Sunday, March 2, 2014


So as many of you know, Fr. Pf., recently of St. Sebastian, has become pastor of St. Paul in Akron.  A couple of weeks ago a classmate of mine and I went to the St. Paul rectory to help Fr. Pf move things around a bit. 
St. Paul rectory is a nice sized rectory.  It is three stories plus a nice basement.  Three of the four levels (as you can see below) are serviced by an elevator. 
The dining room chairs are on the third floor and the dining room table is on the first (in the dining room.)  Our job was to reunite the two.
"Elevator", in my estimation, is a kind word for this contraption.  It is retro fitted into the rectory.  Apparently it was added a good while back for one of the residents who needed it.  The clever chaps who added it took out closets on three of the four levels of the house and put in a BOX on a STRING that went between floors.  This is my impression of this contraption:
So we go about the process of bringing the heavy wooden chairs from the third floor down to the second at which point they were put on the Box on a String and shipped down to the first floor.  The Box on a String is SO SMALL that only two chair at a time could fit on it.
So, as these things go, the last two chairs are on the Box on a String when it gets caught between floors.  Looking down I can see that the door is caught on a wire.  I send the other two guys on while I valiantly seek to fix the thing.  So I crawl in and cram myself into the Box on a String.
The thing really in only big enough for one person - not one person and two chairs.  So once on board I can barely move.  But despite that, the wire is unhooked from the door and I climb back up to the second floor where Sebastian (my dog) is barking wildly.
Now the trip down to the first floor is made, the button pressed, and I am SO PROUD of myself for having fixed the Box on a String.  It arrives, I open up the door, step in to take the chairs out and . . .
The string on the Box on a String (or some such thing) decided to quit its job and the whole kit and caboodle goes crashing into the basement.

If you were standing in the vacant area that one second ago was the Box on a String, this is what you would see looking out at me.
For your edification, here is a side view.



Sarah said...

Nice that you can make light of this. I have offered many thanks to God that you were spared any injury and that the contraption failed rather spectacularly, so that no one is tempted to let it limp along to endanger someone on a later date.

Matt W said...

Thusly is why God has given parish priests the Knights of Columbus.

Do you think Fr. Pf. will start an orchid collection on the third floor?

Angela said...

So glad no one was injured! My father is paraplegic after an accident involving a "box on a string."

lgreen515 said...

So glad you are OK!

Fr. V said...

Matt - Ha! I wonder how many people will get that.

Thanks everyone. There's more to the story. It didn't really hit me until later how serious the event could have been. Kept me up a little that night - and just as I was able to almost fall asleep there was a great crashing noise in my room that made me stay awake for another hour. I have a shelf in my shower held up by suction cups that holds soup etc . . . THAT NIGHT is the night it decided to let go and crash!

Anonymous said...

I pray for your safety everyday, Fr. V.! I think God knows how much we at St. Sebastian would be in trouble without you! Thanks be to God!

Cathy said...

WHEW!!! Thank You, dear Jesus. Thank you, angels! (As a priest, you probably have several angels or more.) I am so very happy that you were not injured, Fr. V. God bless you. You are always in my prayers.

Cyndy Cook said...

So I was genuinely wondering why you would have a shelf in your shower dedicated to soup when it occurred to me that you probably meant "soap." Either way, glad you didn't get smooshed! :D

Anonymous said...

The cartoons of you recovering from the shock are great, and I really like the idea of soup in the shower, but it's very good news that you are uninjured.

(When is the downy feathered curate going to get his pastor's beard in the cartoons?)