The day Merlene kicked me out of her office

By Duane Heitz of Hutchinson

I was walking to check to see if the mailman had come yet when Merlene, the manager of the senior apartment where I was living, called me into her office to tell me something interesting. That’s when I had to tell her a little story myself.

I was in a seminary in Illinois in the early 1950s at the time when the Catholic church still had minor seminaries, a high school, and a junior college. One of the priests was visiting with several of us high school kids and he had some pretty good stories, only one of which I still remember.

A jolly Irish bishop went to a parish on the far ends of his large diocese back in the early 1900s for confirmation and he had to spend the previous night in the rectory of a rather dour priest. The Irish bishop couldn’t resist needling the older priest who didn’t take too kindly to the needling.

The next day, after the confirmation, the priest asked the bishop if he could say a few words to the recent confirmands and the bishop replied that he could see no harm in it, after all, the kids had just been confirmed.

The priest began by telling the kids that even though they had been confirmed and were now soldiers of Christ, they could still sin. He then said that their parents had also been confirmed, but could commit serious sin and suffer eternal damnation. And he followed that with “even the bishop can go to hell.”

After I finished the story, Merlene, who was an ordained minister, said that she had a meeting that evening with the parish council and she was going to tell that story.

The next day as I was heading to my mailbox, Merlene called me into her office again.

“Duane,” she said, “I told that story last night at the parish council meeting and it went over like a lead balloon.” 

I commiserated with her, and then I told her another story.

A group of about eight retired teachers would get together every Wednesday for breakfast in the backroom of the local restaurant. These jolly men liked to tell lots of stories, but they had a tendency to repeat many of the stories.

One of the men, a math teacher who liked to keep records about anything he could think of, decided to compose and number the stories. So instead of wasting a lot of time telling an old story, the men would just have to call out a number, which was followed by either laughter or, many times, groans.

One of the teachers brought a friend of his to the breakfast one morning. While they were eating, one of the men rose and said, “27.” After a brief pause, the rest of the men let out a loud roar that could be heard in the main part of the restaurant. A little later another man got up and called “56,” but this was followed by a loud groan. This went on with a couple more “stories” until the friend asked his teacher friend what was going on.

After a brief explanation, the visitor asked if he could “tell” a story, so his buddy gave him the “story booklet.” After paging through the booklet, he got up and said in a clear voice, “17,” but it was followed by dead silence. A bit perplexed, he sat down but he was no quitter. After looking through the booklet again, he found one he knew would bring the house down. He almost shouted “53,” but again there was dead silence. Now he was really downcast. After he sat down, he asked his friend what went wrong. His friend replied, “It was all in the delivery.”

And that’s when Merlene said, “Duane, out! Out!” and pointed to the door. But she had the biggest grin I ever saw.