Marines because of federal laws. In fact, the fiscal year for the factory started on November 1, so I worked about three weeks and then I had to take a three-week vacation before the fiscal year ended or I would lose all that vacation time. I was kind of glad I went back to Derby Foods. Of course, before I took my vacation time, Jessie asked me if I was going to Mexico again. Everyone was worried that I wouldn’t return. I told them that I planned to stay home and read books for three whole weeks. This worried them even more because no one at Derby Foods ever read any books.
I met all kinds of people at Derby Foods, from different Chicago neighborhoods. When I first started working there, everyone treated me nicely because I was so young. They all told me to finish high school so I wouldn’t have to work there all my life like they did. It was very good advice, but I couldn’t work full-time and go to high school full-time. I told my mother that I wanted to graduate from high school, but I couldn’t study and go to work at the same time. I would get home at 7:30 a.m. from working the midnight shift and then I’d have to go to school. Most days I couldn’t stay awake in school. Eventually, I dropped out of school. But I did get my GED thanks to my first wife who was so embarrassed being married to a high school dropout. I’m glad she made me take the GED test or my life would have turned out so differently. Some of my co-workers at the factory told me they were disappointed that I didn’t graduate.
About 1982, I was laid off again for nine months. Everyone told me I should complain to Derby Foods because a certain Peter was still working and didn’t get laid off even though he had less seniority than me. Whoever made up the list of people to be laid off didn’t include my time in the Marines for my seniority, so it appeared that I had less time on the job than Peter. I actually didn’t mind being laid off for those nine months! I did a lot of reading and writing back then. My mother would call me up every day to tell me to call Derby Foods and tell them that I had more seniority than Peter. I told her that I liked being laid off. That I liked not working and getting paid for it. She just didn’t understand. I worked there until September of 1986 when the factory shifted its operations to Sylvester, Georgia, but didn’t take any employees with them. Like I would have moved to Georgia just to work for Derby Foods! Thus ended my illustrious career as a manual laborer at the peanut butter factory.
When I was little, I wasn’t sure how long I would live. I was a healthy boy, so I’m not sure why I always wondered about my longevity. Of course, being a Catholic, I was always reminded not to commit any mortal sins because if I died suddenly and unexpectedly, I would immediately go to hell.
And now that I think about it, I could die at any moment. I could some day walk out onto Halsted Street and get hit by a bus. I only say this because I was once almost hit by a bus on Halsted Street. In fact, it was just the other day. I was thinking about many things other than paying attention to crossing the street. I’m still not sure why I didn’t see the bus.
When my uncle Joseph “Pepe” Rodriguez died in Viet Nam, I was sure that I would never live to see twenty-one. I was sure I, too, would be drafted and die in Viet Nam. So I always considered all the years beyond twenty-one bonus years.
My mother died when she was fifty-one, and now that I’m fifty-one, eight months old, I have lived longer than her. I have always been an optimist and I realize I’m lucky to have lived to be this old. I actually like having gray hair, particularly because I have a full head of hair. I can still run six miles everyday, when I have time. I’m not rich, but I’m not starving either. Since I didn’t get drafted to go to Viet Nam, I’ve had all these bonus years that I haven’t always used very wisely. However, I realize that I’m lucky to be alive! The way I see it now, all the years that I live beyond fifty-one will be bonus “bonus years.”
There was a time when I wanted to live to be a hundred, mainly because 100 is a nice big round number. Now, I’d rather continue living the happy life that I now have without thinking about how much time I have left. I am ever the optimist!
Chicago USA 