Pope Leo off to good start says old Lutheran...

Pope Leo XIV, official portrait

 Written by Jim Heffernan for the DuluthNewsTribune/6-6-26

 I like Pope Leo XIV, and I’m a lifelong Lutheran. Brought up in Lutheran Sunday School a long time ago, I was always wary of anything pope related. Most Lutherans were.

 

Furthermore, I was kind of scared of the first pope I was ever aware of, Pius XII. He was pope during World War II and after and showed up in movie newsreels a lot being carried around the Vatican on the shoulders of Swiss Guards in gaily colored outfits. This was before the popemobile.

 

Skinny Pope Pius XII looked very grim and, besides, he was the No. 1 Roman Catholic and I was a Lutheran child in an era when American Catholics and Lutherans (as well as other protestants) did not get along that well. Blessedly, things have changed quite a bit in recent years; we’ve become more ecumenical. Also “ecuwomenical.”

 

Still, as a non-Roman Catholic I didn’t pay too much attention to popes over the years. You hear about them on the news, Popes Francis, Benedict, kindly old John XXIII, John Paul, others, but it doesn’t mean too much to a protestant. I remember thinking when Pope Benedict was in office that perhaps his Vatican cook would ask him for his breakfast preference thusly: “Eggs, Benedict?”

 

But enough about recent popes. My favorite Pope Leo, until the current one, was 11 Leos before him, Pope Leo III. He was pope in medieval times, also known as the Middle Ages. Pope Leo III looms large in world history because he was the pope who crowned Charlemagne Holy Roman Emperor ruling much of Western Europe in the late 800s.

 

This stuck with me after studying as much history in college as possible to avoid classes in math and science. 

 

While many years — make that decades — have passed, certain events in ancient history are retained in fond memory. I came to understand that the reign of Charlemagne had a profound effect on subsequent western European history, but it seemed to me, his descendants who followed him into European royalty were, well, political correctness aside, insensitively described in physical terms that were not considered that attractive.

 

One of them was known as Charles the Fat. Always sensitive about gaining weight, I was particularly drawn to accounts of Charles the Fat’s exploits, most of which I have now forgotten. I guess he is best known for being fat.

 

Same with Charles the Bald. He became a ruler too, in spite of hair issues that have lasted in recorded history for millennia. I’m not that happy with my own hair loss, but it will soon be forgotten when I am forgotten. I hope.

 

Then there was Louis the Stammerer, son of Charles the Bald. Boy, Thanksgiving Dinner must have been a riot in that family. Many readers know I kid a lot in this space, but I am not making up these names. You can Google them.

 

Also, I don’t mean to cast aspersions on readers who might be overweight, might be bald and might have speaking difficulties, especially some 1,000-plus years since these people existed. But they existed. It’s history.

 

I ran into my first pope, Pius XII, again as an adult when I visited the Vatican on a tourist trip. Walking into St. Peter’s Basilica, there he was pictured in a huge mural dominating an entire wall. Explaining my familiarity with him from early life newsreels to trip companions, I think I came off as James the Stammerer.

 

It was on that trip that we also visited the Sistine Chapel where Michelangelo’s dramatic fresco of the Creation of Adam dominates the ceiling. I had a stiff neck, so it was difficult to fully appreciate the dramatic portrayal of God, but I could see enough that God looked pretty much the way I’d always pictured him, despite being a lifelong Lutheran. Great beard.

 

We have Pope Rex Harrison to thank for that dramatic fresco. Oops, that was the movie. O, the agony and the ecstasy of it all. 

 

I wish Pope Leo XIV well. He’s started out strong with his AI encyclical that has frightened Silicon Valley. As for me, I’m frightened BY Silicon Valley.

 

Jim Heffernan is a former Duluth News Tribune news and opinion writer and continues as a columnist. He can be reached at jimheffernan@jimheffernan.org and maintains a blog at www.jimheffernan.org. 

The way we were when we bought gas...

Historic cartoon in Fresno Bee, 1812

Written by Jim Heffernan for the DuluthNewsTribune opinion page/5-27-26 

 When the price of gasoline hit $4.50 a gallon recently ($6.50 in California) it caused me to reflect on the history of gas prices I have experienced in my rather long life. You’ll see how long.

 

When I started driving in the mid-1950s, a gallon of gas at the pump was about 25 cents (for regular) and 28 cents for (ethyl). Ethyl was “premium” and not Lucille Ball’s TV friend.

 

My family had a cabin on a lake near Moose Lake and when I went there, I’d stop at an Erickson station (later Holiday) near the Duluth Ore Docks and order a buck’s worth of regular. That was plenty to get me to the cabin.

 

Besides the prices of gas, there have been drastic changes in the way gas stations operated. For one thing, they were called “service stations,” because a stop at one could involve more than a buck’s worth of gas.

 

Also called “filling stations” they were manned by men (all men) who were known as “pump jockeys.” These men wore the uniforms of their brand — Standard, Pure, Mobil, Texaco, Phillips 66, Mileage, Clark, Erickson, Cities Service and others. Many of their uniforms were topped with leathery bow ties, and, of course, special caps, often military style, identifying the brand they represented.

 

In the process, no driver EVER filled his or her own tank at a service station.  Most drivers wouldn’t know how. Drivers would pull into the driveway alongside the row of pumps and a pump jockey would dash out of the building and approach the driver, still seated behind the wheel.

 

Speaking through the open window, the driver would order the kind and amount of gas (“Gimme a buck’s worth of regular.” or “Fill her up with ethyl.”) and the pump jockey would grab the hose from the proper pump and begin filling the tank. As the process unfolded, the pump jockey would dash to the front of the car and wash the windshield without asking if the driver wanted the service.

 

When the gas order was complete, and the windshield cleaned, the pump jockey, before collecting the money, would ask if the driver needed any other services. These other services might be open the hood and check the oil, or get down with a tire gauge and check the tires. If a tire or two was low on air, the jockey would grab the air hose and bring them up to where they belonged.

 

Under those circumstances, then he would show up at the driver’s side window to be paid — maybe $5 for a full tank of gas, no charge for the service. And no tipping — ever.

 

But occasionally there were limits. I was riding with a friend one time and he was out of cigarettes. Just about everybody smoked in those days, especially teenage boys who weren’t out for sports. It was a chilly, rainy evening shortly after dark and my friend pulled into a station on Central Entrance.

 

The pump jockey darted from inside his building wearing rain gear and approached the driver’s window, asking for an order. He got one:

 

“I’ll take a package of Marlboros,” my friend said.

 

The jockey looked at him scornfully and said, “You Xyz##XXY,” as he turned on his heel and returned to the comfort of his station.

 

As I said, there were limits.

 

Jim Heffernan is a former Duluth News Tribune news and opinion writer and continues as a columnist. He can be reached at jimheffernan@jimheffernan.org and maintains a blog at www.jimheffernan.org.