Monday, January 17, 2011

Something About Church & Dolls

January 1967
  Bob Cook, Jr., a junior at Northern Michigan who has been home for the holidays, called the other day to fill in readers on the name given to the new St. John Fisher Chapel on Walton Boulevard across the road from Oakland University. He said he found a number of people who have been dismayed that a church would be named after a member of the Fisher family, a famous name in the auto body building for General Motors.
  Yes, the prominent Fisher clan is mostly of the Catholic faith and they could well afford to build a church and name it after one of their kin… but they didn’t.
  Bob says there’s no need to worry that the church world has become THAT secular yet. John Fisher was indeed a saint, Bob’s book research found. Englishman John Fisher was appointed Bishop of Rochester, England in 1504 and later became a cardinal and a martyr. So naming a church that's close to Rochester after the saint is quite a logical choice— but a little confusing in this auto-making territory. In addition— there were seven Fisher brothers in the automotive family, but not one was named John.
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  JUST HOW DOES one throw someone out of the house who’s been around for three years? That’s the question I would like to ask the fire prevention experts.
  Our family was sitting around the Tee-Vee last Friday night when this piece came on about a batch of flammable dolls imported from Poland. Some guy on camera punched a lighted cigarette into the face of the doll causing an ugly scar. Our three daughters were horrified. But he didn’t stop there.
  He then touched her hair with a match and the thing burned like a torch. Even I was horrified to see that poor little tike go up in flames.
  Some fire expert proclaimed the dolls are made of the same stuff as old movie film. Then, without wincing, ordered parents to immediately dispose of this menace.
  Two of our three daughters piped up that they have such a doll and they scurried upstairs and brought them down. Sure enough, they were made in Poland and they looked exactly like the pictures on TV. “But you can’t throw her away,” Daughter No. 2 pleaded as she gave the doll a big hug.
  I THEN STEPPED in to take up the defense of the speechless accused dolls, now on trial for their lives. “How many children play with dolls around a lighted cigarette or light them with matches?” I argued. “And how about the combustibility of newspapers and hundreds of other things around the home?”
  After five minutes, I rested my case. The dolls were acquitted. At least for now. Old dolls never die, you know. Their mothers just grow up.
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  THOUGHT FOR THE WEEK: When a husband opens the door of his car and helps his wife in, it’s five to one he recently acquired one or the other.