Everything in this column is true.
On July 12, I went to church early before the 4:00 p.m. Mass. I wanted to spend some time in meditation. As one approaches eighty-five years with plenty of sin and wrong-doing behind him, there is an increasing need for some very profound meditation.
I have heard it said that a truly accomplished and totally spiritual person can sit on a bench in New York’s Times Square at the height of the New Year’s Eve celebration, and meditate as though he were in a quiet, sunlit meadow. I do better in the near-silent beauty of St. Peter’s Cathedral.
The music and singing began, announcing the entrance of the priest who would say Mass. Before they reached my side, I had a clear picture of the procession, still behind me on the left: servers, deacon, priest. The priest was Monsignor Louis Cappo.
This was not a fuzzy vision. The mind’s picture was clear and bright, just as I had seen him many times before, walking slowly, white-haired head high, ancient back straight, holding his Missal, but also looking to see who was at Mass, noting for future reference one’s attendance or absence.
I know, of course, he died on December 10, seven months previously, just six days shy of his 88th birthday. But there he was, walking down the approach to the altar. Did this picture last a micro-second, a millisecond, a whole second, a minute or two? I don’t know.
I do know I do not drink alcohol, take drugs or starve myself to bring on hallucinations. Whatever caused the sight is unknown. When the procession passed just to my left, Monsignor Cappo had disappeared.
I thought it was strange and a bit crazy. I vowed to put it out of my mind, planning never to mention it to anyone lest they think I was daffy. But, at announcement time, when the congregation seeks God’s help for special requests, it was announced that this Mass was “being said for Father Cappo.”
It was perfectly clear then that the old guy had returned for just one more Mass in his beloved Cathedral.
As I am on the subject of Monsignor Cappo, perhaps it is a good idea to recall several meetings we had.
If you paid close attention to the above piece, you will have noted that I wrote “St. Peter’s Cathedral,” with the old possessive in full view. One time some years ago, Monsignor Cappo and I had a breakfast to discuss something or other; I can no longer recall the topic.
But I had been bothered before, am still bothered today, over the dropping of the possessive apostrophe in the names for our churches—St. Peter Cathedral, St. Michael Church, and so forth.
So, when our main topic was finished, I asked him, “What idiot was responsible for this mutilation of classical custom?”
He replied: “I am.”
I can’t remember my exact response, but whatever it was it is best left out of this story.
But as is my fashion all too often, I was determined to continue. I suggested it might be a good idea if I wrote a letter to Pope John Paul subtly suggesting that since in the great wisdom of Marquette, you had decided to drop the possessive, might it not be an equally fine idea for the Vatican to drop the old-fashioned St. Peter’s Basilica and just call it St. Peter Basilica? And how about all the other churches in Rome? 
Fr. Cappo’s reply: “Well, I suppose you could.” He was not a Jesuit, but that is a real Jesuit reply. There is no response.
I approached Monsignor Cappo in the conference room at the rectory several years ago, and I was steaming under my collar, just a bit. I had been tracking gasoline prices in Marquette, and in other areas of the Upper Peninsula.
At that time, prices in Marquette sometimes were more than twenty cents a gallon higher. Week after week, Marquette motorists were paying more than surrounding areas.
I had heard, unofficially, that Marquette prices were so much higher because oil distributors used the wealth and inertia of Marquette to make up the profit they “lost” from those stations near a Wal-Mart (Iron Mountain) and near a casino, where gas prices tended to be lower.
I had never thought of motorists in Marquette as being especially rich nor that did we had a duty to make up “lost profit” for gasoline distributors.
The reason I went to Father Cappo is because he was the president of the Lake Superior Community Partnership (in reality, the chamber of commerce) at that time, not because he was a priest.
I had believed up to that time that the group’s mission was to enhance the commercial climate here so that other businesses might set up shop in Marquette County. Foolish me.
So, I asked him if his group would try to do something about this “robbery” being performed by the gasoline distributors. “What should we do? We can’t order them to lower prices, you know.”
I told him I already knew that, but the chamber could advocate publicly for the consumers, those of us in the area who drive cars or trucks and pay more money for gasoline, to boost the “lost” profits of the distributors. I did not expect the chamber would be able to order the gas people to lower prices, but I did expect (as a somewhat reluctant member) they would at least try, at least let the gas people be told publicly our economic watchdog group was strongly opposed to such practices.
“That won’t bring down prices,” he said.
“That’s true, but it will let us, and God, know that the chamber is on our side,” I said.
He said he didn’t think it would work. Here he paused for a very long time. He had looked tired when he entered the room and I thought perhaps he was ill.
“Should I resign?” he asked in a very soft voice. 
“In no way is that my decision to make,” I said. “If you want my opinion, it is absolutely not. They might get worse.”
Since that time, I have come to believe he was sincere in his question. I think he would have wanted to do something about the gas prices.
But, we never talked about gasoline prices again.
On July 20, I went to service at Faith Lutheran Church in Calumet because its former long-time pastor and one of my very favorite speakers, Robert Langseth, was to speak on the fiftieth anniversary of his ordination.
And what a tale he told. He recounted some of the history of his time as the church’s leader and of how he and other Copper Country leaders worked and testified in Washington for the goal of getting the area designated as a national park. They were finally successful, with the help of Senator Carl Levin and Representative Bart Stupak.
Langseth is a man who can recount his successes and his failures and not sound haughty or so personally dismissive you know it is really self-congratulation in camouflage. This was a pastor who maintained one foot in spiritual matters and one foot in community matters.
As he spoke, I was reminded of Monsigor Cappo, who also occupied these spheres. After the service, I mentioned this similarity to him. He told me he and Monsignor Cappo were friends and that they had in fact worked together on church and community affairs when Monsigner Cappo was the pastor at St. Cecilia’s Parish in Hubbell from 1965 to 1968.
These were the first years of Langseth’s term in Calumet. It makes me wonder if the two of them had talked about goals for their communities.

On Monday, July 21, the local daily carried a story about Marquette’s top ranking as a place to live during these times of high gas prices. We achieved that standing mainly because commuting distances from homes to work sites are short, not because we have good gas prices.
On this day, the report noted, Marquette gas price average was $4.16; State of Michigan average was $4.09 and National average was $4.07. The chamber spokesperson noted how good this was for us because it will interest distant businesses in possibly moving here.
I suggest that the Lake Superior Community Partnership begin its recruiting letter something like this: 
Dear To Idi Inc.:
We think you might find it very good to move your business here. Once you sign up with us and pay your dues, we will never bother you again.
Furthermore, you will be pleased to note that our fuel prices are the highest in Michigan. Think about it—this is the only city in the whole State that can make this claim.
Citizens in this community are so rich that there is nary an organized movement to lower these prices. You, too, can bask in the knowledge of our riches. Contact us and we will help you become one of us.
Et cetera, yours in good faith,
—Don Curto

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