His intentions were good: to excuse us early. But we were greeted with a most ferocious summer storm directly overhead. Had I been alone, I would not have hesitated to exit the building and walk to my car. For fools rush in ...

But the collective wisdom of the others compelled me to tarry. Besides, the crowd of them was blocking the lobby doorway! As if no one would want to exit anyway. Just as well. What's another fifteen minutes to a 70-minute drive? After all, he let us go early.

The janitor was cleaning up, and one bright fellow mooched a large black garbage bag from him. The classmate chivalrously dashed into the wicked weather to retrieve his chariot for his car pool sister. I expected every one else to follow suit ... so to speak ... and grab black bags for themselves. This is NJ; no one can wait a lick.

But the only one to do likewise was our Fr. Boadt. He had his clerical garb to think about. Still, he waited with the rest of us. He probably wanted to make sure that everyone left the building safely. I would have taken the opportunity then to have him autograph my copy of Reading the Old Testament but his arms and hands were tucked inside the garbage bag. He had not bothered to punch his way out.

The drive home was quite terrifying.