My friend and I kneel clumsily on the side of the altar in the early morning dark before school begins. Our shoes are covered by our black cassocks, which are straight jackets for squirmy 11-year-olds. So we tug and pull at the cassocks until the priest, bending over the chalice, gives us a side-eye that promises everlasting hellfire. Being more comfortable with our long and well-deserved stint in purgatory, we stop squirming. 

“Dominus vobiscum,” says the priest.

“Et cum spiritu tuo,” we chant quickly and without any inkling as to the meaning. 

And so go the instructions in How to Serve Low Mass, by Rev. William A. O’Brien (published in 1931), and made available to us boys at St. Mary’s School in Iowa City in 1964. By the next year, Latin was out the door, the altar was turned around to face the congregation, and the nuns were leading us in Woodie Guthrie songs about equality and revolution. Vatican II was a tsunami for believers at that time, even though it turned into a small ripple in later years. 

But it was too late for me. Not only was I taking my first steps down the teenage rebellion path, but, worse, I had my first Long John.

It began innocently enough. The priest gave each of us altar boys a quarter after mass. Clutching it tight, we ran down North Linn Street to Hamburg Inn No. 2. Inside the entrance and at the head of the servers’ island was a glass case full of donuts and other pastries.

“I’ll have one Long John, please.”

Delivered with a pat of butter, I swooned. It was salvation without Latin. I became a believer. Then I became buddies with Mike Panther. Come to find out his mom and dad OWNED Hamburg Inn No. 2. Free Long Johns, here I come. 

So now, nearly 60 years later, I stop in at Alok Oberoi’s place, the Donut Hut on Douglas Avenue in Des Moines, my new place of worship. 

“Alok, what do you have for Long Johns today?”

Alok has made Long Johns since he bought the business 13 years ago.

“When people come to buy donuts they look for the value. The Long John has more for the buck. I have several customers who just buy Long Johns. And they rave about them too. They are larger and the dough is special.”

And Alok, do you have any kids stop by for donuts?

“A lot of students come here to buy donuts, early morning, after school, and during breaks. I have three schools that are near — an elementary school across the street, a middle school and a high school just up the street.”

Do they talk to you?

“I have regular kids come in. Ninety percent of my customers know me. Everybody wants to talk a little bit.”

And what do you say to them?`

“My question for a young person is always how are your grades? And if they are doing well in school I give them a free donut.”

I’m doing well in school, I say. 

Alok smiles. 

“Also if I see some kids holding the door for other people, I reward them with a donut and make sure to tell them that was really nice that they did that. I want the kids who come in here to be respectful. And my goal with them is to make sure they go to school and complete their education. I tell all the kids to not give up on their education, just keep going as long as they can. Life is not easy.”

So I drive off with a box full of Long Johns and Alok’s warm goodby . . .  and I think of my buddy Mike Panther and our love of Long Johns. For no good reason, he and I lost touch after high school and went on with our lives. Years later I find out that in December 1985, three weeks before Mike’s wedding, a drunk driver crossed the center line and killed Mike in a head-on collision.

As Alok says, life is not easy. 

According to my manual, How to Serve Low Mass, the altar boys at a Mass for the dead are to respond with Amen when the priest says Requiescant in pace. 

So, Mike, although it is 38 years late . . .   

“Requiescat in pace,” says the robed priest in my mind.

To which the young altar boy from over half a century ago answers: “Amen.”

And I take a bite of my Long John. 

Joe