By Msgr. R. Donald Kiernan

(Msgr. Kiernan is presently pastor of Immaculate Heart of Mary Church in Atlanta. He was stationed in the Immaculate Conception Church in the early fifties and also served as editor of the Georgia Bulletin. His Georgia Pines column, written in the same vein as the following article, was keenly read each week.)

November 16, 1951 was a record cold day in the city of Atlanta. I clearly recall it because that was the day I arrived to take up my new assignment as assistant pastor of the Immaculate Conception Church on the corner of Hunter and Central Avenues. I had left a warm and balmy Savannah, where I had served in my first assignment as assistant rector of the Cathedral of St. John the Baptists for two years.

Monsignor Moylan, a former pastor of the I.C., who was now serving as the chancellor of the Diocese of Savannah-Atlanta, gave me my instructions on how to find the church in the "big city." "Go up Highway 80 through Statesboro, Macon, Covington, and when you get to Highway 41 stay on it until you get to downtown Atlanta. Turn right at High's Store and two blocks down the road is the I.C.," he told me.

I arrived about 6 p.m. and the extreme cold outside was soon overtaken by the warm reception of the new pastor, the late Monsignor James J. Grady, Father Harry Phillips, the chaplain to the United States Penitentiary and Monsignor Ed Dodwell, the chaplain of the Cancer Home who resided at the I.C. rectory.

The next day was a shocker. I offered my first Mass in Atlanta in a cold, damp and dirty church whose windows in many places were replaced by cardboard, whose lights had long ceased to burn, and whose paint on the outside of the building was peeling off. The rectory had not a single curtain on a window and most of the rooms were void of furniture.

But this was not for long. Immediately the Monsignor (Grady) called in a group of ladies and a gigantic cleaning program as undertaken, led by such faithful parishioners as Margaret Garner, Flora Graham, Hilda Johann and Rosa Salome. John Hart from Haverty's Furniture Company was next on the scene and the rectory was transformed almost overnight.

The church, itself, was the big problem. So much to do and so little to do it with. In fact, a zealous, if misdirected, parishioner one Sunday morning picketed the church with a sign that read: "Is this the best that the Catholics can afford for the Mother of God?" Police Chief Herbert T. Jenkins immediately dispatched Lieutenant Jerome Masters to the scene and the zealot was never to be seen again. Lt. Masters was the son of Jerome Masters who, along with Mr. Tom Clark, gave every minute of the day to the works of the St. Vincent de Paul Society and made that conference "the envy" of many charitable organizations.

Monsignor Grady called in people like Anna Mae Azar, the John Maloofs, Gearson Epler, Jim Nicholson, William Goodwin, Jim Giglio, Van Buren Colley, Eddie Gasparini and others. They, along with the encouragement of Hughes Spalding Sr., Clarence Haverty, and Carling Dinkler Sr., all decided that a fund-raising drive was a necessity. They went after $70,000 but when the drive was all over, the sum in excess of one hundred thousand dollars was realized.

The John Blick Company was commissioned to do the renovation, and as the project was underway, John Camarata donated several marble statues to replace the plaster of Paris images. John Weidner re-built the organ and Mrs. Reilly donated the window which was above the main entrance to the church, beautifully executed by Joe Llorens of Decatur.

Renovation days saw many, many parishioners donating their time, talents and energies that soon made the Immaculate Conception not only a show-piece but the barometer of Catholic prestige in North Georgia. Snooky Da Prano and Bill Goodwin singlehandedly installed the beautiful lights that illuminated the sanctuary and the church.

The renovated church was also rejuvenated. Sunday after Sunday, old parishioners who had moved to the suburbs began to return to the place where so much of their lives had been spent. Any Sunday one might see the hotel magnate Carling Dinkler sitting in the pews with a young and budding musician by the name of Albert Coleman, later to found and direct the Atlanta Symphony. Writing about life at the I.C., who could ever forget Bill Logan, whose spiritual gymnastics consisted of saying a different prayer in a different pew, always to be preceded by a Sign of the Cross that looked like a pilot describing the descent of the C5-A.

Rectory life, too, was interesting. A beehive of activity saw many religious and political figures stopping by. Mayor William B. Hartsfield would often walk from the City hall through the alleyway and enter the always-opened back door of the rectory, telling the maid as he passed through, "Put some more water in the soup; I think I'll have dinner with the Fathers." (Mayors are paid more now, so I guess they can afford to go to restaurants).

With the renovation completed and before the ceremony of re-dedication, the late Archbishop Gerald P. O'Hara stopped in one Sunday afternoon for a visit. He was serving the Holy See as the Nuncio to Ireland and his visit was very limited. However, he did want to see and visit all of the churches in Atlanta. It happened that Captain E. O. Mullen stopped by at the same time. After their meeting, the captain suggested that he get a driver for the archbishop and went outside and called Sergeant A. L. Posey on the radio. As Posey drove the archbishop around, he told him, "I'm a Baptist, sir, but y'all have a beautiful church there and I think it would be great if you could call it a Cathedral or something else." The archbishop on his way back to Ireland thought about Posey's suggestion and soon a letter was received from Ireland designating the Church of the Immaculate Conception would now be known as the Shrine of the Immaculate Conception.

Fire came close to the Shrine one cold winter night just before Christmas. About 2 a.m. we were all awakened by the sound of bells, sirens and truck motors to find out that the T. J. Sutherland Egg and Poultry Company, located just across the street from the rectory, was going up in flames. Monsignor Grady and myself put on our overcoats, opened up the school building (students were on vacation) and invited Mr. Sutherland to use the school for storage, and, if he wanted, to operate out of the school during the Christmas rush. Mr. Sutherland never forgot that good deed and I might add that his son, Gene, has carried on his late father's tradition. That was my first introduction to Cornish hens!

Another commotion called Father Harry Phillips and myself out of deep sleep one night when we heard the chants of college students marching down the street. It was a protest that Georgia Tech students were having because Governor Marvin Griffin would not let Tech play Notre Dame, whose line-up included some blacks. Superintendent Jimmy Brown recognized us and invited us to ride with him as he followed the protesters on their march to the governor's mansion located then on The Prado. Representative Mugsy Smith, himself a Tech alumnus, saved the night with his cool reason and the students dispersed. Mugsy invited us into his home for some coffee and Mayor Hartsfield stopped in. By now it was about 1 a.m. I remember how sad the Mayor was about the incident because of its racial implications and he said, "I have just returned from Berlin where I walked over block after block of bombed-out business, homes and churches. And to think that that was all brought about because of the prejudice of just one man."

April 1955 was a sad day for me. I received my transfer to another assignment. The Monsignor had passed away and with him many happy thoughts. But every day I drove past the I.C., these memories would once again be kindled and would go down in my mind as never having spent an unpleasant day at the I.C. Last week as I looked on the burned hulk of a place where five years of my life had been spent, I decided that no fire could ever burn out these memories and every time I pass that corner I would once again think of the giants that made all this possible.