My name is Jim Connor. You've probably figured that out by now, but let me tell you some more stuff. I was born in Washington DC in 1951, back when Howdy Doody was king of kids' TV, and four years before Walt Disney opened his first theme park in Anaheim. We all looked forward to the future back then, a "great big beautiful tomorrow" that American technical knowhow was straining to inaugurate. I fully expected that by the time I was thirty I would (at least) have a jet pack and a flying car, and (at best) be able to teleport up to my starship for a quick jaunt to Alpha Centauri. I'm still waiting.
My Dad was a physicist turned engineer, which I thought was strange, because being a Scientist was The Cool Thing To Be. I asked him once why he chose that poor stepchild engineering over Science. I wanted to find out if he did it to make the world a better place, but he said no, nothing he could do would make it better, so I asked him if he wanted to go into space, but he said no, there wasn't anything out there, so then I asked him if he wanted to make the world safe for democracy, and he said no once more, that Democracy would just have to learn to survive like everybody else. "So why?" I asked him. "Because I like things with little lights that go off and on, and little things that go round and round."
That I could understand.
I grew up in the San Fernando Valley, north of Los Angeles, CA., which we called "The Valley," as if it was the only valley in the world. When I was a boy, on the first Friday of each month, we practiced safety measures in case of a nuclear attack. Sister Mary Francis came into our classroom and said "drop", and we climbed under our desks, tucked our heads under our arms, and actually believed that this would save us from an atomic bomb. Well, we were kids.
On saturdays, my Dad took my brothers and me out to watch the X-15 land at the dry lake bed in Palmdale. It was cool.
You may ask: "Why didn't your sisters go?" Good question, and the only answer I can give you is that it was 1962 and feminism hadn't been born yet.
In fact, I had two sisters and three brothers, and because I was sandwiched between the girls, I was caught in the crossfire, with the still innocent Three Little Boys holding up the rear. Few people understand the joys and the sorrows of growing up in a big family these days. Our house was a bus station, where people announced that they were off, and announced that they were back, where the food often came in little plastic wrappers, and where we all sat about for long stretches, waiting for something to happen.
After some observation, I have concluded that there are two kinds of families in this world. Some people come from non-opera families, where everyone goes off to his or her room and seethe all day long, and some come from opera families, where battles are fought in the open, lathered thickly with histrionics. We were definitely opera, singing out "how could you do that to me?" like Madam Butterfly singing "Un Bel Di." It's safe to say that we never had an unexpressed feeling.
I spent 20 years working as a Catholic priest, first as a diocesan priest in British Columbia, visiting little towns and flying airplanes into Indian Reservations, and then as a Jesuit priest, teaching in Universities. I never quite fit in, though. People used to say to me "I never would have taken you for a priest." In fact, the day before I was ordained, I sat in my room and drank Irish whiskey until I fell asleep, I was so depressed. That should have been a clue, I think. Twenty years later (I am nothing if not stubborn), I finally left with the blessing of the Pope and married the woman who had become my best friend, and is still my best friend after twelve years of marriage. People still ask me, "why did you stay so long?" I tell them that once I make a commitment, even a stupid one, I stick by it until it drives me into the ground. I never said I was particularly bright.
Now, Beth and I live in the Pocono Mountains, in PA, and we raise Border Collies and one cat named Hickory, aka The Empress of the Known Universe.
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