Henry, Chester, Grace       Rev. A. D. Stowe           Brother Fritz and Grace


       Without the help of my saintly aunt, my mother would not have survived the huge burden of motherhood--five babies in seven years. Our beloved Aunt Grace Stowe Fish gave up exciting and glamorous “high society” life in Racine, Wisconsin, to rescue her little sister Ruth Stowe Blodgett in Northfield, Minnesota where I spent the first 22 years of my life.

      These are the only photos I have of this remarkable woman. On the left is Henry Robert Hagen, husband of my oldest sister, Elaine. Henry was a two-fisted, rugged, St. Olaf college grad and football player who aspired to be a resort proprietor on Gunderson Lake, 28 miles north of Deer River, Minnesota. My father, Northfield’s Municipal Court Judge A. B. “Buzz” Blodgett staked them to this failed enterprise. Henry and Elaine slaved to build a rough-it fishing and hunting facility, but the fishers and hunters never showed up.

     The dog is Chester, a Chesapeake Bay retriever, who recovered from a near fatal collision with a car and a stupid encounter with a porcupine. Grace is dressed as she always dressed in modest fashion. Her arm around Chester’s neck is a graphic demonstration of her affectionate relationship with dogs and children. Diminutive and trim, she never uttered a cross word in all the years I knew her.

     The center photo is her father, our grandfather, the Reverend Andrew David Stowe, Episcopal minister and publishers of Stowe’s Clerical Directory of the Episcopal Church of the United States. To his grandchildren he was God. He died in 1926 when I was five, so my memories of him are blurred, but his distinguished mustache, goatee and fringe of hair cast a holy halo effect on my childish mind.

     And here is Saint Grace caring for my 18-month-old little brother Fritz while my mother--also tiny and slim--is probably in the basement of 606 East Fourth Street, doing her daily laundry chores between meal preparations. In the 17 years I knew my father, I never observed him lift a finger to help my mother. That was the culture of the times. Housework was for women. No real man would be seen dead pushing a carpet sweeper across a dusty rug.

      Grace succeeded her father as publisher and editor of Stowe’s Clerical Directory when he died. To do so she had to find living quarters and workspace away from our crowded stucco house. Every three years this little lady constructed a “who’s who” of Episcopalian ministers by typing and pasting up biographic sketches that filled more than 300 pages. After preparing these résumés she mailed them back for proofreading with stamped addressed envelopes. If necessary, she mailed out second and third reminders. I helped her pack hundreds of directories in cardboard boxes for shipment to the ministers who purchased the book.

      When she could no longer live alone, she traded publication rights to the directory for life care in a church-owned St. Paul retirement facility.

      Her rented quarters in Northfield were in a yellow frame house on Union Street between Fourth and Fifth--half way through my 125-customer newspaper route. I was eleven. I stopped to visit her every weekday. She always greeted me with a hug, a kiss, several cookies and a glass of cold milk. To the five Blodgett kids, amazing Aunt Grace was a second mother.

             Hard Cover         Title Page    Rev. A.D.Stowe    Foreword         Page 253     

      I was delighted to discover that Google selected the 1920-21 edition of Stowe’s Clerical Directory of the American [Episcopal] Church, published and edited by my grandfather, The Reverend Andrew David Stowe, to make a digital copy of a book on the University of Michigan’s Library shelf as part of its project to make the world’s books discoverable online.

      “Google’s mission is to organize the world’s information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers discover the world’s books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web at http://books.google.com/.” I have downloaded all 327 pages of this directory, so I can find the page where my grandfather Stowe’s biography appears--page 253--highlight it, copy and paste it to a blank page. With a magnifying glass and a glossary of abbreviations, I can trace my grandfather’s life from his birth in Readsboro, Vermont, on April 21, 1851, the son of Lewis Stowe and Hannah Ann (Babcock); his schooling at public schools and Shattuck School in Faribault, Minnesota, and his graduation from Seabury Divinity School with a Bachelor of Divinity degree in 1880 and a Doctor of Divinity in 1920.

     He married Frances Ellen Jacklin of Detroit, Michigan in September 1974. He does not list his children or their birth dates. My mother was born in 1895 when grandfather was chaplain at the Minnesota State Penitentiary in Stillwater, Minnesota. Yes, my mother, Ruth Loretta Stowe, was born in the Minnesota state penitentiary.

     Grandpa was Chaplain in the Minnesota State Senate for six years from 1911 through 1917 and was rector at Episcopal churches in Anoka, Elk River, Fridley, Zimmerman, Becker, Princeton, Stillwater, Rush City, Minneapolis and St. Paul.

     The Washington County Historical Society in Stillwater sent me a news clipping from the Ascension Church in Stillwater where Grandfather Stowe was rector from April 1, 1888 to April 17, 1900.

     The church newsletter paid this tribute to my grandfather: “He served the parish with zeal and fidelity. It was a time of large additions to the membership of the church. The list of confirmed persons grew from 63 to 230, the total number confirmed during his ministry being 229.”

     The only clue I have about my Grandmother Stowe was this brief note: “Mrs. Stowe, a woman of great executive ability, sang for several years in the choir and was an enthusiastic teacher and trainer of the Sunday school.” She died long before any of her daughter Ruth’s children arrived. But this note tells a great deal about her. I know we would have been proud of our Grandmother Stowe who gave birth to Aunt Grace, Uncle Ed, our mother Ruth Loretta and a mysterious boy named George who, legend has it, ran away from home and disappeared off the face of the Earth.

      Grandfather Stowe baptized me shortly after my birth in 1921 . In my Babyhood Days book, he made this entry: “Charles David Blodgett. May 8, 1921. God bless and keep the dear, sweet child pure and noble and grant that he may grow up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord and may the good Lord direct his feet always in the path of righteousness, love and peace. His loving graddaddy, Andrew D. Stowe.”

      What a nice sendoff. I fear my feet have often strayed off the path of righteousness but not off the path of love and peace.

      To his five grandchildren, granddaddy Stowe was God. Awesome and saintly.

      From the frontispiece of the 1920-21 directory, I give you his foreword statement that tells so much about the trials and tribulations of editing and publishing a who’s who of the Episcopal clergy.

     In November, 1919, we sent out to every Bishop and Clergyman at their latest known address, the printed sketch as it appeared in the 1917 edition of STOWE’S CLERICAL DIRECTORY OF THE AMERICAN CHURCH, for correction and amendment, requesting their immediate return. We than stated that we hoped to publish and deliver the 1920 edition of the Directory during February 1920. A large number of the Clergy responded immediately and it looked, for a few weeks, as if we could have all necessary data in hand, so we could fulfill our hopes, but, as the days passed, we soon discovered that less then one-third of the Clergy were performing the simple act of correcting their sketches and returning them in the addressed, return envelope. A second series of reminders were sent out. This brought more answers and finally a third series of reminders were sent forth, so that we did not have sufficient amount of reliable data in hand to begin our work until February. The great commotion in the printing world, the advance in wages, the strikes and other things incident to that business has prolonged our work and we have not been able to realize our first hopes. At last, the book is issued, but this time, without the Diocesan statistics which made up the last hundred pages of the 1917 edition. This omission is because of the added cost of printing and because most of the information obtained there is to be found in the Church Annuals. We were compelled to increase the subscription price to $4.00 because of the added expense of printing and to be able to meet our obligations. We have spared no pains or cost in compiling this issue and are sending the book forth with the hope that it will meet not only the approval of the Bishops and Clergy but also their commendation. While there is much interesting pleasure in compiling such a book, still it is, in many ways, a hard, trying and costly task. The book is done. I commend it to your tender mercies. I want to thank the Bishops, Clergy and some others for their valued assistance.
                                                                ANDREW DAVID STOWE,
                                                                              Editor and Publisher.

      The founding publisher of the directory was Rev. Dr. E. J. Lloyd, who published six editions to up to 1916 when Grandfather Stowe purchased the publishing rights and compiled the 1917 Edition. I don’t know how many editions he published before his death in 1926¾probably three. When he died my beloved Aunt Grace Stowe Fish took over the task. I had the great pleasure of watching over her shoulder as she labored to compile this book of more than 300 pages packed with tiny biographical sketches. At age 11, in 1932, I had the joyful task of helping her pack mailing boxes for shipment to Episcopal clergymen scattered all over the United States and to ministries overseas.

      When she no longer had the physical strength and stamina to continue this huge task, she traded her publishing rights to the church in exchange for life care in a church-owned facility in St. Paul. She was truly an amazing Aunt Grace.

      Stowe’s Clerical Directory is no longer published. Today, the Episcopal Church publishes an online directory by geographical area. It can be found at http://www.episcopalchurch.org/directory.htm.

      Thank you, Google, for saving a digital copy of this historic document published 87 years ago by my grandfather, the godly Reverend Andrew David Stowe.

1. ABCs 2. The Pillbox 3. Amputees 4. The Deadly Cannon River 5. “Beaver” 6. Blame for 9/11 7. U. S. Senator Paul Wellstone 8. My Payer 9. Tribute to a Great Teacher 10. Dr. William Murray, Hero 11. Commander N. Burt Davis, Jr. 12. Lager Larceny 13. Buzz and Ruth Wed 14. Fritzie 15. George Winslow Blodgett 16. The Sea and Me 17. Einstein’s Take on God 18. Let’s Ban Handguns 19. Nix Nature Center 20. Double Death on Carleton Campus 21. The Sutherlands 22. Magic Musical Moment 23. Musical Metamorphosis 24. Enuresis 25. The Attic 26. Orcas 27. Nose Job 28. Shoeshine Man 29. Close Encounter with Death 30. Nadia Patricia – 11-9-1930 to 8-23-2007 31. Athena 32. Prometheus 33. Asclepius 34. Career Crisis 35. Defining Me 36. Illusion & Reality 37. Cigarette Smoke 38. Racism 39. Big-Time Embarrassment 40. Retribution 41. Hair 42. No More! 43. Unto Us a Child is Born 44. The Brass Sprinkler 45. Genesis 46. My Son, My Son 47. Memories 48. G. W. Blodgett – My Favorite Uncle 49. Mindoro Invasion – 12/15/1944 50. Yes, My Darling Daughter 51. Musical Medicine 52. Fantasy 53. Oxymoron 54. A Third World View 55. A Death in the Family 56. EECP 57. Amazing Aunt Grace 58. Stowe's Clerical Directory of the Episcopal Church 59. Sweet Betse Surace 60. Ruth Publishes in Physical Fitness Magazine  61. I Remember Momma 62. A Wondrous ABC World 63. Humberto Cepeda

Lisa Guns Katie Prather Hillary Radovich Candace Luddy

    “You look just like Julia Roberts!” is the greeting new “clients” usually lob at Lisa Guns their first day at the Saddleback Cardiac Rehabilitation Center’s EECP room. But Lisa is more attractive than Julia and stronger than Erin Brockovich. When Lisa straps me down on the enhanced external cardiac counterpulsation treatment table I can barely wiggle a toe in my lycra leotards. The other four technicians who take turns putting me through thirty-five one-hour sessions on consecutive week days are also powerful as they cinch up the inflatable straps around my calves, thighs and buttocks. During these thirty-five hours the blood from my legs and buns is pumped forcefully into my upper body approximately 126,000 times—once for every time my heart beats. And each pump is actually three pumps—first the calves, then the thighs and buttocks in such rapid succession one is not aware of the triple contractions. That adds up to 378,000 high pressure counterpulsations.

    The theory is that forcing blood from the lower body into the thorax will expand capillaries providing additional blood supply to a heart that is not getting enough blood and is sending out complaining angina pain. None of the five cardiologists who have treated me for coronary artery disease (plugged left, anterior descending coronary artery) since 1990 and have performed five angioplasties on my LAD prescribed this radical, three-year-old procedure I read about it in Facets magazine in early 2002. A fellow Leisure World resident Shad Shaddock is featured in an article attesting to the efficacy of EECP. I know his wife Bebe and confer with her. She testifies to the restorative powers of EECP and informs me that Medicare covers the cost. Good.

    It’s March 2002. My current cardiologist is no longer treating SCAN members, and the first appointment I can get with a SCAN cardiologist associated with Saddleback Memorial Health Center in nearby Laguna Hills is August 6. I have no alternative. Drop out of SCAN, call a reputable cardiologist, make an appointment and persuade him to write a prescription for EECP. After dropping SCAN and returning to Medicare A & B. I obtain an appointment with a veteran cardiologist in one week, and he sees me as an ideal candidate for EECP, having sent fifteen of his coronary patients through the program with positive results. But first I have to have a scan to make sure I have no abdominal embolisms that would burst under EECP pressure and kill me or cause a serious stroke.

    I luck out. Lisa has an opening at 1:30 p.m., but I mustn’t eat within two hours of the appointed time for obvious reasons. I begin treatments on July 15 and run straight through five days a week to the final session on August 30. Lisa lives in Mission Viejo. Her hubby is an Orange County Fire Authority (OCFA) captain at the new Ladera station. Alternating with Lisa is Katie Prather whose husband is the commanding officer of OCFA. Taking her turn at belting me down and pumping me up is Mary Ann Martz with whom I share a role model doctor—Dr. Kevorkian. Mary Ann has put in too many years in intensive care and seen too many patients die in agony. A fourth member of this great team of EECP experts is Candace Luddy whose husband owns four mortuaries. Candice’s favorite pastime is floating about in an inflatable chaise in her Nellie Gail swimming pool with a good romance novel in one hand a bloody Mary in the other. Finally, there is Hillary Radovich who has a twenty-year-old daughter at the University of Arizona and a six-foot-five-and-one half-inch, 265-pound son at Mission Viejo High School rated the outstanding lineman in Orange County.

    Soon after August 30 I write a glowing letter of praise to Saddleback about the superb performance and upbeat spirit of this beautiful bevy of five nurses who have given a total of more than 100 years of tender loving care to their fortunate patients.

    EECP treatments are billed at $460 per session—$16,100. Of course Medicare doesn’t cover $16,100. How much they cover and how much, if any, my supplemental health insurance kicks in is still a deep, dark mystery three full months after the last treatment. I have no idea how big a check I shall have to write Saddleback. (It was $1100.00.) Is EECP painless? Hell no. Is it painful? Yes, but not so painful that playing Rodgers and Hammerstein, Chopin, Beethoven and Bach on my high fidelity portable Panasonic CD player doesn’t drown out. I admit to inflicting pain on my team of technicians. When I listen to the “Rodgers & Hammerstein Song Book” I burst into song. Can’t help myself. It’s compulsive and involuntary. Fortunately, my eighty-nine-year-old roomie receiving EECP on the slab next to me is deaf and has a headset tuned to daytime TV soaps. The pumping produces excess vibrato, but I have a powerful diaphragm and muscle through the convulsions. I sense Lisa, Katie, Mary Ann, Hillary and Candie are almost as happy as I am when August 31 arrives.

    Did EECP help me? I don’t know. Not substantially. I have a single-point criterion. Before EECP I could not walk around the block without experiencing angina pain. Now, three months after completing the thirty-five treatments, I still cannot walk around the block without angina pain. I have to slow down to a crawl up the half block with a six percent grade, but I am forever grateful for getting to know and admire the five most gorgeous and talented nurses at Saddleback Memorial Medical Center.

The light of love once blinded us.
We could never get enough,
But now the dimmer switch
Is abruptly pushed to off.
Physical attraction persists
But not the will or way.
The sine qua non of intimacy
Has had its halcyon day.
Magic blue pills are not for me,
And the cortical power is dead.
Infrequent arousal forays
Die aborning in a king size bed.
The gas gauge reads empty,
And the ignition coil is dead.
Why shut off the dimmer switch?
Why not adjust its glow?
The potency of three score and ten
Takes flight at four score and four
The light that once blinded us
Flickers and dies.
The passion of our youth
Lies limp and flaccid in its demise.