SAINTS PRESERVE US

His Holiness quotes His Bobness

Recently the United States Secretary of Defense, a man who changed his title on his business cards to “Secretary of War,” quoted “Bible” verse as recited by a hitman in Pulp Fiction to members of the US military. Reality is now a nebulous concept, having plunged into some heretofore unimaginable thirteenth circle of Hell far beyond the realm of satire. And I thought actual theocrats were bad dudes.

Meanwhile, his boss der Trumpenfuhrer took on Pope Leo XIV, a fellow American. President versus pontiff! A holy smackdown! A gilded cage match! The odious vulgarian’s Truth Social opening salvo was a pretty good one. The Bishop of Rome is “WEAK” on crime. Fair enough. Every venerated and long-established institution has proved incapable of policing itself. Paradoxically, the Roman Catholic Church, whose rock-solid central tenet is love and mercy, has historically been fanatical in its persecution of heretics. “Thoughtcrime” warranted numerous clauses in the First Papal Bull(shit). The last national leader to grapple with a pope was probably Britain’s King Henry VIII who demanded the Holy See expedite a niggling bit of post-nuptial paperwork.

A war of words or weapons demands an answering salvo. Globe and Mail headline, Friday, 17 April: “Pope denounces ‘tyrants’ and ‘masters of war’ during tour of Africa.” I thought, “My God, Leo’s quoting Bob. It can’t be.”

Dylan released “Masters of War” in 1963. It’s no coincidence that the Second Vatican Council sat from 1962 through 1965. Actually, it is and maybe I’m just messing around... wait for it... But seriously folks, Dylan mines the classics for source material, just as Shakespeare did. Only the future is unwritten and when it happens, chances are you’ll have read it all before. I’ve always assumed Dylan borrowed “masters of war” from an ancient primary text or some oft-quoted colloquialism. I became curious about the phrase’s origin.

My volume of The Oxford Dictionary of Quotations (third edition) was a gift from my father, Christmas 1982. His inscription reads in part, “Best wishes for 1983. Regards, Dad.” The Moores are not a particularly warm family. And yet, the care and attention devoted to the brief note is unmistakable. The block printing is precise enough to have been set in lead type. A steel rule was employed and a disposable ballpoint just wouldn’t do (I’ve since applied this same discipline to family records). I went through the book’s index with my drugstore readers angled on the tip of my nose. Nothing. My next reference source was his father’s volume of Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations (tenth edition). Still nothing. My last resort was a reluctant nod to modern times: I scrolled Wikipedia; further investigation uncovered text unworthy of even an inattentive scan.

Vatican II changed the tenor of Catholic ritual. Latin and formal choirs went out the stained-glass window. The “folk mass” was in ascension. My childhood parish was Annunciation of Our Lady. Father Moyle who baptized me, and whom I habitually lied to at Confession, was the top gun priest. The other man was Father Schnell (I’m guessing at his surname’s spelling – I’ve no idea), younger, hipper and given to pinstriped suits. He must’ve been the Svengali behind the parish folk group which was mostly comprised of high school seniors with acoustic guitars. I joined it – this was before my voice broke into its endearing and enduring cigarette croak. I figured hanging out in the choir loft during 11 o’clock mass was a better deal than going mental in the pews down below. I gleaned this from my big brother who had been an usher. He was able to be present but not really there, hanging out in a backroom as opposed to the altar boys who always had to be on.

I can’t recall what the folk group sang with earnest inexpertise to warrant a weekly glare from the pulpit, followed by a back-handed compliment and then a mic’ed throat-clearing. Pete Seeger and spirituals I suppose; psalm sing, sing song sing, good morning starshine, turn, turn, turn. What I do remember is the group’s leader’s anger after Father Moyle banned all songs written by Bob Dylan and specifically “The Times They Are A-Changin’.”

Irony.

Dispatches from the Crooked 9 is your most unreliable, unbalanced and inaccurate alternative source of everything meaningless. No AI and little intelligence of any sort since 2013! My latest novel Sunset Oasis Confidential is available in multiple formats. Visit my companion site www.megeoff.com for links to your preferred retailer. Of Course You Did is still in print. Collect the set!