St. Catherine's Cemetery is an old Catholic cemetery in the outskirts of Chicago. As far as Catholic cemeteries go it is a very small one and has been around since about 1880. There isn't a lot of unoccupied space in it. There are a few family plots that are still awaiting a final resident or two to complete the family resting grounds intended use. It is interesting that there are buried here some people that you would classify as "boomers." We are going to look at several of the people who when their life ended came here to this place to sleep in peace and await the resurrection.
Close to the entrance we come upon the grave of John "Jack" Ryan, born 1948 died 1966. Jack's story can be repeated over fifty-eight thousand time. He was killed in Viet Nam while on a search and destroy mission. Nearby his grave are the graves of his mother and father. For all intents and purposes Jack's mother died in 1966 although her gravestone says 1980. She was never the same after Jack died. Jack's father was the strong one, at least in public. He cried himself to sleep more nights than he could count. Jack was something of an oddity, he was a volunteer and he volunteered for the infantry. He believed in what the United States was trying to do in that divided country and was willing to put his life on the line for what he believed in. He was a sensitive boy in school, often the target of bullies because of his quiet nature. He had a spiritual side to him that guided his life and no one was going to force him to compromise his values. So he lies here today in sleep, forgotten to all but a hero never the less. His grave gives no indication of his military service. His parents turned down the government gravestone in favor of one with a religious inscription; "Good and Faithful Servant."
Do you see just ahead the only mausoleum in this city of the dead. The gray granite bricks are almost covered by wildly growing ivy. We look at the name over the door and it says "Sullivan." This skyscraper among the monuments of this small cemetery is a centerpiece that speaks of opulence, wealth, and it also hides tragedy, betrayal, and violence. William Sullivan is the only person occupying this mansion for the dead even though there is provision for three other family members. Now Bill is NOT a boomer. He is the father of a boomer. His son ironically went by the same name as his dad with the addition of the title Junior. Junior was a boomer child and Bill showered his son with whatever he wanted. Junior got used to getting everything he wanted without working for it. In other words he was the worst kind of boomer child, a brat. When he reached his late teens, Juniors father realized he had created a monster. He tried bringing his son into the family business and was rewarded by his son embezzling ten thousand dollars. It was at this point that Bill cut his son off and put him on a very strict budget of five hundred dollars a month which was a mere fraction of what the boy was used to spending. Junior wanted it all and plotted with his younger brother and sister to claim their inheritance by sending their Dad into the afterlife. One day Dad came home and was greeted by a double shot of buckshot from his son's shot gun. The kids made up what they thought was a great story that would fool the cops, it didn't and the younger kids threw Junior under the bus by turning states evidence and William Junior was given a life without the possibility of parole in June of 1970 when he was just twenty-two years old. The old man's estate went to the younger kids after their mother died but what goes around comes around. April, the wife of William was buried at another cemetery near her family. The younger sister bought herself a sports car and while high on drugs slammed it into a tree that refused to budge. The fact that she wasn't wearing a seat belt sealed her fate. The younger brother went to Florida and settled in Key West. After squandering his share of the estate got involved in selling drugs and was shot to death by a rival drug dealer. He was buried in Florida. So that is the story of the Sullivan clan. Sometimes being rich is more trouble than it is worth.
Near the intersection of the two roads that crisscross the cemetery we come to the grave of a boomer who just died in 2015. Father Mark Solous was born in 1952 and from his earliest days he knew he had a vocation in the Church. He went to Catholic schools all of his life, graduated with honors from all of the schools he attended. He was ordained in 1980 for the Diocese of Chicago and spent his life tending the flock in various parishes in Chicago and the suburbs. He was sent to parishes that were not rich. He always struggled to pay the bills and keep the lights and heat on. He also spent his life loving the people that he served. He was a tireless worker who often worked sixteen hours a day. He was always available to his parishioners, day or night. Although he never complained he thought that after so many years of stellar service he should have received some sort of promotion. It was not to be. He worked under three different archbishops and although each of them was grateful for the hard work Mark did, they believed that he was well placed in parish life. Despite this silent disappointment, he continued to work mightily for the Church and it was like a cold slap in the face in 2013 when he was diagnosed with cancer. Like everything else he did he fought the disease with his entire being. In the end, wasted away to ninety six pounds he passed from this world to the next. His family had a plot at St. Catherine's and it was here that hundreds of the people he served converged to pay their final respects to a man that they loved. The Cardinal himself gave a stirring eulogy and tearfully said farewell to the priest who was an example of how the people of the Church should be served.
Mark's neighbor is a boomer but she died while still a child boomer. Born in 1950, Maria died in 1952 of childhood Leukemia. She was loved deeply by her parents who are buried on either side of her. I read her obituary which described her as "Our little angel whose smile disease could not defeat went home to be with Jesus on November 3, 1952." The tears at this funeral were copious indeed. Her small white casket was lowered into the ground in the graveside service that was pretty much normal for the period. Mother and father watered the grave with water of their tears. Sometimes, the death of a child pulls a family apart. In this case, the faith of the Mother and Father held them together in a bond that could not be rent asunder. They went on to become parents to four other children, one of whom went on to be a Congressman.
Let's rest under this tree, for the sun is hot and the day is long. Those that sleep here deserve their rest for they have been tested and are now under the care of God. Hundreds sleep here and they testify to the fragility of life. For as they are we will one day be.
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