The 60s—Dual meaning: Part 2

It would cost me a fortune to be an altar boy today, compared to The 60s.

Back then, they taught us it was a sin to pray for more funerals. And for more weddings. It was tempting. But I don’t remember ever praying for more funerals or more weddings. Reason? There were always plenty of both at St, Patrick’s Church. It paid off—dual meaning.

Five dollars in the 60s has the equivalent worth of $53.29 purchasing power today. Over 10 times the equivalent worth made it worth it to be an altar boy at St. Patrick’s in the 60s. No one ripped you off in the 60s. They paid for it. The “Youth Minimum Wage” in the 60s was 90 cents. The starting minimum wage for Altar Serving at weddings and funerals in the 60s was Five Bucks. Over 5 times minimum wage made it worth it to be an Altar Boy at St. Patrick’s in the 60s. It caused passive aggressive envy and jealousy among relatives and classmates who were altar boys at St. John Bosco and St. Theresa. Most of them called us liars. They didn’t believe we got paid 5 bucks per wedding and funeral. Even back then, money caused conflict with our peers even though we knew it was a sin and it contradicted our Cultural Code of Financial Silence. We all learned the Code of Silence: never talk about how much you make, never ask how much anyone else made, and never, ever show off that you made more. They called it “show off” back then. No one used “narcissist” back then. The word wasn’t in anyone’s vocabulary because it wasn’t allowed. Everyone was aligned back then. There was zero tolerance for narcissism. No need to even talk about it. Dual meaning. Narcissism or money.

I’m not making this up. A week never went by in The 60s without a wedding or funeral or both at St. Patrick’s Church. They paid for it.

Five bucks per wedding. Five bucks per funeral. Masses weren’t short back then. One hour. Guaranteed. Weddings, funerals, Sundays. All 4 seasons. Hot or cold. 60 minutes. There was no Altar Boy union. No Collective Bargaining Agreement. Just Honour Code. They paid in full every time. Not one grievance. Not one labour dispute. They paid on time, every time. They paid as soon as the bodies left the church. Dual meaning. Funerals and weddings.

They never paid by cheque or direct deposit. No credit card, no Debit card. Cash only. They always put the cash in an envelope. Southern Italians called it “La Busta.” I never threw away an envelope. Not one. It was part of my Italianomics degree that I learned and earned from my poor illiterate, southern-Italian immigrants, Antonio and Maria. We recycled in The 60s. And re-used. And re-sold. It all added up in dollars and cents. And sense. Common sense was taught back then. And used. And enforced. So was Common Cents. Sense and cents added up. The objective of Common Sense and Common Cents was to earn Uncommon Sense and Uncommon Cents. Alignment and assignment. Everyone was aligned back them. Our assignment was to  improve. Don’t rest and don’t rest on past wins and successes. When you did a great job, it was expected. So was doing it again and doing it even better.

Bank savings-account interest in The 60s was 5.75%. It was the same interest rate for a Canada Savings Bond. If you invested just $5 in 1965 and left it, it would double every 14 years. It would be worth over $80 today. They never gave altar boys T4 slips back then. I don’t know for sure what my career earnings were as an altar boy but it was a lot. I thought I was rich. My altar boy career earnings combined with manual labour jobs helped me buy a used car, in cash, when I turned 16. And it helped me buy a house when I was 20. I’m not making this up. I paid the cost of a 2025 tank of gas for my first used car. People laughed at it. They called it a piece of junk. But it fit Italianomics Principles: buy only what you need, buy only what you can afford. Cash only, no showing off. Just get the job done, don’t try to impress anyone.

A lot of people died in The 60s. And a lot of people got married. Every funeral, ever wedding was packed. Jam packed,. Standing room only. The more people, the bigger the mess, the bigger chance of financial success for altar boys. They paid to clean up messes back then. Bigger the mess, bigger chance of a tip or bonus. Littering wasn’t an offence back then so they threw rice at weddings. All four seasons. Inside the church and out. Rice Clean duties started during pictures. Windy days blew the Kleenex flowers off parked cars all over King St, Victoria St., West St. Kent St., Adelaide St. The bigger the mess, bigger the financial success. Tips, bonuses. Double, even triple income. People tipped 100% back then. No tips less than 5 bucks. It was tempting not to make more mess by ripping flowers off cars and throwing more rice when no one was looking. We discussed it. But it was a sin back then. And there were consequences. In The 60s, there was no such thing as The C.F.L. (Consequence Free Life). Everyone paid for it. Dual meaning.

Double-header weddings in The 60s were common. So were funerals. 10 am and 2 pm. Back to back weddings and funerals often earned $40. Cash. Two separate “Bustas.” Funerals were the only way to legally skip school. All you needed was a note from the Priest. The adrenaline rush was palpable before Sunday Mass when The Reader made the First Publication of Marriage. Three Publications were The Law in The 60s. Three announcements of who was getting married and when. You did the math with very Publication. Five bucks plus tips. But you had to be careful not to break your focus about the Latin reading at the beginning of Mass if you were named “Starting Altar Boy.”

When I forgot the Latin words, I learned how to improvise by either mumbling or speaking Broken Italian words I learned as my first language from my poor illiterate Italian immigrant parents. It was easy to get away with mumbling or speaking Broken Italian instead of Latin because of the Upper Deck. The Upper Deck at St. Patrick’s was jam-packed with the choir on the left side and those who arrived late on the right side. The full-blast singing was always loud enough to drown out Latin, mumbling, or Broken Italian. If you felt guilty enough, you added it to the list of sins during weekly confession at 4 pm… every, single, Saturday. In The 60s, I learned the 10-90 Rule of Sin: if there was a 10% chance it was a sin, it was 100% a sin. You were too scared to miss confession. Rumour spread that The Priest recognized every voice. Rumour spread that if your voice was missing, parents would notified. Alignment and assignment. Everyone in your world lived by the No/Go Principle.

No days off from confession.

Go to confession.

No days off from Mass.

Go to Mass.

Guilt was big back then. Dual meaning. Your conscience made you feel Big Guilt. And guilt was a Big Deal. Guilt was fashionable and acceptable in The 60s. No one sheltered you from guilt. Alignment and assignment. You were on your own, having to deal with your conscience 365-24-7. In The 60s, there was no WiFi Connection. They taught you Conscience Connection. It didn’t matter what language your conscience spoke. You learned how to translate, communicate, and relate with your conscience. Your relationship with your conscience sounded the same, looked the same, and felt the same as with every other relationship. Alignment and assignment.

Voices were big in The 60s. Dual meaning. Voices were loud and loud voices were a Big Deal. They were fashionable and accepted. In The 60s, everyone’s voice sounded exactly the same as the Voice of Your Conscience. No difference. Parents voices, family voices, relative’s voices, teacher’s voices, principal’s voices, guidance counsellor’s voices, school cleaning staff voices, Priest’s voices, boss’s voices, TV voices. Even news, sports and weather voices. They sounded the same as the Voice of Your Conscience. No confusion. No frustration. No temptation. Sure there was temptation in The 60s but No Temptation was the joint social mission. Alignment and assignment. Temptation was strong in The 60s. Just as strong as in 2025. Maybe stronger. But the Voice of Your Conscience was stronger because it was part of a Team. A Fighting Team. Alignment and assignment. Every voice was aligned with your assignment. Every voice taught you to fight temptation and not fight with your conscience.

It was never an easy fight back then. But they never backed down. No matter how tired they were, your Fighting Team never suffered exhaustion. They never suffered Fighting Fatigue. Alignment and assignment was big in The 60s.

There’s a big difference between The 60s… being “in The 60s” and being “in My 60’s.” St. Patrick’s Church isn’t packed any more. Why? The 60s Voices are not big any more.

Good news. There’s a solution. I’ll explain in part 3.

#MuchLove

Blessings & all good things

#peace

Gino Arcaro

February 4, 2025

The 60s—Dual meaning: Part 1

There’s a big difference between The 60s—being “in The 60s”—and being “in Your 60s.”

Back in The 60s, you couldn’t Google, “Latin translation into English” or vice-versa. There was no “Latin App” to teach you how to speak conversational Latin in two weeks. You learned the old-school way. They handed you a Mass Missal written in Latin and you had to memorize it. They gave you until “next Sunday, 11 a.m.” They didn’t use the words “stress” or “anxiety” back then. You just felt nervous until it went away on its own or by force.

Back then, you were not handed an application for the job of “Altar Boy.” The Priest came to St. Patrick’s School and told you where to sign up. Teachers and principals told you where to sign up. Parents told you where to sign up. No discretion, no choice. Alignment and assignment. They were connected—dual meaning. The alignment and assignment were connected together and society was connected by alignment and assignment.You couldn’t tell parents, teachers or principals, “I’ll think about it.” Or, “I’ll get back to you sometime next week.” Or, “I’ll try it out and see how I feel.” And you couldn’t tell them apart. They all sounded the same. Exactly the same. Same voice, same message. You signed up for the assignment because of alignment. Then, you fell in line. No discretion, no choice.

If you Google the origin of, “It’s not fair,” you’ll find that it originated after The 60s. Back in The 60s, there was no one to complain to that it wasn’t fair. “It’s not fair,” wasn’t part of anyone’s language, not English or whatever language your parents spoke. No one understood, “it’s not fair.” Reason? Alignment. Everyone was aligned with the same mentality, same ideology, same philosophy, same principles, same beliefs. Parents, families, relatives, neighbours, teachers, principals, bosses, coaches, Priests, doctors, dentists, business owners, media, all of them were aligned. They all sounded the same. No contradiction, no confusion. You heard one message. One voice—dual meaning—the voice of your conscience sounded exactly the same as every voice in your life. No mixed messages. No ambiguity. Alignment was straightforward and kept you moving straightforward. The place didn’t matter—home, school, street, Church—you heard the same voice as the voice of your conscience. Everywhere you went, you heard Same Voices.

There was no selection process, no interviews, no testing. You memorized your lines and sat on the bench until you became a starter. St. Patrick’s Church had two benches that met at 45-degree angles, on both sides of the altar. You sat on the bench and watched the starters until you made the “Altar Boy Starting Line-up.” They taught you the basics and gave you a uniform. A surplice and robe.

Until writing this article, I thought surplice was spelled “surplus.” Google taught me that I had said it wrong and spelled it wrong from The 60s to My 60s. I’m positive they never called it a “robe.” They called it a “surtan.” I think. But there’s nothing on the internet about a “surtan.” They told you: you wore a black robe on ordinary Sundays, you wore red robes on Christmas and Easter. Back then in The 60s, every Mass was packed like Christmas and Easter in My 60s. No exception. Every Mass in the 60s was jam-packed. Standing-room only. Ushers did traffic control, inside and outside. There were traffic jams on King St., Victoria St., Kent St., West St,, even Adelaide and Catharine Streets.  And there were traffic jams inside St. Patrick’s Church in The 60s. Big difference now in My 60s.

Being an Altar Boy was a matter of life and death. They warned you, “Don’t burn down the Church” when they taught you how to reach the candles with the 5-foot candle-lighter, at “exactly five minutes before Mass Time.” The chalice had to be filled, placed in the tabernacle, “and don’t ever touch the Host. Ever.” No one asked what would happen if you did touch the Host. No one wanted to know. Two small glass bottles had to be filled with wine and water and placed next to a towel folded according to code. Then they showed you how to ring the bells, when, and for how long. They warned you not to get your surplice caught in the bells so you didn’t drag the bells across the altar. No one asked what would happen if you did. No one wanted to know. You weren’t allowed to go back into the Sacristy after Mass started. Not even to use the bathroom. Not even if you got sick. No one asked what would happen if you did. No one wanted to know.

You had to go to Confession every Saturday before Sunday Mass. Every Saturday, 4 pm. No choice. No discretion. “Bless me Father for I have sinned,” followed by your list of weekly sins. Back then in The 60s, you always got at least 5 Our Fathers, 5 Hail Mary, and 5 Acts of Contrition as minimum-sentence penance. There was no leniency. No exception. Until things changed sometime after 1970. You suffered Culture Shock the first time the Priest said, “One good Our Father and one good Hail Mary.” That was about the same time they changed the “Host Rules,” allowing you to take the Host in your hands at Communion. When we started our Altar Boy careers in The 60s, there was no Host-to-hand Communion transfer. Two Altar boys held a table cloth between the Priest and the person receiving Communion. In case the Host missed the mouth. Even then, they taught you, “Never touch the Host.”

There was no 4-year Altar Boy career like high school, college or university. I tried to quit when I started grade 6 at Holy Cross. My resignation was rejected. By everyone. Alignment and assignment. Everyone back then in The 60s said, and understood the word, “No.” My poor illiterate, Italian Immigrant parents Antonio and Maria were uneducated. They spoke only Broken Italian and Broken English. But they knew how to say, “No.” Like every other voice in your life, including the voice of your conscience. No voice was afraid to tell you, “No.”

Sick days from serving Mass?

No.

Vacation days from serving Mass?

No.

Skip Mass to sleep in?

No.

Any request to Fail To Appear?

No.

Quitting the Altar Boy job?

No.

We asked veteran Altar boys how long we had to be Altar boys. Some said, until you got a driver’s licence. Some said until you left home. Others said until you got married. One guy said, “for life.” I’m not making this up. Grown men, ex-Altar Boys sometimes made a surprise appearance on Christmas, Easter, or when the Bishop showed up for Confirmation. I started to worry that there was no way out. No retirement, early or otherwise.

When you made the starting lineup, you had to worry about two things: forgetting your Latin Lines and Stage Fright. Back then in The 60s, every seat was taken, every Mass. You felt all eyes on you. There was no privacy. Your workplace was public. In plain view. No reasonable expectation of privacy. I admit it. In My 60s, I talk about how tough it was in The 60s. And how easy they have it in My 60s. We had to serve Mass in front of a sold-out crowd, every week. They got it easy today.

There’s a big difference between The 60s—being “in The 60s” and being “in My 60s.” No traffic jam. Outside or inside St. Patrick’s Church. Why? No alignment, no assignment.

Good news. There’s a solution. I’ll explain it in Part 2.

#MuchLove

Blessings & all good things

#peace

Gino Arcaro

January 22, 2025

Crossing The Threshold of Hope – Book Review

crossingCrossing the Threshold of Hope by Pope John Paul II  

Book review by Gino Arcaro

In the book Gift and Mystery, Pope John Paul II wrote: “In God’s plan nothing happens by chance.” This applied to how I discovered his book Crossing the Threshold of Hope. I didn’t find the book. The book found me.

Finish Reading: Crossing The Threshold of Hope – Book Review