Well much to my disappointment the ghost who haunts the Silver Queen Hotel didn't show. I was really hoping to lodge my complaint about the lack of fans to the ghoul, but alas I was stood up by the phantom (or phantomette) who works the hotel.
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| St. Mary of the Mountains |
Our first stop this morning was to St. Mary of the Mountains parish in Virginia City. Whilst there I learned that the parish was built in the heyday of Virginia City under the guidance of Fr. Patrick Manogue. Born in County Kilkenny in 1831 he came to the United States and entered the seminary in Chicago. While there he became ill and had to leave the seminary. After recovering he needed to help his family with their finical troubles so he headed west with his brothers to mine gold. A true "miner '49er" he eventually worked hard enough to become part owner of a mine. While he was a miner he continued to informally keep up with his studies. After prospecting for four years, and acquiring a small fortune, he approached the archbishop of San Francisco about reentering the seminary. He completed his studies in France, paying his own way, and was ordained in 1861.
Fr. Manogue directed the construction of the church and was a dedicated pastor before being named coadjutor bishop in 1880 of the (now suppressed) Diocese of Grass Valley, California. Upon the suppression of the Grass Valley diocese he became the bishop of Sacramento until his death in 1895. The parish in Virginia City is a landmark that reflects his good taste and love for significant architecture which began while he completed his studies in Europe. The miners helped to build the structure; in order to finance the project he placed jars in every saloon in Virginia City. A little dose of Catholic guilt worked wonders. 
Following the same pattern as the town, the parish boomed then declined rather quickly. Mission parishes that were very close to Virginia City were suppressed and St. Mary's limped along. In the late 1950s a group of religious order priests were assigned to staff the parish. Eventually these religious, referred to by the locals as the "mad monks," gutted the church. The high altar and communion rail were removed, the paintings taken out, and most of the ornamentation jettisoned. When these things ended up in the garbage dump the locals collected just about everything. Most of the items ended up in private homes and in museums that line the streets of the town that was quickly becoming a tourist attraction. Knowing the sacred value of these items and remembering that these artifacts didn't belong in a secular museum the people of this small parish petitioned the bishop to restore the parish. The good bishop gave permission and the Church was restored its original splendor. 
Today, in addition to the tourists who come to Virgina City the parish has about 70 families. Interestingly the parish organist is also the organist at the Episcopal church in town, and is a Jewish Rabbi (he is free on Sundays). The parish maintains a nice museum in the church basement which displays many artifacts from the parish and Nevada Catholic history.
After leaving Virginia City we headed for California. Along the way we drove around the southern half of Lake Tahoe. Fr. Doug said that to his recollection the Ponderosa bordered Lake Tahoe (think of the flaming map), and since this area reminded him of the set from Bonanza he would call off his one man war against Hoss, Little Joe, Hop Sing, and NBC. Driving through the bleak Nevada countryside I once proposed a new motto for the state, namely: Nevada, when does it get better? When you reach Lake Tahoe you find out. Lake Tahoe, Raystown of the West
The other Latrobe is exceptionally small and very rural. It has a school, a fire department, and not much else. I visited the men at the fire hall and we had a great conversation. The chief told me that he always wanted to visit the Pennsylvania Latrobe and gave me two t-shirts to take back. Another fireman told me that he was once fighting a fire in Sacramento and one of the fireman from Sacramento remarked, "whoa, you came from Pennsylvania." He said that until that time he never heard of Pennsylvania Latrobe.
The people of the other Latrobe were interested to know that true Pennsylvania Latrobeans call our town "Lay-trobe." "Lay-trobe, huh?" one firefighter said, "I think I am going to tell people I am from lay-trobe when they ask where I am from." They asked if our towns were named for the same person; I told them that our Latrobe was named for the son of their Latrobe (Latrobe, PA is named for Benjamin Henry Latrobe, Jr. son of the famed architect Benjamin Henry Latrobe for whom Latrobe, CA is named). The people of the other Latrobe were friendly and all around good guys. Perhaps they are just good people or maybe, so I hope, they share a common bond that unites all Latrobeans. 
Fr. Doug began to wear thin during my time in the other Latrobe. As a non-Latrobean he could not comprehend the profound bond that Latrobeans share.
Latrobe and Latrobe, nexus of the universe
After leaving Latrobe, CA we had lunch in nearby Sutter's Creek. The town was fair; too trendy and touristy for my taste. We did however take a picture of the old general store in town. The store is now a museum; back home such places are nothing out of the ordinary.
We left Sutter's Creek and headed for San Francisco. For the first time I saw some of the beautiful vineyards and orchards that are part of the fabric of California. Finally we arrived in Berkley (my sister's actual home) and took a breath - we were here. Tonight we had supper at a Puerto Rican restaurant in San Rafael with my sister and her boyfriend Dan. 
Fr. Aron with nephew Apollo on his shoulder
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