This time of year always reminds me of Mr. Priestly from the old neighborhood where I grew up and lived until I went to high school.  Christmas, the church, and the Priestly’s.

The Priestly’s were an older couple who had three grown kids who had moved out but still visited quite often.  They lived about three houses down from us so I had known them all of my young life.  We liked them and they seemed to like us though my dad would sometimes make fun of Mr. Priestly and the fact that he always kept his summer lawn in tip-top, manicured shape.  Ours wasn’t quite so nice looking given all the neighborhood kids we always had playing on it.  It seemed a happy lawn though while the one down at the Priestly’s sometimes seemed a bit sad and lonely to me.  It is hard to determine such things when it comes to grass though.

Mr. and Mrs. Priestly were religious church-goers, attending every Sunday and, after he retired, attending every morning of the week as well.  Mrs. Priestly had gotten a job after the last kid left so she only attended on Sundays and all necessary holy days, the days of obligation I think they used to call them.  They both attended Tuesday night novenas- I know, because I used to go with my mom before she died.  I think she was hoping for a last minute divine intervention that never came because she did die when I was in the sixth grade.

The Priestly’s also did a lot of work at the church- he being an usher and her helping with the choir and in the rectory on weekends.  After my mom died we still went to church but my dad did not.  I think he was mad about unanswered prayers or something like that.

Not long after my mom died the neighborhood began to change.  A few black families had moved in a mile or so to our north and it seemed to be a major topic of conversation among the neighbors, on the street, as well as outside the church, after mass.  I hardly took much notice as I was spending too much time being a kid and trying to make sure my dad never knew the full extent of some of my youthful activities.  I was just a bit wild but managed to steer clear of officially significant trouble.

The message in church was loud and clear- we were all to love and respect our brother man (and woman) no matter his or her color.  They never mentioned religion or any other distinguishing identifier.  Just color.

I remember hearing Mr. Priestly preaching a similar thing many times on the street outside of his house as the neighbors would gather to talk on a summer’s eve.  He seemed pretty solidly opinionated that we should all “hold our ground” and “not sell just because of the Negroes moving in.”  Somehow it didn’t seem to sound much like brotherly love- more like brotherly exclusion or avoidance.  Still, I was young.  What could I possibly have known?

The fall after my mom died we were away for the weekend.  Funny, though we hardly ever went away for the weekend, we did that weekend and I’ll be darned if I can remember where we went.  When we came back we saw the For Sale sign up on the beautiful front lawn at the Priestly’s and not a sign of anyone around.  We heard that Sunday night from the Ablesons that the Priestly’s had moved out late that Saturday night without as much as a word to anyone.  The Ablesons had been away that day and arrived back home near midnight, just in time to see the large, unmarked moving truck pull away.  There was no sign of the Priestly’s then either so they must have left before the truck.  No other neighbors had seen either Mr. or Mrs. Priestly since Friday afternoon and they had not been in church on Sunday either.  They were just simply gone.  We didn’t find out until weeks later that they had moved to a far south suburb, into a small home that someone said they had purchased earlier in the year.  Imagine that.

Well the church and some good neighbors continued to preach the good word and suggested we all stay put and welcome the growing number of our new neighbors.  But the Priestly move seemed to light a spark under a lot of folks and within a year and a half we were pretty much the last white family left on our entire block.  Me and my sisters were getting harassed more and more as time passed so my dad finally decided it was best and safest for us if we moved as well.  It was the end of the summer just before I started high school. 

We took a huge loss on our house (guess my dad wasn’t the best financial head) and I said goodbye to the few friends I still had a few miles to the south.  They were starting to move as well.  All fleeing south along with the Priestly’s I guess.

We moved a bit north and further west.  We moved in with my grandmother.  I thought about the Priestly’s just a few times after that and wondered what they were preaching in their new neighborhood. 

The last time I ever gave much thought to the Priestly’s I wasn’t sure what Mr. Priestly was saying to his new neighbors but I was pretty darn sure that he and his wife were heavily involved with their new church, wherever that might have been.