1978_RinaldiPM_Man_with_a_dream


1978_RinaldiPM_Man_with_a_dream

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MAN WITH A DREAM
THE STORY OF ST. JOHN BOSCO
by
PETER RINALDI, S. D. B.
PATRON BOOKS
DON BOSCO PUBLICATIONS
New Rochelle, New York

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To the parishioners of Corpus Christi Church,
Port Chester, N.Y.
God's people and my people. I count it a singular
grace and a joy to have ministered to them
for twenty-nine unforgettable years.
IMPRIMI POTEST:
Very Rev. Salvatore Isgro, S.D.B.
Provincial
First Printing
January 1978 5000 copies
Second Printing
July 1978 15,000 copies
@ 1978 Don Bosco Publications
Printed in the United States of America

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CONTENTS
page
FOREWARD . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . iv
What Will This Child Be?. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
II Mama Margaret. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11
III The Long, Hard Road. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19
IV Toward the Goal . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25
V Give Me the Young . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33
VI On the March . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43
VII TheSalesianWay..................... 53
VIII "God" Is Its Name . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61
IX The Founder . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71
X Cooperators . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 79
XI A Living Monument. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87
XII Go Into the Whole World . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93
XIII Man for All Seasons. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 99
XIV In His Footsteps . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 113
XV The Ways of a Saint. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 129
XVI Farewell, Father! ..................... 147
Epilogue ......... ................. 159
About the Author ..... ..... . . . . . . . . . . 161
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FOREWARD
MAN WITH A DREAM is the story of St. John Bosco-
Don Bosco, as he was and still is popularly known-a tower-
ing figure during one of the most critical periods in the his-
tory of the Catholic Church. Founder of the Salesian Order,
whose members number close to forty thousand, he was
the trusted friend of popes, kings, statesmen and literati,
and played no small part in the affairs of both Church and
State in 19th century Italy.
But it was his consuming interest in the young, the
poorest and most neglected among them, that won for him
the admiration of the world. From his compassionate love
for them came countless homelike establishments and
a uniquely successful system of education based on reason,
religion and kindness. "Don Bosco, you have done wonders!"
Pope Leo XIII told him. "You yourself do not realize the
extent of your mission, and the good it will bring to the
world."
From the day he was born in a humble cottage in
Piedmont, Italy, to the day on which two hundred thou-
sand persons lined Turin's boulevards to mourn at his funer-
al, the life of Don Bosco unfolds with more drama and color
than any historical novel.
Drama and color are found on every page of this book.
Anecdotes, culled from the 20-volume Biographical Memoirs
of Don Bosco and from the testimony of persons who
iv
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knew the Saint, are woven by the author into a delightful
portrait of this extraordinary priest, who charmed youngsters
and awed the great, and whose zestful, buoyant personality is
one of the richest and most colorful in the history of the
Church.
It is not only Don Bosco who comes to life in these
pages, but many of the interesting people who moved around
him: his extraordinary mother for one, and, too, some of
the youngsters he befriended, as well as the men and women
who either helped or opposed him. It is an immensely
readable story in which every anecdote is historical, and
every dialogue and quotation authentic, if not always literal.
The author gives grateful acknowledgement to the Very
Reverend Salvatore Isgro, SDB, Provincial Superior of
the Salesian Society, Eastern Province, New Rochelle, N.Y.,
without whose encouragement this work would not have
been undertaken; and to Miss Marie Prochilo, Port Chester,
N.Y., without whose assistance it would not have been
brought to completion.
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CHAPTER I
WHAT WILL THIS CHILD BE?
"A Dream I Had . .."
A dream I had when I was nine years old left an indel-
ible impression on my mind. I dreamt I was in a large field,
not far from home, with a crowd of boys, most of whom
were playing, while some were at their worst behavior, as was
evidenced by their foul language. I went right up to them
and began to rough them up with my fist and harsh words,
when suddenly a man appeared, clad in a dazzling white
robe, his bearing noble and majestic, his face so bright, I
could hardly bear to look at him. He called me by name and
told me to take charge of those boys, adding: "You will
never make them your friends by treating them that way.
Be kind and gentle with them. Come now, show them
how they can mend their ways and become decent boys."
I was so awed and frightened that all I could do was
stammer something about being a poor ignorant boy, quite
unable to lecture anyone, let alone those boys. I noticed,
in the meantime, that they all had left their games and
had quietly gathered around the mysterious man. I then
spoke to him again; and, not quite knowing what I was
saying, I ventured to say to him, "Who are you to tell me
to do such impossible things?"
"What seems impossible to you now," he answered,
"you will be able to do later through obedience and study."
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"But how can I ever hope to be able to study and learn
about those things?"
"I will give you a guide, who can instruct you as no
one else can."
"But who are you to speak to me that way?"
"You know my mother. You greet her three times a day,
the way your mother taught you."
"My mother always tells me not to have anything to
do with strangers, unless I ask her permission. Tell me your
name."
Suddenly I saw a stately lady at his side, wearing a
beautiful mantle, all studded with gems that shone like
stars. Seeing how hopelessly confused I was, she bade me
come close to her, and taking my hand, "Look,>' she said.
The boys had all vanished, and in their place were now all
sorts of animals: goats, dogs , wild cats, bears. . . . "This
will be your field of action," the lady continued, "but
first you must grow up to be humble, strong and sturdy.
The change you will now see in these animals, you will
then bring about in my children."
I looked again, and all those wild beasts were suddenly
changed into lambs, bleating and playfully skipping all
around us. It was all too much for me, and I started to cry
while I kept begging the lady to tell me what all this meant.
She gently placed her hand on my head, ''Someday, in due
time," she said, smiling, "you will understand everything."
It was at this point that I awoke and realized that it was
all a dream.
When in the morning I told my two brothers about
my dream, they both had a good laugh. Joseph suggested
that I would probably become a shepherd and tend "not

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just sheep, but cows, goats, and all sorts of animals."
"You may well end up by becoming the leader of a
gang of bandits," Anthony snickered. Mother said quietly,
"Who knows, Johnny, you might even become a priest."
Grandmother, who though illiterate was wiser than all of
us, said resolutely, "We shouldn't pay the slightest attention
to dreams."
I was quite sure she was right, but that dream kept
haunting me for the rest of my life.
"Your Father is Dead!"
John, our young dreamer, was born on August 16, 1815,
in Becchi, a tiny hamlet near Turin in Piedmont, Italy.
His father, Francis Bosco, died when John was barely two
years old.
"Margaret," he told his wife in a whisper as he lay dying,
"I know you will do your best with the children. Take care
of our little John in a special way." Sobbing, she knelt in
prayer by his bed, the three children near her, until she
realized Francis had stopped breathing. She then drew the
sheet over his face, and turning to the youngsters, "Come
now," she told them calmly, "we must leave." But John,
his eyes fixed on the bed, would not move.
"We must go, Johnny. Come with me." And she gently
led the child away.
"I want papa to come with us, Mommy!"
"My poor child, your father is dead!"
It was early summer, 1817. Francis Bosco's family was
left to face a future that was far from promising. Of the

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children, Anthony, a son by Francis' previous marriage,
was then eleven, a surly, difficult boy; Joseph was five,
and John nearly two. And there was Francis' mother, a frail
old woman, partly paralyzed and in need of constant care.
Those were difficult times for Piedmont, first overrun by
the armies of Napoleon and later plagued by constant inroads
of mercenaries, who literally laid the countryside to waste.
In spite of all that, the young widow was grateful. "It's
going to be a bit harder without your father," she told
the family after the funeral, "but we'll manage with God's
help. Our home is not much, but at least we have a r.oof
over our heads. Let us be thankful, too, that we have a
bit of land and a cow, things other people do not have.''
To the tearful youngsters and the distraught mother-in-law,
what mattered most was that they had her, Margaret Occhi-
ena Bosco, who had a man's strength and the most gentle
and loving heart God ever bestowed on a woman.
"What Now, Johnny?"
John grew sprightly , vigorous , and full of mischief.
"Too much quick-silver in his veins," Grandma Bosco would
often say about her favorite grandson.
He was seven years old when one day , during his moth-
er's absence, balancing himself precariously on a high stool,
he tried to reach for something in the cupboard. He only
succeeded in toppling a large crock of oil which came tum-
bling down with a crash, spilling the precious content all
over the kitchen floor. "What will Mother say?" was his
first thought as he ran to grab a broom which only made a

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worse mess on Margaret's spotless brick floor.
To forestall trouble, there was only one thing to do.
He went to the yard, snipped a branch from the willow tree
and proceeded ~o strip off its leaves as he sat by the kitchen
door, waiting for his mother. He soon spotted her coming
up the road; and , holding the whip behind his back, ran to
meet her.
"Hello, Johnny. Have you been a good boy? "
John produced the whip and a face that said , "l am
at your mercy."
"What now? What have you done?"
Out came a sad story in one breath, ending with : "This
time I really deserve a whipping, Mother." But how could
Margaret resist the mischievous look on the boy's face? She
ruffled his curls, and "Come along," she said. "Let's get
home fast so we can clean up the mess before Grandma
sees it."
"Ghosts," You Say?
It was known around Becchi that John was a plucky
little fellow with a spirit and courage far beyond his age.
He was hardly nine when he had his first successful bout
with "ghosts."
The family was visiting at the farm of Margaret's parents
in Capriglio when on the first evening someone who had
gone to the bedrooms upstairs quickly came down to tell
the assembled family that mysterious noises were coming
from the attic.
Margaret's two brothers went up to the bedrooms ; but

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were soon back, a bit shaken. "It is true. There are noises
coming from the attic-and very peculiar ones, too. They
sound like the shuffling and stamping of feet, and occasion-
ally as if someone were hitting the floor with a stick. But
what's strange is that the noises actually seem to follow
you from room to room." The children were frightened,
and the adults impressed.
"Why not go to see what goes on in the attic?" John
volunteered.
"Are you out of your mind?" Grandma Occhiena re-
plied. "Not you, nor anyone else! Certainly not tonight
in the dark..." Even Margaret was not too sure John was
being sensible.
"But something has to be done," John pleaded. "Who's
coming with me?" He snatched one of the lamps from the
table and started up the stairway leading to the attic. Some
of the men followed him, ashamed that a mere child should
beat them to the game.
What met their eyes, in the flickering light of the lamp,
was indeed a strange thing. A huge, round sieve - the kind
used for cornflour-was actually moving on the floor. "Get
back, Johnny, get back! Don't go near it! .. .It's a ghost
moving it; it's the devil!" But John, stepping forward,
lifted the sieve; and out came the "ghost," a great big roost-
er, half-blinded by the light, his feathers ruffled, looking
more dead than alive. John grabbed it, held it up, and laugh-
ing: "Here is the ghost! Here is the devil!" he shouted.
Downstairs they were all relieved, and wondered how
the rooster had gotten itself into that fix. Grandpa Occhiena
explained it easily. The bird had found its way to the attic
and began to peck at whatever remnant of corn was in the

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sieve which someone had placed upright against the wall.
The sieve fell on the rooster, which was then trying might
and main to free itself from the trap. John got more back-
slapping than he cared to receive, and everyone applauded
when he suggested the "ghost" be served for dinner on
the foil owing day.
"You Are Forever in Trouble ..."
Margaret was washing her nine-year old's face, streaked
with mud and blood.
"You are forever in trouble, Johnny. Yesterday it was
your leg; now it's your head. What next? Can't you keep
away from thos,e rowdies?"
"But, Mom, when I am with them, they behave ... ."
"One wouldn't think so by looking at you. I forbid you
to go out with them again. They are too rough ...."
"You don't believe me, Mom, but they really do behave
when I am with them." The boy looked at his mother
pleadingly.
"What am I going to do with you, Johnny?" And in
the smile she gave him were her unspoken words: "All
right, Johnny, but please be careful! ..."
"Take My Bread."
Young John did his share of work on the Becchi farm.
One of his chores was to look after the family cow and to
take it to pasture in the nearby fields. One day he met a boy

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of his age, Secondo Matta, who was engaged in the same
task. Thin, ragged and barefooted, Secondo was a study in
contrast to John whose family was certainly as poor as
Secondo's, but whose mother kept him always neatly dressed
and well-fed.
John noticed the poor quality of Secondo's bread-
coarse, stale and tasteless-while his own was fragrant,
light , and fresh from Margaret's oven: "Becchi's tastiest
bread," people used to say.
"How about a taste of your bread?" he asked Secondo
one morning, adding, "You can have some of mine." It went
further than just a taste, since, from that day on, John would
exchange his entire loaf with Secondo.
"But, John, why do you exchange your bread for mine
when yours is so much better?" Secondo wanted to know.
"It's just that I like yours a lot more, Secondo."
It didn't make sense to Secondo, but then there were
many other things about Margaret's son people wondered
about.
"He Will Have the Whole World Talking!"
"We'll meet at Margaret's home tonight. Her Johnny
will read and perform again." The word spread quickly
around Becchi.
Standing on a stool so all could hear and see him, John,
barely in his teens, would read for hours on end during the
long winter nights. Often he would tell stories, interspersing
them with jokes and even sleight-of-hand tricks. In the midst
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from his pocket, and: "We'll now offer a decade," he would
say with a smile that no one could resist.
In the summer his entertainment took on a different
form. He had developed an uncanny ability to do tricks,
gymnastics and acrobatic stunts, by dint of observing and
imitating circus performers at country fairs. He usually
performed Sunday afternoons in the field in front of his
cottage , but was often invited by neighboring peasants to
present his act in haylofts and barns. Here, too, at the
most tense moment, when his audience stood spell-bound,
"How about the Rosary, people?'' or, "Here is a brief sum-
mary of a sermon I once heard," he would say quietly.
And if a few of the spectators wandered off, "The best is
yet to come," he would shout. "Join us now or stay away
altogether."
Margaret, gazing from her cottage or standing among
the crowd, often wondered about her youngster who mes-
merized those simple country folks by juggling eggs, pulling
a rabbit out of a hat, plucking a silver coin from a nose or
ear, and gingerly walking a tightrope. She wondered, too, how
her son could so effortlessly turn those people's thoughts to
God and make them pray so well. One day, after one such
performance, she asked her neighbor Caterina Agagliati,
"Tell me , Caterina, what do you make of my Johnny?
What do you think he will be?"
Signora Agagliati spoke her native Piedmontese with
unusual solemnity this time. "That boy," she said, "will
have the whole world talking some day."

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CHAPTER II
MAMA MARGARET
"I Believe He Really Loved Me."
There was not the slightest doubt in the neighbors'
minds that Francis Bosco's young and attractive widow was a
woman to be reckoned with. But would she be up to the task
confronting her? By the end of 1817, the year of her hu-
band's death , everyone at Becchi knew that she was.
Margaret was detennined to keep the family together
and to run the household just as if Francis were still with
them. The care of the children and of her sickly mother-
in-law came first on her busy schedule, although she had to
be out in the fields, too. She soon proved to herself and to
all concerned that she could work just like a man. There was
not a thing she could not do, no matter how hard, and do
it well.
But the home was where her heart was. "Margaret lives
only for her children," people would say when they saw her
trudging up the hill to the parish church, her children happily
skipping around her. They knew the young widow had had
several attractive offers to marry and had turned them
down with a shrug and a smile. "I have my children and my
mother-in-law to care for. We are a happy family , and I
have my health and my two strong arms. Why upset the
apple cart?"
Years later, Margaret enlarged on the motive that had
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made her decide not to marry again. "In one instance,"
she confided to a friend, "I nearly did it. He was very kind
and considerate ; a man of means, too ; and I believe he
really loved me . Yet I was firmly convinced that God had
already given me a wonderful husband for a purpose.
That same God took my Francis away . I had a duty to
fulfill, since my husband, when dying, had entrusted
the three boys to me in a very special manner. There
really never was any other alternative. My path was clearly
marked for me. All I had to do was to follow the road signs
ahead, step by step, I had to become both mother and
father, all in one.
"Look, Mom; Isn't It Beautiful?"
There are any number of anecdotes that bring out the
innate wisdom, faith and strength of Margaret Occhiena
Bosco.
One evening, Joseph and John were watching the sun
setting behind the Alps in a blaze of colorful lights.
"Look, Mom; isn't it beautiful?"
"The Lord has done it all, my children. How great He
must be!"
Late one night, when it was nearly time for bed, the
two youngsters, their arms on the sill of the open window,
kept looking at the myriad stars twinkling away in an ocean
of blackness.
"They are beautiful, Morn!"
"And shouldn't they be, my sons, since it is the Lord
himself who put them there? If this side of heaven is so

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lovely, what must the other side be?"
Billowing clouds suddenly darkened the sky on a hot
summer day. Rain was pouring down in sheets. The young-
sters ran to Margaret and shivered with fear when lightning
and thunder struck.
"I am scared, Mom! ...."
"How mighty the Lord is! ...But we never need fear if
we are good ..."
"I Thought You Weren't Thirsty."
There was nothing angelic about Joseph's or John's
make-up, unless it was their cherubic faces under heads of
brown curls. One hot summer afternoon, the two brothers
came running into the kitchen. "Mama, a drink of water,
please!"
Margaret dipped her copper ladle into an earthenware
jug of water and presented it first to Joseph, the older of
the two. John resented the preference and when, in turn,
his mother raised the ladle to his lips, he sulkily refused to
drink. Not a word from Margaret, who simply put the ladle
back into the jug and resumed her work. The jealous little
rascal needed a lesson.
A few minutes later, "Mama. " Her four-year old
bambino was tugging at her skirt.
"What now, Johnny?"
"A drink, please, Mama..."
"I thought you weren't thirsty!"
"I am sorry...."

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"Now that's what I like to hear, son," and a smiling
Margaret ran to fetch her cherub a drink of cold water.
"My Poor Blackbird!"
There were hardly any feathers on the hapless little
blackbird John found on the ground, shivering wet , after an
early summer thundershower. He took it home, nursed
it back to health, and watched it grow, its shining dark
plumage a joy to the touch. They became inseparable com-
panions. They ate together, whistled and warbled together,
the bird responding to John's call from every comer of the
house.
One morning there was no answer to the soft whistle
with which John always greete d his feathered friend from his
bedroom at dawn . He ran to the makeshift cage he had made
for it and had hung near the kitchen window; he fo und
it on the floor in shambles, and the bird a mess of bloodied
feathers. Nero, the family tomcat, had done his savage deed
only too well.
The boy was heartbroken. "My poor blackbird 1... " he
kept repeating between sobs. Nothing Margaret said could
bring a measure of comfort to him. Irked by all that crying,
one day she told him bluntly : "Aren't you carrying this too
far, Johnny? So many tears over such a tiny loss? What
would you do if I were to die?" Suddenly J olurny saw the
light. He looked up amidst his tears, smiled, and threw his
arms around her neck.

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"I Would Rather See You Dead!"
They had all gone to Castelnuovo for Sunday Mass:
Margaret and the two younger children together, while
Anthony, as usual, had made it there with his friends. On the
way back to Becchi, they ran into a group of men, most of
them young, who seemed to be having the time of their life
listening to the loud jokes of an older man. When the latter
caught sight of the young widow, he raised his voice and
launched into indecent remarks.
Margaret was appalled. She turned to him and, in no
uncertain terms, let him have the tongue lashing she thought
he deserved.
"At your age, how dare you use such language in front
of these young people and my own children?"
"I only meant it as a joke, lady ..."
"But you know that what you said is filthy wrong. Why
did you say it?"
"Because we want to laugh a little. Nothing wrong with
that, is there?"
"You can laugh your way to hell if you want, but you
don't have to drag other people there with you ..."
By the time she got through, the group melted away. To
the children , who had never seen her so indignant, she then
said with a broken voice: "I love you more than my life, but
I would rather see you dead than know you will turn out to
be like that monster."

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"Do You Really Mean Those Words?"
As he grew, Anthony became the problem in the Bosco
household. A bully, who could not get along with anyone,
he was particularly hard on John and never missed a chance
to tell him off.
One evening they were all at prayer by the fireplace.
Mama Margaret, who was leading the Lord's Prayer, suddenly
stopped. "One minute," she said, and turning to Anthony,
"Tony, before you say 'forgive us our trespasses,' ask your-
self if you really mean those words." She spoke calmly and
deliberately.
"Why not?" Anthony answered, more surprised than
defiant.
"Because," Margaret continued, "you have nothing but
hatred in your heart, judging from the way you have been
acting lately. Why don't you change, Tony? You know we
love you ..."
"I promise, Mother! I'll try ..."
Margaret resumed the prayer. Suddenly she felt grateful.
For months Anthony had not called her ''Mother." Who
knows? Maybe this time she had reached his heart.
"lt's Your Big Day, Johnny!"
Father Sismondo was not easily persuaded. A man
of few words, he even appeared slightly impatient with
Margaret, who stood respectfully before him, with John at
her side, a look of expectancy on her face.
"Why this hurry, Margaret?" John is not even eleven

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years old. You know that children are not admitted to first
Holy Communion until after their twelfth birthday."
"He knows his catechism, Father. He is..."
"I will think about it. In any case, he must attend
religious instruction class. That means coming daily all the
way from Becchi, all through Lent. .."
" I won't mind at all, Father," John said eagerly.
The priest did not as much as look at the boy, and
dismissed Margaret with a curt bow.
It was John who broke the silence as they left the parish
house . "Father had nothing to say to me , Mom ..."
"Priests are very busy , Johnny. They have lots of prob-
lems they must think about. You can hardly expect them
to waste their time on a boy your age .. ."
A brief silence, and John spoke up again: "Mom, if I
ever become a priest, I will have lots of time for children."
Margaret gently pressed the boy to her side, as she was
wont to do whenever she couldn't think of the right word
to say.
After a few catechism instructions , Father Sismondo
sent for Margaret. "Your son is quite a lad ," he told her.
"Yes , a fine, bright boy. He knows his catechism perfectly.
If you taught him, Margaret , you certainly did a good job .
We will admit him to Holy Communion. "
For days mother and son savored the joy of the event
to come. Father Sismondo readily assented to Margaret's
request to allow John to receive Holy Communion p rivately.
"It is just as well ," he said . "John is too young, and he would
be out of place with the other youngsters. " It was decided
he would receive Holy Communion with Margaret and
Joseph.

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On the eventful morning, Margaret had John all to
herself, fussing over the outfit she had made for him. Her
words to him came easily. "This is your big day, Johnny.
It is a great gift the Lord is about to make to you. But He
expects a gift from you, too: your heart. Tell Him you
want to belong to Him for the rest of your life. Tell Him
to keep you good always."
"I will, Mom. And I will pray for you, too ... "

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CHAPTER III
THE LONG, HARD ROAD
"I'll Never Bother You Again."
It was a sight the good Becchi folks were not used to:
Margaret's youngest son tending the cows in the pasture,
with a book in his hands, absorbed in study. Some even
poked fun at him in a pleasant sort of way. "John, what in
the world are you aiming to become with your nose forever
buried in those books?"
"Something good, I hope," he would answer with a
smile.
At first, some of his young friends were annoyed with
him. "Do you have to study all the time, Johnny? We need
you for our games. We can't play without you."
"You forget I played with you yesterday. Now I have to
study. I'll join you some other time."
One day, one of the older boys , impatient and deter-
mined, became somewhat rough with him, and even threat-
ened to drag him away forcibly from his books. John's
friends came to his rescue. "Leave him alone, Andy! He
hasn't done anything to you, has he? What if he wants to
study? Johnny wants to become a priest."
"Johnny, you a priest?" Bewilderment and awe were
suddenly spread all over Andrew's face. "A priest, Johnny?
I didn't know. I'll never bother you again ," he muttered.
"Never again!"
19

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''It's What I Say!"
Margaret dreaded the thought of another quarrel. There
had been too many unpleasant scenes since Anthony, her
stepson, had turned twenty-one. He now wanted to be
consulted on everything. "Remember, Margaret," he said
once, "from now on, it's not what you think; it's what I
say."
This time she was determined to make her point. Alone
with him one evening after supper, she broached the subject
to him.
"Tony," she said calmly, "Don't you think we could
send Johnny to school this fall?"
"Send John to school, did you say? Is he really so
special? There is work to be done on the farm, and I am
not going to break my back so he can become a professor
or something..."
Margaret pressed her point as gently as possible. "You
know he wants to become a priest, Tony. Is it right to stand
in his way?"
"Who's going to pay for his schooling?" he shouted and
raged. "We don't have enough money to buy seed for next
year's wheat crop, and you want to send him to school!"
He pounded on the table. "No, no, by God," he shout-
ed, "No school for John or anyone else in this house!"
Margaret sighed. "There has to be another solution,"
she said, and with tears in her eyes, she left him to his
ranting.

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"It's the Only Way, Johnny!"
The solution, Margaret knew, was heart-rending. She
postponed it for several weeks. "Johnny," she told him one
day, "I have thought about it for a long time. Tony is im-
possible. There is only one way. Leave us for a while. Go to
the Moglias at Moncucco . They are fine people. I know they
can use someone like you."
She prepared a bundle of clothes and made sure his
books were included. "It's only for a short while, Johnny.
As you know, Tony is planning to get married. At least
you'll have some peace at the Moglias. The work will be no
harder than here, and they might even pay you."
It was a tearful parting for both, which left John little
prepared for what was awaiting him at the Moglia farm. It
was getting dark when he arrived at the sprawling farmhouse.
The gruff voice of the tall, thin man he met by the barn was
not very reassuring.
"And what, might I ask, brings you here at this late
hour?"
"I am Johnny Bosco, Margaret's son, from Becchi. Are
you Signor Moglia?"
"I am. But you are not telling me why you came
here ..."
John broke down as he told his story, and concluded:
"Please, take me, Signor Moglia! I'll do anything, anything
at all! You don't have to pay me ..."
"You come at the wrong time, boy." The man's voice
had softened. "We don't hire farmhands until spring. You
better go back to Becchi."
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overheard the conversation from the barn, intervened.
"Luigi, take the boy, if only for a few days. I feel terribly
sorry for him, and besides, we know his mother."
John became the Moglias' favorite farmboy. For nearly
two years his days were filled with work, and evenings saw
him pour over his beloved books. When sleep finally over-
took him, it was always with a prayer that his lifedream
might some day come true.
"Leave It to Me."
"He is all heart," people used to say of Don Calosso.
Indeed , no one could help but love Murialdo's elderly vicar.
They turned to him more readily than they did to Don
Sismondo, the cold and aloof pastor of Castelnuovo. John
loved the good priest who, in tum, had taken a great interest
in the boy.
"You do like to study, don't you, Johnny?" the priest
had asked him once on a chance meeting.
"Oh, yes, Father! I want to become a priest like you!"
"Tell your mother to come to see me , Johnny."
Margaret poured out her heart to the priest. "Of course
want the boy to go to school, Father. But how can that
ever be with Anthony against it? It's unbearable since
Johnny came back from the Moglia farm. Oh, Father, if only
something could be done!"
"I think it can, Margaret. Leave it to me. Beginning
tomorrow, I want Johnny every afternoon at five o'clock.
On rainy days, when he does not have to go out to work,
he can come and stay all day."

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23
John was ecstatic. A teacher all to himself! And Don
Calosso, too! By Christmas that year, John had mastered
most of the Latin grammar; by Easter, he was reading the
classics with ease. "That Johnny is a prodigy! And an angel
of a boy, too!" It was the way Don Calosso described him
to Angelina, his old housekeeper, who nodded approvingly.
"And So Did Our Donkey!"
Anthony was soon back to his old game. "There is work
to be done, and it is not done by studying Latin," he jeered
one evening at the supper table.
"Johnny is doing his share," Margaret suggested. "After
all, he is only fourteen."
"When I was his age I managed the farm alone. He is
not earning the food he eats. I am sick of seeing books
around the house. You don't need books to run a farm.
What you need is a strong back and a will to work. I grew
big and strong without the help of books!"
"So did the donkey in our stable," John remarked,
making off as fast as his legs could carry him.
When on the following day the boy informed Don
Calosso that things were as bad as ever at home, the good
priest remained thoughtful for a few moments. "I tell you
what, Johnny," he said suddenly. "Leave Becchi and come
and stay with me. You'll help me with things around the
church , and I will conti~ue to assist you with your studies.
Tell Mother not to worry from now on. I'll take care of you
as long as I live, and even afterwards."

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"If It's the Money You Want ..."
A few months later, Don Calosso lay dying of a heart
attack. John was shattered.
"The key, Johnny ," the priest whispered to him shortly
before he died. "Under my pillow ...The money in the safe
is all yours, for your schooling. Take it to your mother.
No one need know about it..."
On the very day the priest expired, relatives, never
before seen at the rectory, appeared on the scene. From the
room where John was tearfully praying with a few people
by Don Calosso's casket, he overheard them whisper.
"The boy must have the key ," someone was saying.
"Don Calosso probably left him whatever money he had.
He loved him like a son ..."
"Sorry," a more resolute voice was saying, "I am his
nephew. The law is with me ; that is , until a document
proves otherwise."
John, his heart breaking, looked at Don Calosso's
peaceful countenance and quietly left the room to face
the priest's relatives.
"Here is the key ," he said. "There are no documents.
If it's the money you want, you may have it. "

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CHAPTER IV
TOWARD THE GOAL
One Step Closer
With Anthony married and finally out of the way, the
thing to do was for John to enroll in the Castelnuovo school.
He did, and for several weeks walked twice daily all of the
twelve miles from Becchi to Castelnuovo and back, bare-
footed, carrying his shoes slung over his shoulder to save
them from wearing.
"Johnny ," Margaret said to him one day when the
first snow flurries were beginning to fly under gray skies:
"Johnny, it might be best if you stayed at Castelnuovo
during the week. I talked to John Roberti, the tailor. He'll
be glad to have you lodge at his home. All he wants is a
weekly provision of eggs and vegetables, which I can easily
supply . You might assist him with a bit of work around the
shop, too ..."
The lodging arrangement was ideal, but the school was
not. John was a growing boy of sixteen among village chil-
dren younger than he, in a typical one-room schoolhouse
where a beleaguered teacher taught youngsters at different
grade levels. He felt out of place. 'Tm really wasting my
time," he told his mother.
"Maybe Chieri is the answer ," Margaret suggested.
"Chieri! Where the Seminary is!'' John was thrilled.
One step closer to the goal.
25

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But then the nagging question again. "What about the
money, Mother?" he asked anxiously.
"I have it all figured out, Johnny. You will board with
Signora Lucia Matta, who will be satisfied with five liras
a month plus the food I will supply. All she asks is that
you occasionally tutor her son. Besides, cousin John Pianta
will welcome your services at his restaurant, and that should
help, too."
When word spread at Becchi that John was leaving for
Chieri, people came to the Bosco cottage with items of
clothing , and food: all kinds of cheese, salami, bread, bottles
of wine, and beans piled up high on the kitchen table. "Use
what you can, and turn the rest into money," they told
John. "You'll need it! And good luck, Johnny! We'll miss
you!"
For the peasant boy from Becchi, Chieri, though a small
provincial town, was a marked improvement over Castel-
nuovo . Its beautiful churches and shops, its piazzas and
quaint porticoed streets gave it a distinct atmosphere. it
was mainly a student center where Jesuits, Dominicans,
Franciscans and half dozen other religious orders had their
schools and seminaries. Like John, most of the students
roamed out , often working at odd jobs for their room and
board.
Lucia Matta was more than happy to have John. A
widow, she knew her son would now have a reliable friend
and an excellent tutor. Cousin John Pianta, too, found
John an ideal part-time waiter at his busy restaurant. John's
days were filled with study and work. At school he became
quite popular with his fellow students, both for his brilliant
scholarship and for his congenial character and physical

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prowess. Still, there was something unique about this sturdy,
pleasant-looking student.
"I saw him kneeling at the altar in the Cathedral one
day," one of the students said. "He wasn't just praying; he
was actually talking to someone. You should have seen his
face! Like a saint!. .. You know, I sometimes wonder about
John Bosco."
"The Happy Club"
They all knew John had a way with his schoolmates.
"Let's form a club," he told a few of his teenage friends
one day. "We'll call it 'The Happy Club.' " No fast rules,
no dues. He set the program in a few simple words : To
live our Christian faith and engage in all forms of whole-
some, clean fun. John threw his net wide , but would have
nothing to do with the irreligious , the indifferent , and the
foul-mouthed.
The club was an instant success. On Sundays they met
for Mass , followed by excursions to the surrounding coun-
tryside. Often they tramped the twelve miles to Turin to
see the sights of the great city then in its heyday. Country
fairs, very popular in Piedmont , were also occasions for
exciting fun.
It was at one of these fairs that John provided his friends
with a treat as unexpected as it was welcome. One of the
fair's attractions was a greased pole surmounted with tempt-
ing prizes : cash, hams, salami, and bottles of the region's
select wines. The pole was unusually high and greased to a
spit-polish smoothness. Several youngsters tried their hands

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and legs in futile efforts to climb to the top.
"Come on, John! You can do it! ..." The cry of one
of the bystanders was taken up by a chorus of voices.
"I'll try it," John answered quietly. Gripping the pole
firmly with his legs and feet as well as with his hands, which
he occasionally wiped on his trousers, John inched his way
to the top of the pole amidst the rousing cheers of his
friends , thrilled as much by their leader's victory as by the
prospect of a treat the mouth-watering prizes supplied.
They all agreed this was one of the Happy Club's most
memorable events.
"I'll Challenge You . .."
There were other occasions on which John had to
exert himself considerably in order to retain his influence
on his club. One Sunday, just as he was preparing to lead
his friends to Mass , an acrobat appeared on the square in
front of the church, loudly proclaiming the marvels of his
performance. John knew that not only his club members
but other people as well would be sorely tempted to miss
Mass for the pleasure of watching the acrobat. And he
knew , too, there was no point in reasoning with the man.
"I'll challenge you on any of your acts," he told him.
"With a wager, too. If I win, not only will I get the money
we bet, but you will clear out of here." John beat the
professional at jumping, juggling and climbing. Since the
stakes were doubled at each new contest , the acrobat lost
a considerable amount of money , and, fearing even more
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"I'll tell you what we shall do," John suggested, "join
us for Mass, and we shall have you as our guest for dinner
at my cousin's restaurant. We might even end up giving you
back some of the money."
As he walked toward the church, the mollified acrobat
wondered: "Who is this boy who conquers your heart with
the same ease with which he wins a bet?"
"Which Way, Lord?"
Toward the end of his college course, as he surveyed the
future , John felt confused. Something seemed to pull him
away from the world around him. At times, kneeling in some
of Chieri's beautiful churches, he would muse: "God wants
me, this much I know. I know, too, that I want to do things
for Him, for people- young people especially. But how,
where , Lord?"
For a time , the life and spirit of St. Francis of Assisi
seemed to hold what he thought was the answer to his
searchings. 'I'll become a Franciscan," he decided, and told
his friends about it. They were dismayed. John Bosco in a
monastery?
"What in the world is John up to?" Don Dessano,
Castelnuovo's new and popular pastor said to himself upon
hearing the news. He sent for Margaret, hoping she could
convince her son to change his mind.
"Margaret," the determined priest told her, "that boy
does not have to go to a monastery in order to become a
priest. What's wrong with being a priest like me? If he
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what's going to become of you? You are not getting any
younger, and you'll end up being alone with no support
whatever. If I know your John, I know you are the only
one who can make him change his mind."
Margaret thanked Don Dessano , went back to Becchi,
donned her Sunday dress and was off to Chieri.
"What brings you here, Mom?" a surprised John greeted
her.
"Johnny, I hear you decided to go to a monastery. All I
want to know is that you are sure of your decision. Have no
thought about me. God and your soul come first. I don't
expect anything from you, really. I was born poor , am
living poor, and mean to die poor. If, God forbid, you should
ever become rich , I am afraid you'll never see me again."
John was deeply moved. "I can't tell you, Mom," he
said, "what your visit, your words , mean to me. All I ask
is that you pray for me."
"You know I always do , Johnny." She embraced him
fondly. "And now I return to Becchi feeling a whole lot
better."
Knowing that his friend and confidant, Don Giuseppe
Cafasso , was in nearby Turin , John went to him with his
problem. The priest everyone in Turin called a "saint"
listened to him , then said slowly, deliberately: "John ,
surely the Lord wants you , but not in a monastery. Go
right on with your studies, in the Seminary."
"You Are Now a Priest!"
"Summa cum Laude!" The Rector of the Seminary

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said in resounding Latin as he presented John Bosco with
his diploma. Though now joyously anticipating his ordina-
tion, John left the Seminary with more than a tinge of
sadness. The best years of his life were spent under its
roof- years of growth, of peace, and of lasting friendships.
"I felt I was everyone's friend," he wrote in his memoirs,
revealing a facet of his own warm and outgoing personality.
There was a touch of simplicity and of intimacy to
the ordination ceremony on June 5, 1841. It was held
in the private chapel of the Archbishop's residence in
Turin. John had preferred it so, and Archbishop Fransoni,
who had taken a great personal interest in him, was only
too happy to comply with John's desire.
All the festivities were kept for his first Mass in his
native parish church at Castelnuovo. The banquet, held at
the parish house in honor of the new priest, was attended
by John's relatives, the neighboring clergy, and friends
from the entire countryside. The eyes of all were on the
new priest and on his proud mother, who was seated by
him, but they could only surmise what lay behind their
smiling faces often streaked with tears of happiness.
Later in the evening of that memorable day, when all
the guests had left and mother and son were finally in
their humble Becchi cottage, they must have talked of the
past, of their combined troubles and sufferings, since John,
in his scant memoirs, wrote that he could not help but say
to Margaret, "Aren't God's ways wonderful, Mother?"
But Margaret reminded him that the joyful day of his ordina-
tion was only the beginning of the longer , harder road that
lay ahead.
"John, my son ," she said, "you are now a priest! You

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will offer Mass daily, but remember that in your life Mass
and suffering will go together. It may not be so now, but
you'll know some day that your mother was right. I ask
only that you pray for me. From now on, think only of
helping people and saving souls; don't worry about me."

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CHAPTER V
GIVE ME THE YOUNG
"Where Do I Start?"
Shortly after his ordination, Don Bosco - such was now
his official name - had another heart-to-heart talk with his
friend and advisor Don Cafasso. "I have been offered all
kinds of positions," he told him. "I have even been asked
to remain at Castelnuovo as assistant pastor. But, Father, you
know that it's young people I want to work for. Where do I
start?"
"Come to Turin," the good priest suggested. "There are
plenty of youngsters here who need care. You can stay with
me here at St. Francis' Priests House. The rest will come ..."
It came sooner than expected, just a short few weeks
after he arrived in Turin where he found the lot of many
young people even worse than he had anticipated. On Dec. 8,
feast of the Immaculate Conception, he was vesting for Mass
in the Church of St. Francis of Assisi when he suddenly
heard the sexton's voice, loud and menacing: "What are you
doing here if you can't serve Mass?" And then a boy's
timid reply, "It's cold out. .." The sexton again, "Does that
mean you can come to the sacristy? Out, boy, out of here
and be quick about it~" He threatened the boy with a broom,
drove him out, and slammed the door.
Don Bosco had barely time to take in the scene.
"Joseph," he called to the sexton, "what are you doing to
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that boy? He is my friend! Call him back..."
Grumbling, the sexton did as he was told and, with
some difficulty, managed to persuade the boy to come back.
Ill-clad and shivering, the youth stood before· Don Bosco.
"Stay for Mass," the priest told him gently, "and afterwards
we can talk."
Bartholomew Garelli was the boy's name. He was
sixteen, an orphan, and an apprentice bricklayer from Asti.
"Where do you live, Bartholomew?"
"With some friends in a garret not far from here ..."
"I suppose you can read and write ..." The boy shook
his head sadly. "I don't know anything," he said.
"Can you sing?" the priest asked. The boy stared at
him. "What a strange question!" he thought.
"Can you whistle?" The boy laughed. Immediately they
were friends. Some more gentle probing, and the boy bared
his life to Don Bosco. He had been left as a child in the care
of neighbors after his parents had died, and had been a farm-
boy until a few days previously. No instruction whatever; no
school and no church, either.
"Bartholomew, would you be willing to come if I were
to teach you privately?"
"Of course I would. Gladly."
"Bart, one more thing: When you come, bring some of
your friends with you."
He came back in a few days with six of his friends. In a
few weeks they were close to one hundred. Like Garelli , they
were mostly from the countryside. They had come to the
city in search of jobs, but had found trouble , too . Don
Cafasso was delighted to welcome them, and so were most
of the priests of St. Francis' House , who thought nothing of

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giving up their Sunday quiet. Don Bosco's new activities
at the residence were certainly not without an element of
noise. The youngsters spent all day there on Sundays. They
were instructed, fed, and encouraged to play to their heart's
content. Often Don Bosco took them out for excursions to
the surrounding hills. The sight of a young priest walking the
Turin streets with a mob of noisy boys was a rather new
experience for Turin's staid citizens.
Soon Don Bosco gave his young friends most of his time,
keeping them company on their free days, finding them work
with decent employers, visiting them in their homes or
lodgings; and often, too , providing them with food and
clothes. Their number grew steadily. St. Francis' House was
no longer adequate. Don Cafasso once again came to the
rescue.
"How Much More Can I Take?"
"Marchesa Barolo has the place for you, Don Bosco.
Her institution has spacious grounds and fine buildings.
She is quite willing to have the boys there, but on condition
that you become chaplain of her establishment." There was
a pleading tone to Don Cafasso's words.
"What can I say, Father?'' Don Bosco replied. "I am not
really happy about being chaplain; but, if it helps our boys, I
accept, of course."
Marchesa Giulia de Colbert Barolo was the grande
dame of the Piedmontese aristocracy. Widowed and with-
out children, she had invested her wealth in a large insti-
tution comprised of a hospital, a rehabilitation center for

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girls, and a convent for the Sisters of Charity who ran the
establishment. She had met Don Bosco, and wondered
why such a brilliant young priest should give so much of
his time to those ragged, noisy street boys. Charitable and
devout, she was quite willing to open the doors of her
place to that motley crowd of ragamuffins if it but made
her new chaplain happy. Little did she know what three
hundred young adolescents could do to the quiet , solemn
atmosphere of her institution.
"How much more can I take?" she complained to Don
Bosco after eight months of what she termed "an impossible
situation." "It's your choice, Father," she continued bluntly ,
"either your 'Oratory,' as you call it, or my place. . ."
"Madame," Don Bosco replied , "you have been most
truly kind and gracious, and I can never thank you enough
for what you did for my boys; but you might know that my
choice lies with the boys. All I ask is that you give me time
to find a new place ."
"The magnanimous Marchesa gave Don Bosco not only
the time he needed but also her continued support for as
long as she lived.
"I See Thousands of Boys."
For several months Don Bosco and his boys were chased
from pillar to post. Undaunted, he tried meeting with them
in a public park where they could play and then assemble
for Mass in a church any one of his priest friends might put
at his disposal. The police intervened when complaints
poured in from disgruntled citizens, who said he was creating
a nuisance with his boys.

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"See if you can rent a field somewhere and be on your
own," Don Cafasso suggested. He even supplied the money
for the rent. They were indeed on their own for several
weeks in a large field in the Turin Valdocco region. The place
was isolated, and no one seemed to care what Don Bosco's
boys did until the owners of the field, the Filippi brothers,
one day noticed that the grass in their field was being tram-
pled by those sturdy feet to the point of no return.
"Sorry, Don Bosco. We shall end up with no hay for our
horses. The premises must be vacated on or before Palm
Sunday. We are ready to forget all about the rent, but we
can't afford to let that field go to ruin."
"Where to now, Lord?" was Don Bosco's silent and
anguished question.
But other questions were being asked concerning Don
Bosco himself by some of his friends-and by Father Borel,
of all people. They wondered whether Don Bosco was not
beginning to show signs of mental instability. It all started
when Father Borel, who had been one of his most valued
assistants, one day told him that, in the face of so many
difficulties, it might be wiser for him to reconsider his plans.
"Why don't you cut down the number of boys?" Don
Borel suggested. "Limit yourself to twenty or so-the most
promising, or those most in need-and go back to St. Francis'
House."
"Don Borel,"-there was dismay in Don Bosco's voice-
"you speak of twenty boys when I see thousands of them ..
I see a great big school, not far from here, with beautiful
buildings, large courtyards, a magnificent church. . .I see
classrooms; I see training shops for those boys; I see priests
and brothers, sisters and laymen by the hundreds instructing

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them - and not just here, but all over the world ..."
Don Borel was shocked. "My poor Don Bosco! What's
happening to you? It has just been too much for you. You
do need a rest ..."
"So Young, So Popular!"
Word spread quickly that Don Bosco was going mad.
Poor Don Bosco! So young, so popular, so full of zeal!
How sad that he should ruin himself over those ignorant,
ragged, noisy young vandals! But, then, he was always a
little strange, wasn't he?
Some of his priest friends decided that a few weeks'
rest was what he needed. Two canons from the cathedral
volunteered to handle the delicate situation. After making
arrangements for a room in the local asylum, they went
to visit him one day at his residence.
"Join us for a ride, Don Bosco," one of them suggested.
"It is a beautiful day, and we have a carriage waiting."
"I will, gladly!" Don Bosco replied. " But first," he
continued with a sly smile , "there is something I should like
to discuss with you, confidentially, of course! " And he
plunged into his grandiose plans and dreams, describing
in detail what he expected to achieve.
"You mean you intend to found a religious order to
take care of those boys?" one of the canons inquired.
"Indeed I do. I have even thought of the habit the
members will wear: overalls , gentlemen , overalls and shirt-
sleeves, since they will have a lot of work to do." They
knew Don Bosco was speaking in dead earnest.

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"Shouldn't we talk about all this while riding around
the city?"
"Of course," Don Bosco replied. He picked up his
hat and accompanied them to the carriage.
"Get in, Father."
"Oh now, not before my seniors. You first, Fathers."
No sooner were they seated than he slammed the door shut
and called to the coachman. "Quick," he shouted, "to the
asylum! These two gentlemen are expected there!"
There were hearty laughs all over Turin, and it was not
Don Bosco's madness people talked about for days after-
wards.
"Who Rang the Bells?"
Palm Sunday dawned and found Don Bosco and his few
assistants in the Filippi field, waiting for the boys. They
knew this would be the last time in that place .
"We shall have the boys for Mass at the Church of Our
Lady of the Fields," Don Bosco told his helpers. "The
Capuchin Fathers are preparing lunch for them. We shall
then come back here for our afternoon program.''
"What about next Sunday?" Father Borel inquired.
Don Bosco opened his arms and sighed. "God only knows,"
he said.
The boys , nearly four hundred strong, marched through
the quiet city streets, chattering away in subdued tones, to
the steady beat of the drums in the lead. Turning off the
main boulevard, they started up the hill toward the monastery
church. All of a sudden the bells in the church tower began

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to ring joyously, wildly, surprising all the countryside. The
boys had visited there a number of times, but never had they
been made welcome by the ringing of bells. Never before had
anyone heard those bells peal so jubilantly.
"Who's ringing the bells?" the monks were all asking one
another. By the time some of them got to the tower, the
·bells had stopped, and no one was there. "Who rang the
bells?" was the question on everyone's lips all through the
day. "One of Don Bosco's tricks," someone suggested. "No,
the angels," others said ...
Back in the Filippi field the boys soon lost their zest
for play. They milled around Don Bosco. "Where to, next
week, Father?" they would ask; or "What's going to happen
to our Oratory?"
"We'll find a place," Don Bosco assured them while in
his heart he prayed, "Lord, tell me what to do, where to
look!"
"Can It Be?"
He did not have to look very far. With all those young-
sters around him, Don Bosco had not noticed the man at
his side, who for sometime had been trying to get his atten-
tion. Raising his voice, "May I speak to you, Father?" the
man finally asked. "I hear you are looking for property in
which to establish a laboratory..."
"Not a laboratory," Don Bosco answered distractedly,
"an Oratory."
"Oratory or laboratory, it doesn't matter. But if you are
interested, you better hurry and see the owner. Pinardi is

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the name, there across the road. I'll take you to him."
It was only a shed, a sort of hayloft with a dirt floor
and with a roof that seemed about to collapse at any minute.
Not much land around it, but suitable for a start. The price
was reasonable. Pinardi swore he would make repairs, "and,"
he added, "if some of those husky boys give me a hand, I'll
have things ready for you by next Sunday."
"Can it be? Yes, it is! Lord, you did it; you did it for me
and for my boys!" Don Bosco's thoughts were in a happy
turmoil as he rushed back to the Filippi field. He clapped his
hands and assembled the boys. "Listen to me," he shouted,
his voice breaking with emotion, "listen to me: Next Sunday,
Easter Sunday, I expect to see you all over there at the
Pinardi shed, right across from here. Now we have a place
of our own! Nothing much yet, but give us a little time and
watch it grow. See you there next Sunday for a wonderful
day!"
There were deafening shouts of "Viva Don Bosco!"
Then suddenly a few of the older boys picked him up as if he
were a feather, and carried him around the field in triumph.

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6 Pages 51-60

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CHAPTER VI
ON THE MARCH
"I Have No One, Father."
To the transformed Pinardi shed, inaugurated on Easter
Sunday amidst the Alleluias of his boys, Don Bosco soon
added a fairly solid structure on a much larger piece of
property. By the end of 1846, the Orat ory had become
a beeruve of activity. The program was now expanded to
include regular ew n1 :1g classes and recreati onal pursuits
while Sundays sav rnore than seven hundred youngsters
spend most of the day '.'/ith Don Bosco. But the Oratory was
not yet what he had dreamed it to be, a place boys could
call home.
He became increasingly concerned with young men
who were totally abandoned to themselves , withou t a home ,
often unable to get jobs for lack of any skill. He had occa-
sionally seen them in the streets in swearing, fighting groups.
He had visited some of the hovels in which they lived and
shared their wretched sleeping quarters with depraved men
and criminals. And he had seen some of them in the city
prisons. For these boys he dreamed of clean , airy buildings
with spacious courtyards , dormitories , classrooms, work-
shops particularly, where a boy co ul d le arn to be a printer,
a bookbinder , a cobbler, a machinist. a carpenter, a stone
mason without leaving the grounds. He dreamed, hoped ,
prayed , and waited.
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Late one cold , rainy night , a sixteen-year old boy, in
tatters and soaked to the skin , knocked at his door.
"Come in, lad. It's no night to be out in weather like
this. Where are you coming from?"
"From Valsesia , Father."
"That's a good many miles away. What are you doing
in Turin?"
"I am a mason-apprentice, looking for a job. I've spend
the three liras I had, and ..." He was on the verge of tears.
"You mean you don't know where to go?"
"I have no one, Father."
"You have me, now," Don Bosco assured him with a
smile. "Your name?"
"Michael, Michael Fassio."
"Come , Michael. First a change of clothing, next a nice
bowl of minestrone, and then we 'll go scouting for a bed."
There were no beds. Don Bosco took his own mattress
and placed it on the kitchen floor. "It will do for tonight ,"
he said. "Say a prayer, Michael , and have a good rest."
His own bed was far from comfortable without the
mattress , but he did not mind it at all. For the first time
he was sharing his home with a boy!
Six months later, nearly thirty youngsters were calling
the Oratory their home.
"And Leave Becchi, John?"
In the fall of 1846, Don Bosco spent several days at
Becchi, recuperating from a serious bout with pneumonia.
He was pleased to note how remarkably well his mother

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looked ; how vigorous and active she was in spite of her
advancing age. Quite suddenly one day he surprised her with
a question . "Mother, would you be willing to come to
Turin with me?"
"And what would I be doing in Turin, John?"
"I need you to help me with my boys."
"But you do have helpers there, John: teachers,
assistants ... "
"Yes, but those boys need a mother."
Margaret looked at her son for a few moments in silence.
She thought of her cottage, her fields, Joseph and his family,
the friends she had known all her life , the scenes of her
childhood. . . .She was about to say, "And leave Beccti,
John?" when she realized there could be only one sensible
answer. "John," she said calmly, ' 'if you feel this is what the
Lord wants, l am ready . I can leave when you leave."
She got busy packing: a few pots and pans , a supply
of flour and fruits . Her personal things she packed separately,
including her wedding dress and the little trinkets she had
gathered through the years. Joseph would cart everything
to Turin later, since Don Bosco was anxious to leave for the
Oratory as soon as possible.
The day was unusually bright and warm, so they decided
to walk to Chieri and then proceed from there to Turin by
coach. But after a brief stop at cousin Pianta's restaurant in
Chieri, they fe lt Turin was not that far, and a leisurely walk
not too inconvenient. It was getting dark by the time they
reached Turin's Valdocco section where the Oratory was
located . They ran into Don Vola, a priest friend of Don
Bosco , who occasionally helped with the Oratory youngsters.
"Don Bosco , how are you? I am delighted to see you

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back in Turin. And with your mother, too!" He touched
the brim of his hat and bowed to Margaret. "Where are you
coming from?"
"From Becchi, Don Vola. A bit tired and dusty from the
long walk, as you see."
"You mean you walked all the way from Becchi?''
"The day was fine, and the coach too expensive .. .."
"I should have known that, Don Bosco. Money is
always your problem." The good priest reached into his
vest pocket, and out came a gold watch and chain. "I
haven't any cash with me," he said. "Here, take this. I have
another watch home."
Mother and son resumed their walk toward the Oratory.
"See , Mother, how the Lord provides! Here is something
that will bring us a bit of money . It is a sign, too, that
Providence is not about to let us down."
"Has it ever , John?" Margaret whispered.
"I'll Never Walk Out on Him."
One look at the place , and Margaret knew the Oratory
needed a mother. The kitchen and the bedrooms were her
first concern until she noticed how poorly furnished the
chapel was. She quietly took her wedding dress apart and
cut it into vestments. Her best linens she turned into altar
cloths. Everything she had was converted into something
useful for the service of the Lord or for John's boys.
Still, there were hardships aplenty. She wanted to
lighten her son's burdens, but wondered at times if she was
not adding to them. How could she dare complain to him

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when she saw him come home so weary every night after
tramping the streets , begging , visiting his boys on their
jobs, doing favors to all sorts of people. But she had no
choice. Always, there was something amiss.
"John," she would say to him , "all I have is potatoes .
How can I make minestrone without pasta , beans, meat ,
oil?.. .John, the baker says he hasn't been paid for last
month's bread. He refuses to deliver even one single loaf. ...
John, please, no more boys. We don't have a bed , or a place
for a bed, either. ..."
And those youngsters, who looked, and prayed , and
sang like angels - were they not sometimes po sitive little
devils?
"John, I hate to tell you, but this has to stop. One day
they pull down my wash because they need a rope, and
trample all my clean wash in the mud. Next is their clothing:
Look at them, no wonder they are always in rags! And who
does the mending? .. .When they take off their shoes and
socks, they throw them in a pile ; I have to pick them up
and match the pairs..."
Playing their favorite war game, one day , they tore into
her beautiful vegetable garden , trampling her tomato plants,
cabbage and lettuce , and prized zucchini.
"John, I am going back to Becchi," she told him late
that night when he came t o see her in the kitchen , as was
his custom , before retiring. ·'r have done all I could. I have
tried. I just don't think I can go on."
He was too moved to speak. " Mother ," he whispered,
"look," and pointed to the crucifix on the kitchen wall.
" I am sorry, John. I was so upset!" She wiped her
eyes with the comer of her apron. "You know well enough

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that I'll never walk out on Him or on you!"
"You Are All Angels . .."
There were happy days , too, in the life of the Oratory's
one and only Mama Margaret. Every year, on her nameday,
she was made to sit on a high chair, like a queen on her
throne. All her "little devils" surrounded her; they sang
and made eloquent speeches; gave her flowers and promised
prayers, until she could hardly restrain her tears.
"You are all angels," she would say at the end of the
entertainment, "and you know I love you almost as much
as Don Bosco does." And, turning to him, "Father , tonight,
shouldn't they all get a special dessert - chocolate mousse
and pastry - as on Christmas Day?"
Occasionally some unexpected event brightened her
busy schedule. She was shredding cabbage in the kitchen,
one day , when Don Bosco dropped in to see her with Count
Sclopis, his friend and benefactor.
Introducing her, "My mother ," Don Bosco said to the
Count.. "There is not a cook like her in the whole city of
Turin."
"I might be even better," Margaret laughed , "if I had
some meat to go with the cabbage."
"Signora, tell me, what are some of the dishes you pre-
pare for your youngsters?" the Count inquired.
"I throw everything in that big pot, Signor Conte.
Minestrone, almost every day , if you really must know ..."
" But don't you have someone to help y ou? "
"Some of those little rascals, but only when I really

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need them."
"What I mean , Signora, is that you should have an
assistant cook."
"I most certainly have one. And quite a help he is, too!
Today he happens to be busy with other things ..."
"And who, may I ask , is your assistant cook?"
"There he is!" Mama Margaret said, pointing to Don
Bosco with her kitchen knife. "Signor Conte," she con-
tinued, "you should see him work on the specialty of the
house , Polenta a la Piemontese!" And she chuckled away as
she turned to her cabbage.
It was only after she was done with the dishes that she
discovered the envelope that the Count had deftly left on the
kitchen table. She ran to Don Bosco. "Look , John, what
the Count left for me on the kitchen table. One thousand
liras!"
"That should pay most of our bills," Don Bosco replied.
"But, John, what about the new stove, the pots and pans
you promised me for so long? ..."
"All right, Mother. We'll go half-and-half."
The Mysterious Banker
"Don Bosco's dreams have a curious knack of coming
true." These words were all the more significant because they
were pronounced at a clergy meeting, in 185 6 , by a leading
Turin prelate who, for several years, had been very critical of
Don Bosco. He reported to the assembled clergymen that
he had visited the Oratory in the fall.
"I could hardly believe my eyes," he told them. I saw

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beautiful buildings, including a lovely church, playgrounds,
classrooms, training shops for all sorts of trades. Even more
astounding , I found the place teeming with boys as cheerful
and well-behaved as one would wish all our Turin youth to
be."
"Who assists Don Bosco in all this work?" one of the
priests asked.
"I saw dozens of men, incredibly young; most of them,
I was told , trained by Don Bosco himself from among his
O\\y'n youngsters. Some of them are dressed like seminarians
and are evidently full-time teachers and assistants. It would
seem that Don Bosco is also quite successful in recruiting
part-time instructors who give freely of their time, particu-
larly in the night-scho ol program. He has his mother , too,
at the Oratory; an extraordinary woman who , for years, has
been involved with his work. The boys love her dearly."
"Does Don Bosco aim to establish some sort of religious
order to carry on his work?" another clergyman queried.
"This is quite evident ," replied the prelate, "since he
has actually named his assistants 'Salesians.' " The Oratory
itself, as you know , is named after Saint Francis de Sales.
I am told he intends to open Oratories outside Turin , too."
Finally , the inevitable question: ''Where does Don Bosco
find the money t o support his establishment?"
"The prelate paused briefly. "Frankly ," he said, "it is
the one thing I can't tell you. He has friends, of course. Even
Marchesa Barolo is known to help him. I have heard fr om a
reliable source that King Victor Emmanuel himself is among
his benefactors. Don Bosco is a very enterprising man. You
know ab out his lotteries, I am sure. But it takes hundreds of
thousands of liras to carry such an establishment as the

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Oratory. One of his assistants, a wiry young seminarian,
Michael Rua by name., told me that Don Bosco has a mys-
terious banker to whom he goes whenever he needs money.
I pressed him to tell me his name. You would not believe it;
but, with utter simplicity, the young man answered: "The
Madonna, of course!"
The prelate concluded with a quizzical smile: " As you
see, gentlemen, we are not just faced with strange dreams
that come true, but with miracles, too."
Mama Margaret Goes Home
Toward the end of November, 1856, Mama Margaret
lay dying of pneumonia. The Oratory boys were discon-
solate. They stormed heaven with their prayers. They lin-
gered under the window of her room, unwilling to play or
even leave ; many of them in tears. Whenever Don Bosco
appeared in their midst, they surrounded him quietly; the
one question , more in their eyes than on their lips: "How
is Mama?" And Don Bosco would calmly reply , "All we
can do is pray, boys, and I know you do ."
Don Bosco spent long hours by her bed , trying to
restrain his tears. Shortly after midnight, on November 2 5,
Margaret fixed her eyes first on Joseph, and then on John.
"John ," she whispered : "Leave me now. It hurts me to see
you so broken up. Go get some rest. Your brother is here
with me . Go now , John." He kissed and blessed her, still
unwilling to leave. "Please, John, go."
Shortly before dawn, Joseph entered Don Bosco's room.
"John ," he sobbed , "Mama is..." and buried his face on the

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priest's shoulder. At 5 :30, Don Bosco left the Oratory with
one of his boys to go to the Consolata Church, Margaret's
favorite shrine of the Madonna. He offered Mass for the
repose of her soul, and, before he left the church, knelt
at Our Lady's altar. "My youngsters and I have lost our
mother," he prayed. "Dear Madonna, do take her place and
be our mother from now on!"

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CHAPTER VII
THE SALES IAN WAY
"A Drop of Honey ..."
"Louis, did you ever stop to think that the Lord loves
you and wants you to be happy, and I mean really happy,
and I mean really happy here and hereafter?" To the con-
fused adolescent these words of Don Bosco came like a breath
of fresh air. In later years, recounting his first meeting and
conversation with Don Bosco, the youth, who became
Father Louis Fassio, said: "It may seem strange, but I had
never thought of religion as something intended to make
me happy . The priests I h ad known had always been solemn,
distant, even forbidding. What they preached was certainly
not anything to make a boy happy."
For young Louis and his three hundred or so compa-
ions, religion came easy at the Oratory. It was part of a life
in which everything seemed to be geared to make one happy.
It was, and everyone knew it, Don Bosco's way.
"Father, what do you hope to accomplish with those
young vandals of yours?" Marchesa Barolo pointedly asked
him when he had refused to give up his boys and accept to
rem ain as chaplain of her institution.
"I would expect, Signora Marchesa," he replied, "that
most of them will turn out to be honest citizens, and eventu-
ally earn for themselves a corner in heaven." One could
hardly ask for more . Don Bosco did: in the way in which
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this was to be done. He called it the Salesian way.
"I shall try to carry with me everywhere the charity and
gentleness of St. Francis de Sales. May his charity enlighten
my every step. " With these words, which he wrote a few days
before his ordination, Don Bosco meant to make the gentle
Bishop of Geneva his model and guide. He admired in him
the zealous missionary, the tireless catechism teacher , the
writer of books and pamphlets, his love for the poor. But
it was his kindness and graciousness he especially prized.
He would often quote his sayings: "Everything by love,
nothing by force . . .More flies are caught with a drop of
honey than with a barrel of vinegar. ..To speak well , we
need only to love well. ..Good works done with love and
joy are twice blessed."
It was not by accident that the Oratory was named
after St. Francis de Sales as was the first church Don Bosco
built. His spiritual children were to be known as "Salesians."
He said: "De Sales' heart was most like the meek and gentle
Heart of Jesus. I could wish for nothing better for myself
and my followers."
"It Is Hardly a Secret."
The priest who came to see Don Bosco was a Spanish
Jesuit, who might have modeled for an El Greco portrait.
Tall and gaunt , one would think a smile had never crossed
his face. He had been rector of several boarding schools for
boys, but had never quite reconciled himself to what he
termed "the atmosphere prevalent in our schools." He
described it to Don Bosco as "an atmosphere of apathy and

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passive resistance on the part of the pupils , certainly not
conducive to good character training."
"Father," he said, "what I note in your boys is just the
reverse. They are open, self-confident, joyously free in their
ways . .."
"And probably much too noisy and overfriendly ," Don
Bosco interjected.
"It is what I would want my boys to be. Tell me, Don
Bosco, what is your secret?"
"It is hardly a secret, my good Father," Don Bosco
replied. "It is actually something as old as the Gospel."
The priest was all ears, expecting a lengthy dissertation
on the most effective approach to Christian education.
"What you call a secret might best be described with
one word: love!" Don Bosco continued.
A look of mild surprise spread over the earnest face of
the priest. "Quite simply," Don Bosco said, "we must love
those youngsters. I have no doubt that you do. But there is
something which is just as important: the boys must know
that we love them. Come, take a look out of that window.
Note how the instructors mingle with those boys. They
actually join them in their games. They do not consider
themselves superiors. They are like fathers, brothers , friends
to their charges. What you have here , Father , is not so much
a school as a family."
Later in the evening, the good Jesuit Father was treated
to a practical demonstration of Don Bosco's words. The
members of the staff had barely left the supper table to
rejoin the boys at their games , when the dining room was
literally invaded by some thirty boys of the upper grades.
They surrounded Don Bosco on every side, and for a few

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minutes the place was total bedlam. They vied to get Don
Bosco's attention shouting, laughing , pushing to get close to
him. It was some time before they finally quieted down to
hear Don Bosco introduce the Jesuit to them . He then
initiated a delightful dialogue with them, touching on the
most trivial events of the day, to the amazement of the
Reverend guest. He finally dismissed them, after treating
them to what had been left of the dessert on the table.
"A scene like this ," the Jesuit remarked , "is unthinkable
in my school. I see , Don Bosco , that your Oratory is indeed
first a family and then a school. I know your secret now."
"Aren't You My Friend?"
While most of the pupils at the Oratory were either
orphan or destitute boys, there were some whose families
or guardians could afford and willingly paid a nominal t ui-
tion fee, so that their youngsters might benefit from Don
Bosco's educational method . Albert Caviglia was one of
these. "Albert the Great," Don Bosco had nicknamed the
bright Turinese lad who, small and sprightly, always managed
to elbow his way to greet Don Bosco even when Father was
hemmed in on every side by other boys.
One day Don . Bosco found him in a corner, glum and
disconsolate. "Why, Albert the Great , where is your smile
today?"
On the verge of tears , the boy stammered about having
to leave the Oratory since his parents could no longer afford
the tuition.
"And who says you must leave the Oratory?" Don

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Bosco inquired.
"Father Bursar..."
"Aren't you my friend, Albert?"
"Of course, I am, Father."
"Now listen to me, Albert: You are my friend, and
Father Bursar is my friend. Don't you think the three of us
can get together and settle this thing?"
"I guess so, Father. .."
" Now, then, run along, and stop worrying, Albert. You
will stay here whether or not your parents pay the tuition."
"Thank you, Father!" And a happy boy was off to play.
Albert, who became Father Albert Caviglia, one of the
Salesian Society's outstanding historians, often remarked
that Don Bosco's educational system aimed at the heart
because it came from the heart.
Not All Angels
Signor Carlo Conestabile, a well-known Turin educator,
had made the rounds of the Oratory and was back in Don
Bosco's office. "I am quite impressed ," he said. "What I
find here is order without constraint. These youngsters, I
noticed , are extremely well-behaved, and yet they are cheer-
ful, friendly, exuberant. No small achievement for a boarding
school of this size. But surely, Don Bosco, not all of them are
angels. You must have your share of problem boys."
"We do, of course, Signor Conestabile. I have the names
of some of them right here on my desk. Here is one, for
instance, who is quite a troublemaker. I intend to speak to
him today; not here in the office, but outside at recess time.

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In fact. I might even invite him to take a walk with me in
town. By the time we get through talking about trivial
things , he will be quite ready and willing to open his heart
to me. There may be something that troubles that youngster.
I noticed that he has not been to the Sacraments for some-
time. If we can get him back on his feet spiritually , the battle
is more than half won.''
"You do feel, Father, that religion is an important
element in the character training of a boy .. ."
"I am convinced that it is the most important, the
essential element in fact , Signor Conestabile." Don Bosco
v1ent on to explain that he did not think it was possible to
educate a boy and prepare him for life without grounding
him solidly on religion. "Where is a young man to find the
motive and encouragement to v..- alk the narrow path, if not
in religion?" he asked. He was careful to point out that
religion, as practiced at the Oratory , was joyous, vibrant and
uplifting. "Not long ago," he added, "two English lords
visited here and, like yourself, Signor Conestabile , were
amazed that we are able to take care of so many youngsters
with ease in an environment that banishes all sorts of punish-
ment , and where expression and not repression is the rule.
When told about the role religion plays among us, one of
them said: "That certainly explains it. I think some people
in London should hear about this.''
It was at this point that Signor Conestabile added his
own comment: "Not only in London, Don Bosco, but in
many of our schools right here in Turin."

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"Prevent. Do Not Repress."
"What good is it to repress disorders after they have
taken place? Young people get into trouble more through
lack of judgment than through malice.'' These were Don
Bosco's constant refrains. The solution? "The educator
must Jive exclusively for his young charges. He must share
their interests and their games ; he must assist them without
imposing his assistance on them at any time. His presence
in their midst must truly be like that of a father, a brother
or a friend , who is there to prevent , never to repress.''
"This is demanding a great deal of the educator,'' some-
one suggested. Don Bosco agreed and went on to explain
that the Salesian educator was expected to b e a person to-
tally dedi cated to his calling. This meant that he should
freely consecrate his life to God , whom he chooses to serve
in the person of the young, particularly the neglected. To
most people who lived close to Don Bosco, the success of his
method of education needed little explaining. He exemplified
it in his every move.
" He was truly a 'father' to us," wrote Father Philip
Rinaldi , one of his youngsters who later became his close
collaborator and successor as head of the Salesian Society .
"We always felt at ease with him ; we never found him too
busy to listen to us. who were often crude , tattered and
not very clean .. Jle made each of us feel as if he were his
favorite. With us, he shared his joys and sorrows. his plan s
and ideas. To him, we went freely: to him , we spoke freely.
He opened his heart to us as easily as he opened the door of
his room. Even if we complained to him about something ,
as ch ildren are likely to do with their father, we always

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found him eager to listen, kind and understanding."
Father Rinaldi never forgot what Don Bosco told him
when, as a young headmaster, he once went to him with one
of his problems. "Remember, Philip," he told him, "what
cannot be obtained through love is not worth getting in any
other way. In dealing with young people, love is the only key
that opens the door."

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CHAPTER VIII
"GOD" IS ITS NAME
" 'A Saint' Did You Say?"
In the early days of the Oratory when Marchesa Ba-
rolo was told that Don Bosco had moved to Valdocco and
was living in what might be best described as a shack, her
first reaction was one of dismay.
"I gave up trying to understand that man ," she told
her friend Countess Riccardi. "Here is a priest who was
doing wonders as our chaplain. We loved him dearly. Why
he chose to leave us and embroil himself with those young
vandals I shall never understand. Of course, I intend to help
his Oratory. I feel truly sorry for him. But can you explain
to me why in the world such a promising young priest should
be throwing his life away for those ragamuffins?"
Countess Riccardi was nonplussed, but essayed a reply .
"Wouldn't you think , my dear Marchesa, that he must be
some kind of saint to be taking on such work?"
" 'A saint,' did you say? Perhaps, but a strange and
unusual saint. I am told that he was recently seen drinking
with a group of young rowdies in one of those wretched
Valdocco taverns. And I don't think his fund -raising methods
are very commendable, either. No , I tell you, I shall never be
able to understand Don Bosco~"
Countess Riccardi did not quite know what to say this
time, so again she put her words in the form of a question.
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"My dear Marquise, does anyone ever understand saints?"
"Leave Him Alone!"
There were others whose feelings about "that Valdocco
priest" were far more hostile than those expressed by Mar-
chesa Barolo. Many of Don Bosco 's own fellow priests were
openly critical of him. They once told Don Cafasso that his
protege was a disgrace to the Turin clergy.
For the first time, they saw the calm, soft-spoken
Don Cafasso in a burst of anger. "Leave Don Bosco alone!"
he told them bluntly. "I see you do not recognize a saint
when you see one. There is not a priest in Turin who does
the Lord's work as Don Bosco does. Leave him alone, I say!"
Most of the people in Turin who knew Don Bosco were
not ready to call him a saint. They thought of him simply
as a good priest with a consuming interest in neglected
youngsters. They could not help but like this young priest
of medium height, well-built, with thick, dark-chestnut hair,
whose pleasant face was always brightened by a smile and
whose words were friendly, warm and full of humor. "There
is no other priest in Turin quite like him," they used to say
as they saw him running here, there, and everywhere, and
forever surrounded by youngsters.
But a dimension was slowly emerging in Don Bosco's
personality which could not escape his close associates as
they watched him struggle to realize his life-long dream.
This man, they discovered, was being led by the Lord to
whom he, in turn, was making himself available with all the
energy of his soul. He was, they knew, truly a man of God.

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Six Copper Coins
"So much energy and so much calm!" a visiting bishop
once remarked after what he had described as an "unfor-
gettable" interview with Don Bosco.
"I think I can explain it," the prelate added. "Don
Bosco has a keen sense of his mission. His whole energy is
deployed to effect what he knows is God's purpose for him.
He is convinced that once he does all in his power to bring it
to pass, the Lord will do the rest."
Don Bosco's life is filled with events that bear out the
bishop's keen appraisal. One such event is particularly rele-
vant. In 1863, he set his hand to the building of a great
church at the Oratory in honor of the Lady of his dreams:
Our Lady Help of Christians- Don Bosco's favorite title
for the Lord's Mother. It was to become a center of devotion
and the mother church of the Salesian Society. The story of
its building is one of a cash box always empty and yet
always replenished by some miraculous means. When con-
struction was about to start, the contractor came to him for
an advance to cover the expenses for the month.
"Here ," said Don Bosco, "it's all I have at the moment.
Open your hands." And he emptied his purse in the aston-
ished builder's hands. Six cents!
"Don't worry," added Don Bosco with a smile. "Our
Lady will surely find the money for her church. I am only
her cashier."
The truth is that, for nearly six years, he gave himself
no rest, raising funds for the shrine of his beloved Madonna.
When the magnificent structure was dedicated in 1868, it
was completely paid for. "Every brick, every stone was a

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miracle of Our Lady," he himself said at the inaugural
ceremony. He was sure the building of the church had been
part of his mission. The Lord and his holy mother saw it
through because he did his part.
It was the pattern of his entire life. The multitude of
activities and the incredible achievements that crowned his
efforts are likely to hide from us the man who was respon-
sible for them. But the keen observer will not stop at what
is purely exterior. He knows that thf. mainspring of Don
Bosco's dynamic and successful activity can be found only
in his soul and that its name is "God." Father Philip Rinaldi's
assessment of what he calls the secret of Don Bosco's life is
worth quoting.
"We shall never understand Don Bosco were we to
ignore that he was a man who literally lived in God and for
God. It is not in his astounding achievements that we must
see the true face of the beloved Founder. Were it so, we
might think of him purely as a man of purposeless action.
Though untiring in his activity, his strength to create and
achieve had but one source: his abiding union with God."
Nothing Finer
The word "miracle" was not a word Don Bosco used
very often. He certainly never used it to describe the extra-
ordinary things that took place through and around him.
True to his peasant stock, he had an innate feeling for
humility.
"What is the finest thing you ever saw?" he once asked
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"Don Bosco," was the immediate reply of one of them.
"You remind me," replied Don Bosco, "of a good
farmer who came to look at the prizes of our last lottery.
While everyone was admiring some work of art, he stood
with his eyes fixed on a huge sausage. He could see nothing
finer than that! "
He never made any secret of his humble origin. In
Paris, after a triumphant welcome by the city, he was given
a reception at one of the city's most aristocratic homes. "Do
you remember," he asked a friend within hearing of his
hosts, "the narrow path running up from the road to Buttig-
liera and leading to a little hill? On that hill is a modest
cottage with a tiny field below. That is my mother's house,
and the field is where I used to tend the family cow. All
these fine people, who are overwhelming me with their
compliments, never think for a moment that they are honor-
ing a former cowherd."
It is indeed remarkable that the marvelous should be
found in the life of this humble and uncomplicated man,
but even more remarkable that he should make it look as
if he himself had very little to do with it.
A Mysterious Dog
All sorts of attempts have been made to account for the
presence of a mysterious dog in his life. Those who saw it
described it as a huge Dalmatian, standing about three feet
high and of ferocious mien . Don Bosco himself recounts in
his memoirs how Grigio (the grey one) first made its appear-
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"I was late coming home one evening and quite afraid,
as I was walking on a dark street in one of the least reputable
sections of Valdocco. Suddenly a large dog bounded silently
to my side, and I must say that I was frightened for a mo-
ment. But he was not at all threatening; acting, in fact, like
a dog that has just recognized its master. We soon made
friends and he followed me as far as the Oratory. From then
on, Grigio, as I had named him, kept me company every now
and then , sometimes providentially...
"Toward the end of November, 1854, one stormy night
I was returning from town. I thought it wise to take the road
from the Consolata to the Cottolengo Institute , knowing that
I would likely meet others on the road. At one point, I
noticed that two men were walking some distance in front of
me, keeping pace with me. I crossed to the other side to
avoid them , bu t ~hey did likewise. I then tried to walk
back: bet it wJs t oo late, for they suddenly turned around
and in two steps they jumped me. Without a word, they
threw sr;;ne kind of coat over me. I struggled in vain to set
myse ~~ free . One of them then tried to gag me with a scarf.
I wanted to shout, but was unable to make a sound.
"It was then that Grigio appeared growling like a bear,
and hurled himself at one of the men, while snarling at the
other. Call off your dog!' they shouted , almost paralyzed
with fear. 'I will, if you but learn your lesson and leave
people alone! ' Grigio kept on barking furiously even after I
called him. The ruffians made off as fast as they could , and
Grigio accompanied me to the Cottolengo where I stopped
to recover a little.. .Then I made my way to the Oratory,
this time under safe escort.
"Every evening when I ventured out into this deserted

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quarter alone, I always noticed Grigio on one or the other
side of the road. He was quite friendly with the Oratory
boys, who often played with him. On one occasion, the
dog arrived at the Oratory while we were at supper. He
came right into the dining room where he was offered food,
but the dog would not touch it. I remember that that evening
I had returned rather late and that a friend had given me a
lift in his carriage; it seemed that Grigio wanted to make sure
that nothing had happened to me."
It was a strange animal. One evening it flatly refused to
allow Don Bosco to leave the house, lying across the thresh-
old and growling whenever he tried to pass. "If you won't
listen to me, listen to the dog," remarked his mother. "It has
more sense than you. ' A quarter of an hour later, a neighbor
came in to say that he had heard of a plot to waylay Don
Bosco that night. When attempts to harm Don Bosco ceased,
the dog disappeared and was not seen again, save once, in
1883, when, late one stormy night, Don Bosco, accompanied
by one of his priests, arrived at the station of Bordighera,
and, finding O('.) one to direct him to the Salesian House, was
wandering in the dark, trying to find his way. He was sud-
denly startled by a bark, and Grigio appeared and led both
priests to the house. "All sorts of stories have been told
about this dog," wrote Don Bosco in his memoirs, "but I
never discovered who his master was; all I know is that amid
the many dangers that threatened me, this animal gave me
providential protection."
When one day, at a friend's house in Marseilles, Don
Bosco was recounting the dog's sudden appearance at Bor-
dighera, in 1883, it was pointed out to him that his Grigio
by then must have been three or four times the normal age of

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a dog. Don Bosco smiled and said, "if it wasn't Grigio, it was
his son or even his grandson."
"God Will Send the Rest"
Life at the Oratory proved too rugged for young Francis
Dahnazzo who, prior to his father's death, had been used to
all the comforts of a fine home. On the day his mother was
due to come to take him home, Francis decided to make his
confession to Don Bosco for the last time. There were many
for confession that morning, and his turn did not come until
the rest of the community was about to go to breakfast. He
was just beginning his confession when one of his com-
panions came and whispered to Don Bosco that there was no
bread for breakfast. Don Bosco calmly told him to see the
bursar, whose responsibility it was. The boy was soon back
to inform Don Bosco that the baker had positively refused to
deliver any more bread unless payment was made for pre-
vious deliveries.
"I see," came the answer. "Get whatever bread is avail-
able and put it into the large basket, and God will send the
rest. I'll come and give it out myself."
Dalmazzo was struck particularly by the words "God
will send the rest ," and followed Don Bosco to the side door
of the church to see what he would do. He had heard some
talk about the wonderful things done by him. "I found a
place ," he related, "where I could take in the scene, just
behind Don Bosco, who was preparing to distribute the rolls
to the four hundred boys as they lined up on their way to
the refectory. I looked at the basket, and I saw it contained

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fifteen or twenty rolls at the most. Don Bosco carried out
the distribution with a smile and a word of greeting to each
boy. To my great surprise, I saw the same quantity remain
in the basket which had been there from the start, though
no other rolls had been brought and the basket had cer-
tainly not been changed. I was so impressed and excited
that when my mother came shortly afterwards to take me
home, I said to her: "I am not leaving this place, Mother.
Don Bosco is a saint, and I want to stay with him."
Francis Dalmazzo became a Salesian and was the first
rector of the Salesian Parish of the Sacred Heart in Rome.
"Take and Eat . .."
A similar phenomenon occurred one morning at Mass in
connection with the Eucharist. It was the Feast of Our
Lady's Nativity, and about six hundred boys were present in
church. The ciborium in the tabernacle was almost empty,
containing at most twenty particles. The sexton had prepared
another ciborium for consecration, but at the last moment
forgot all about it and left it in the sacristy. At communion
time, when Don Bosco uncovered the ciborium he had taken
from the tabernacle and noticed its contents, a look of dis-
tress came over his face. The altar boys noticed that he
raised his eyes to heaven in mute supplication and then went
down to give communion to the first row. But one row suc-
ceeded another, and still there were hosts in the ciborium,
and when all the boys had received-most of those present
did-there were still as many particles as there were at the
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Word spread quickly among the boys. "Miracle! Miracle!
Don Bosco is a saint!" they were saying as they crowded
around him after Mass. "Are you sure?" he kept repeating to
them, and added: "When you think of it, boys, isn't the
Eucharist always a miracle?"
Extraordinary happenings are many and varied in the life
of Don Bosco: cures, conversions, foretelling the future , but
he always played down the part he had in them. For him,
they were simply a striking evidence of a person's trust in
the Lord. Yet seldom did the people around him fail to note
that, if the "miracle" was wonderful, no less wonderful was
the faith of Don Bosco who, in difficult and often trying
circumstances, could say with utter conviction: "God will
help us!"

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CHAPTER IX
THE FOUNDER
"The Lord and the Devil"
Don Bosco knew what he needed for the future of his
Oratory: boys who would absorb his spirit and methods,
and become hard workers and loyal helpers. There was no
other way. Even the best among his priest friends, who for
years had assisted him in his work, were not at all willing to
live the rugged life of the Oratory for the rest of their days.
He had rather poor material with which to build. Most
of the Oratory boys lacked even the rudiments of an elemen-
tary education. He kept his eyes open, and encouraged the
most promising: Michael Rua, John Cagliero, Angelo Savio,
John Francesia, and a few others. He directed them toward
the priesthood; sent them to school to complete their secon-
dary education, and, at a proper time, gave them cassocks.
They lived at the Oratory; took part in the recreation where
they unobtrusively supervised the games and taught cate-
chism-young men, all of them; some only in their late teens.
"What a fine group of young men to build into a religi-
ous order, Don Bosco!" a visiting Capuchin missionary told
him one day.
"Don Bosco, you are not going to live forever. What's
going to happen to the Oratory after you die?" This from the
Archbishop of Turin himself.
"What are you waiting for, Don Bosco? The time to start
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your religious society is now! Don Cafasso had even been
blunt about it.
But the decisive argument came from an unexpected
source, Italy's Minister of Justice, Urbano Ratazzi who had
been responsible for the anti-Church laws of the newly
unified country, and who, for that reason, was often referred
to as "that devil" by some outraged Catholics.
"You know how I feel about your work, Don Bosco,"
the lanky magistrate told him one day. "Every town in
Italy should have an Oratory. I can't think of anything that
could benefit this country more. You ought to choose a few
priests and laymen and form them into a society with defi-
nite rules and regulations. You must impart your spirit into
these people so they become not only your helpers but also
your successors."
"Your Excellency," Don Bosco replied, "you actually
promoted the suppression of religious orders in Italy. Are you
suggesting that I start one?"
"I know the laws of suppression, Father. They create no
obstacle because you could found a society which meets the
conditions of the laws."
"But how could that be?"
"Your society should in no way reflect the condition of
the old religious orders. It will be more like an association of
free citizens who have united and live in common for a
humanitarian purpose."
"Will Your Excellency give me the assurance that the
government will permit the founding of such an order and
will let it live?"
"Unquestionably, Father."
When Don Bosco related to his young assistants what

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had transpired during his conversation with Ratazzi, impul-
sive John Cagliero remarked: "We are quite sure that Don
Bosco's inspiration to found the Salesian Society comes from
the Lord, but I never thought its greatest push would come
from the 'devil.' "
Enter the Pope
The approval and the blessing of the Holy Father were
essential to Don Bosco's plans. In March, 1858, accompanied
by Michael Rua, he went to Rome and personally presented
to Pope Pius IX a letter from the Archbishop of Turin
detailing his work at the Oratory and his plans to form a
religious society. It was Don Bosco's first meeting with the
Pope, and the exchange between the two men could not
have been more cordial.
"They tell me you keep yourself and a lot of people very
busy in Turin," the Pope said, smiling.
"Your Holiness, my boys keep me busy all the time."
"What actually is the work you do at the Oratory?"
"Most anything, Holy Father. I say Mass, preach and
confess, go begging, teach several hours a day, and occasion-
ally even help with the work in the kitchen..."
In a succeeding audience, the Pope questioned him at
length about his past and the origin of the Oratory. He
insisted that Don Bosco set in writing all he had told him.
"The Lord's designs are clearly manifest in your life," he
said. 'These things should not be lost to those who will
come after you, Don Bosco."
The Pope could not have been more favorable to the

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ideas and plans Don Bosco submitted for his society. He
made some very pertinent suggestions, and commended the
rules Don Bosco had drafted, promising his support for the
definitive approval.
Pius was quick to no'te the innovator in Don Bosco.
Indeed , the ideas of the Turin priest were bold, if not revolu-
tionary. His religious society was not meant to be just
another religious order. His plan encompassed a program in
which clerics and laymen would live and work side by side,
totally committed to the Salesian ideal. He went even fur-
ther, and cast his net wide . He was actually envisioning
"Salesians in the world," both priests and laymen bound only
by their common goal of spreading and implementing the
message of the Gospel, with youth , neglected youth particu-
larly, their first concern.
The Pope was amazed at the broad approach of Don
Bosco's plan. He stressed , however , the importance of the
vows and of community life . "Without vows," he said,
''the unity, the spirit and even the work of the Society could
not be permanently upheld." He did agree that the rule
should be flexible and easy to observe , and the lifestyle of
the Salesians- their garb and religious practices- such as not
to attract the attention of the world.
While Don Bosco revised some of his original ideas in
order to conform them to the guidelines established by the
Holy See, he held to the concept of a religious society open
to both clerics and laymen. " Coadjuto rs, " he named the
latter. Though they might outwardly appear as laymen , they
were as fully religious as the clerical members , equal t o them,
in fact , in everything except the priestly character.
The Salesian Coadjutor is probably Don Bosco's most

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genial creation. Not only the Salesian Society, but the entire
Church was enriched by the dedicated lives of thousands of
these " religious in secular clothes ," humble and selfless men ,
many of whom became renowned in the industrial arts,
contributing rnightly to the Salesian educational program.
It was Easter, and for Don Bosco an added joy to be in
Rome at such a time. As assistant to one of the officiating
cardinals , he was privileged to be close to the Holy Father
during the Holy Week services. He was in the papal pro-
cession when , after the solemn Mass on Easter Sunday, the
Pope was carried to the great balcony overlooking Saint
Peter's Square for the final blessing Urbi et OrU It was
while on the balcony that Don Bosco , surrounded as he was
by a great many dignitaries, found himself trapped between
the papal chair and the massive stone railing of the balcony.
His shoulder came up to the level of the portable platform
supporting the chair on which the Pope sat. Suddenly he
realized that the Pope's right foot was actually resting on
his shoulder, a rather delightful if somewhat embarrassing
situation that helped make that Roman Easter all the more
memorable for him.
''I, a Monsignor? Oh, No!"
Before he left Rome , Don Bosco was once again received
by the Pope, who greeted him with a smile . "Don Bosco,"
he said, "what in the world were you doing Sunday on the
balco ny , under my chair, acting as if you were needed to
shore up the Vicar of Christ?" It was a most cordial audience
that gave Don Bosco the opportunity to explain further his

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plans for the future of his work. Once more the Pope made
several suggestions and promised his full support.
"One more thing, Don Bosco , before you leave. I should
be pleased to make you a monsignor. .."
Don Bosco's face dropped. "I, a monsignor? Oh , no,
Your Holiness! Can you picture me all dressed in purple
among those street urchins? They would run away from
me ...And would people still believe when I told them I was
poor and needed money?...Thank you, Holy Father, but
just let me be poor Don Bosco!"
The Pope stood up and gently placed his hand on Don
Bosco's shoulder. "There is something I know you won't
refuse ," he said as he walked toward a safe. He opened it,
took out several large gold coins aru:l gave them to Don
Bosco. "Be sure you give a treat to those youngsters," he
said, "and bring them my blessing."
"What more could I expect?" Don Bosco whispered
to Michael Rua as they left the audience hall. Young Rua
was too moved even to speak. He just looked at Don Bosco.
Never before had he seen such a glow of happiness on that
fatherly face.
"Rome is Eternal"
It was a jubilant Don Bosco who returned to Turin.
The new Society, even if not definitely approved, could now
function. The draft of the rules was not yet final, but it was
a working plan. He could now raise his banner. He could
develop a spirit of unity and stability which would give
permanence to his work.

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"Rome is eternal in more ways than one," a Vatican
Monsignor had told Don Bosco when he had attempted to
draw him out on the time it would take for the formal
approval of his society. It was not until March, 1869, that it
was finally granted, and it was only in 1874 that the rules
were officially approved.
"The task of founding a religious society in our times,"
Don Bosco later remarked, "was absolutely above human
power. Had I foreseen all the obstacles and trials that stood
in the way, I would never have had the courage to carry
out the undertaking. What could poor Don Bosco have done
had he not been visibly guided by the Lord and His Holy
Mother? God is blessing our endeavor and His will is that
we shall go on .. .Who knows but that He wills to make use
of this humble Society to achieve great things in His Church?
Who knows but that in twenty-five to thirty years' time, our
little nucleus, with the Lord's blessing, will not go out into
the world and become an army of over one thousand reli-
gious?"
Prophetic, but much too conservative, was Don Bosco's
forecast. Less than a century after the definite approval of
the Society, the professed members in Don Bosco 's religious
family numbered over forty thousand, their rate of growth
being one of the fastest ever registered in the history of the
Church.

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CHAPTER X
COOPERATORS
"I Need You More Than I Need Money"
It was Carlo Buzzetti's first visit at the Oratory, in May,
185 2. An architect, he had heard glowing reports about the
place from boys he had met on his jobs and was anxious to
meet Don Bosco, their hero. What he found was a large play-
ground teeming with youngsters, most of them poorly
dressed, engaged in all sorts of games, and, he thought,
remarkably well-behaved. Suddenly, as if by magic, at the
sound of a bell, all games came to a halt. The boys, still
happily chattering, made their way to the two buildings
at the far end of the courtyard.
It was sometime before Signor Buzzetti, with the ready
assistance of one of the boys , was finally able to corner
Don Bosco. "It's surprising what you have here, Father,"
he said after introducing himself. "I know some of your
boys, and would like to be of help, if I may. I am in con-
struction work and might be able to do something for you."
"You won't believe it," Don Bosco smiled warmly, "but
what I really need right now is a few men like you. I could
use you more than I could money. . .Do you have a few
minutes? I'll show you what I mean."
It was a Saturday afternoon, and the boys were engaged
in varied activities: band and choir practice, stage rehearsals,
catechism classes, or just plain house chores. Don Bosco
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and his guest stopped by the window of one of the large
classrooms on the ground floor. A medley of jarring sounds
could be heard , typical of band instruments tuning up.
"You probably recognize their maestro ," Don Bosco
said. "He heads Turin's municipal band. He comes twice a
week to instruct our boys. We would be lost without him.''
Under a shed, some twenty youngsters were watching in-
tently while a man was explaining to them the intricacies
of an hydraulic saw. "He is the manager of the sawmill across
the river," Don Bosco pointed out. "He puts in quite a few
hours of his free time to teach our boys."
They moved on to the makeshift chapel where a large
group of boys stood in rapt attention, taking in every word
from a short, round, jovial priest. "My good friend Father
Borel," Don Bosco explained, "takes time from his seminary
teaching to help me with the catechism classes ..."
Don Bosco then led the way down the basement stair-
case. They were soon in a large room where a dozen women
were busily mending piles of clothes . They greeted Don
Bosco warmly , but kept right on with their work. "My
mother , Signor Buzzetti ," and the priest pointed to the
elderly lady who was quite evidently in charge. Mama Marga-
ret nodded and smiled , but she , too, went right on with her
work.
They were back in the courtyard. "Now you see , Signor
Buzzetti ," Don Bosco said , "what I mean when I say that I
could use a few men like you. In your line of work, you have
carpenters who might be willing to give some of their time,
or any skilled worker for that matter. .."
"I will certainly look into that , Don Bosco. It 's amazing
what you are doing with these youngsters. My brother

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Giuseppe will want to know about all this. You can count
on us, Father!"
Who Should Thank Whom?
It was June 21, feast of St. Aloysius, one of those
eventful occasions that made life at the Oratory a joy. Some
five hundred boys from the nearby tenement houses joined
the resident students for the solemn Mass in the morning
after which lunch was served al fresco. And what a treat
it was to delight those famished youngsters!
"Don Bosco, who's paying for all this food?" there was
a note of dismay in Don Rua's voice.
"Don't you know? Signor Cotta and his wife . . ."
In the afternoon, at the solemn procession, Turin's
most famous band, in full uniform, was in the lead, and its
strains brought the people out on the streets by the hun-
dreds.
"How in the world can Don Bosco afford this?" some-
one asked within hearing of one of the Saint's assistants.
"He can't," the young cleric replied. "General D' Agliano
is paying for the band."
Later in the day, the boys had the time of their life on
the green meadow~ surrounding the Oratory buildings:
games of all kinds, gymnastics, races . . .Trophies and cash
prizes were awarded to the winners and refreshments to all.
As darkness fell, hundreds of Japanese lanterns turned
the place into a fairyland, and the long-awaited fireworks
brought the evening to a spectacular close.
Not a cent had come from Don Bosco's pocket to cover

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the expenses of the feast. His friends had done it all: Signor
Cotta, Count Cays , General D'Agliano , and Count Cavour.
They had spent most of the day at the Oratory, enjoying
the feast as much as the youngsters.
After night prayers under the stars, Don Bosco spoke
briefly to the boys. "We have these gentlemen to thank for
the wonderful day we have had," he told them , pointing
to his smiling friends who stood by the platform from which
he was speaking. The youngster.s' rousing cheers and ap-
plause were heard blocks away in the silence of the night.
But the Saint did not have the last word. "We are the ones
who should thank you, Father ," Count Cays said to him
before they parted. "We had a marvelous time, and this is
certainly not the only blessing we expect to receive from
the little we did for you and for your boys."
Anything to Help Them
"We have a good many youngsters knocking at our door.
We simply must expand or leave them out o n the street."
It was something Don Rua had heard from Don Bosco time
and time again.
"But where is the money to come from this time?"
Even Don Rua, his closest assistant, at times wondered if
Don Bosco was not being reckless.
"A lottery, a nation-wide lottery ," Don Bosco replied
with a smile. "Let's form a committee." The roster of names
on the committee read like Italy's Who's Who. Obtaining
the license from the government was no trouble, since Italy's
deputy premier headed the committee. Next, providing the

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lottery prizes: paintings, objects d'art, genuine oriental rugs,
quality furniture, even carriages and teams of horses.
Don Bosco's friends went knocking at some of Pied-
mont's most aristocratic homes. No one could say no to Don
Bosco. The prizes rolled in by wagonloads. The most valuable
were exposed in the lobby of Turin's Art Museum, and all
were listed in the newspapers all over Italy. The Oratory's
presses were kept running round the clock, printing the
tickets- thousands of them - while in nearly all of Italy's
major cities, distributing committees were set up to peddle
the tickets from door to door. Finally came the drawing day,
a gala occasion at the Oratory, with recitals, choir and band
selections interspersing the endless calling out of the winning
tickets.
"Don Bosco has made more money than he can spend
in ten years," some of his critics were heard to say. The truth
was that most of it went into paying overdue debts, and the
rest as a first payment on the much-needed expansion at the
Oratory.
The gift of knowing how to make people work for a
good cause was part of Don Bosco's genius. The lottery was
not the only project that proved it. Those were the days
when young apprentices were completely at the mercy of
their employers. There were no laws, and certainly no
unions to protect them from the abuses to which they
were subjected. Don Bosco got his lay friends to sponsor
his boys as apprentices in factories and shops. Contracts
were drawn up that would assure a decent treatment for
those boys. The men actually toured (often with Don Bosco)
the places where the young employees were working to
see that the employer lived up to the contract. One such

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contract, duly notarized, was recently found. In it a Turin
jeweler (a Cooperator) vouches for one of Don Bosco's boys,
a sixteen-year-old orphan, as an apprentice in a stained-glass
studio. The employer, on his part, pledges himself to take
the boy under his wing for three years, "to teach him the
art without making him do other extraneous work, to let
him free on Saturday afternoons and Sundays, and to give
him fifteen days' paid vacation every year. Furthermore, the
young man shall be paid two Liras weekly during the first
year, the pay to be doubled on each of the two succeeding
years." Labor unions should all vote Don Bosco their patron
saint.
It was Don Bosco's way of implementing his words:
"Anything and everything to help these youngsters."
In Union There is Strength
"Cooperators" Don Bosco called his lay friends who
were willing to assist him in his work. He soon realized that
some sort of organization was needed. He often said: "A
number of willing, committed Christians, joined together
by the same ideal, can generate an irresistible strength for
good."
After evening classes one night, in 1850, he invited
several of his lay assistants for a glass of Barbera wine. Be-
tween sips, he told them he had a mind to organize them into
an association that would eventually expand outside the
Oratory walls. It was a first attempt in the realization of
a long-standing dream. When, in 1864, he presented Pope
Pius IX with the first draft of the Rules of the Salesian

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Society, the Pontiff, who was leafing through its pages, was
struck by the heading of the last chapter: The Society's
External Members.
"Who are they?" he asked.
"Your Holiness, please read on," Don Bosco answered.
The Pope did, with amazement. "Any person," the
document stated, "living in the world with his family, may
belong to our Society. Such a person need not take vows,
but shall simply try to live up to the Society's rules, its
spirit and program insofar as his age, condition and work will
permit." It was a bold project, far in advance of the times,
and Rome did not approve it.
Even among his own Salesians, Don Bosco at first made
little headway when he spoke to them about the Cooper-
ators' association. "A confraternity?" tl'iey asked. "There are
too many prayer groups already!"
"You do not understand what I mean," Don Bosco
replied one evening after another long discussion with some
of his assistants. "I want no part of a confraternity or a third
order that would limit itself to prayer and devotional prac-
tices. Our Cooperators are to be activists, involved in any-
thing and everything that might help implement the message
of the Gospel , especially where the young and the poor are
concerned." And he added: "The times are past when all one
needed to do was unite in prayer. Today the world wants
action. The devil, too, has changed his tactics. We must beat
him to the game!"
He moved to organize the Cooperators' association in
1875 , and presented them with a constitution and a program
of action which is as vast as the needs of the Church and
society in general. This time the Pope approved his plan

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enthusiastically, and asked that his own name be placed on
top of the list of the newly formed association. Within a
short few years the Salesian Cooperators numbered two
hundred thousand in Italy alone. Wherever the Salesians
opened an establishment, they could count on a well organ-
ized group of Cooperators to assist them. For them Don
Bosco founded the Salesian Bulletin which , for more than
a century, has chronicled their mighty accomplishments and
has inspired them to new conquests with the Founder's
famous motto: Give me souls!
The message Don Bosco penned for his Cooperators
shortly before he died is a masterpiece. "I have not had
the joy of meeting most of you personally," he wrote in
part, "but I know that someday we shall meet in a better
world and shall rejoice over the good we were able to accom-
plish together. Let me just tell you this: Without you I could
never have done anything. It was you who made it possible
for the Salesians to bring help, comfort and joy to countless
youngsters."

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CHAPTER XI
A LIVING MONUMENT
"Something Is Missing"
It was a warm June night in 1864, and Don Bosco stood
on the balcony overlooking the Oratory playground. The
boys were at their games, and occasionally some of them
would look up and wave, shouting a greeting to him. It had
been a very busy day for Don Bosco. He was now relaxing
and talking with Father Lemoyne, one of his assistants.
"Don Bosco," Father Lemoyne said, "don't you think
something is still missing to complete the work of our
Society ;"
"What do you mean, Father Lemoyne?"
"You have done so much for boys; why not something
for girls , too? Wouldn't it be wonderful if we had Sisters
doing for girls what we are doing for boys?"
"Father Lemoyne," Don Bosco replied, "don't you
suppose I have been thinking about that? I have even been
having dreams about it. .." He went on to say he had dreamt
he was with Marchesa Barolo who , out of a clear sky, began
to tell him that he should confine himself to boys, since her
nuns were taking care of the girls and doing a good job at it,
too.
"I told her quite simply that a priest's task was to take
care of souls, all souls, and that included girls. The Marchesa
retorted, 'Indeed, the Lord came to save all. You don't have
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to tell me that, Father, I know it. . .' You might just smile
at that dream, Father Lemoyne; but, if anything, it means
that I have been thinking of doing what you propose. Please
God, we'll get to it soon."
On a White Horse
Late in the afternoon of a bright October day in 1864,
a group of Oratory boys, some of them riding horses, arrived
at the sleepy little village of Mornese on one of their famed
excursions through the hills of Piedmont's picturesque
Monferrato region. They had persuaded Don Bosco to mount
a white horse, and the villages could hardly believe their eyes
when the caravan, at the sound of drums, paraded through
the narrow streets all the way to the parish church where
they were overnight guests of the Pastor, Don Pestarino, a
Salesian, who had invited them to eat some of the luscious
and tasty grapes ready for the picking in the nearby vineyard.
But something more than a pleasure ride had decided
Don Bosco to visit Mornese. He was anxious to meet a group
of young women who, with Don Pestarino's blessing, had
formed a sodality to assist in parish work.
"They are my angels," Don Pestarino had told Don
Bosco. "They do wonders for the parish, teaching catechism
to the youngsters, and conducting a sewing class for the girls.
It's like a tiny oratory of their own. They want to meet you,
Father. Who knows that this may not be the beginning of
something even bigger!"
Maria Domenica Mazzarella was the sodality's prime
mover. She led the way with the energy of a born leader and

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the unassuming gentleness of a mother. She was enchanted to
know Don Bosco had finally come to Mornese, and directed
her fellow sodalists to do whatever was needed to make his
and the boys' stay at Mornese as pleasant as possible.
Don Bosco met the group on the following day, after
Mass in the parish church. He encouraged them to continue
their good work "because the Lord and Our Lady have great
things in store for you. . ." Late that day, after the guests
had left Mornese and everything had returned to normal in
the village, Maria said to her friends, "I am now more than
ever convinced that Don Bosco is a saint. .. "
"Stars Under Our Feet"
The tiny oratory at Mornese under Maria's watchful care
was like a cenacle where ardent young souls were being
trained for the greater things to come. Sewing was not the
only reason why the Mornese mothers entrusted their daugh-
ters to Maria and her friends. "They are like Sisters," they
used to say. "They know exactly what to do with our girls."
"Don't become just seamstresses," Maria would tell her
eager pupils. "Become the very best of seamstresses!" When
the hour bell struck , "One hour closer to heaven," she would
say, "or don't you think about it?" And again, "Why not
make with every stitch an act of love for the Lord?" Occa-
sionally she accompanied them home after dark. "Look at
all those stars," she would say. "One day, in heaven, we shall
have them all under our feet. .."
During the months that followed his first visit at Mor-
nese , Don Bosco was in constant touch with Maria and her

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sodalists. They were, he knew, under Don Pestarino's excel-
lent care. "In all that regards you," the latter told them,
·'I am Don Bosco's voice." One day he returned from Turin
with exciting news. "So far," he told the young sodalists,
·'you have been staying with your families. Would you be
willing to leave home and live together under the same
roof? It is what Don Bosco would like you to do." Nearly all
the sodalists agreed. Maria and her friends, with two little
orphan girls, were soon housed in a solid but simple structure
that had been built on Don Pestarino's own property.
"A Great Task Awaits You."
"You are now a community," Don Pestarino told the
twenty-seven young women. "You must now have a superi-
or. .."
Maria Mazzarella was elected by a nearly unanimous
vote. "Why me?..." she asked almost in tears. She begged to
be excused from the position , and acceded only when Don
Bosco insisted. Nothing changed in her life. She took her
turn in the kitchen , at the wash tub , and in the vegetable
garden with the same ease with which she taught catechism
or embroidery.
Not every one at Mornese was happy to see those fine
young peasant women turn into a community of nuns and
live in the building which originally had been intended to
house a school for boys. There were open hostilities which,
in some instances , verged on persecution. Don Pestarino bore
the brunt of the attacks while Maria and her " Sisters"
suffered in silence. The stonn eventually subsided and soon

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Mornese knew what a treasure of a "family" was housed
in the Pestarino building high up in the Borgo Alto section
of the village.
On August 5, 1872, the Bishop of the Diocese blessed
the religious habit for the new Sisters. Don Bosco came
from Turin for the eventful occasion . He had already in-
formed them that they were to be known as Daughters
of Mary Help of Christians. "Your institute," he told them,
"has come into existence because Our Lady willed it. You
are to be a living monument to her goodness.'' When he
spoke to them at the clothing ceremony, he referred to the
hardshlps and tribulations they had sustained. "You have
had your share of sufferings," he said. ''But can followers
of a Crucified Lord expect otherwise? There is a great task
awaiting you, an d the trials you go through are meant to
strengthen and prepare you for that task. So take courage!
You have a new religious garb ; it is meant to mark you as
persons consecrated to God . Let your conduct prove you
such. Let those who come in contact with you find you
somewhat reserved , but always friendly. A Salesian Sister
may at times have to lower her eyes, but she need never
lower her head.''
The handful of courageous young women became a
legion. From Mornese they swarmed to every country in
the world. In oratories, schools, hospitals , leper colonies,
some twenty thousand Salesian Sisters- Daughters of Mary
Help of Christians- work with the same spirit and devotion
whlch at Mornese marked the life and work of humble
Maria, now Saint Maria Domenica Mazzarella.

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CHAPTER XII
GO INTO THE WHOLE WORLD
They Dropped Their Spears
One night Don Bosco dreamt he was standing alone on
what appeared to be a vast treeless plain , extending as far as
the eye could see. Suddenly there appeared on the horizon a
horde of savages, very tall, long-haired and dressed in animal
skins. They were shouting and prodding with their spears
several missionarir-. in varied religious garb whom they felled
and slaughtered one by one. Don Bosco was horrified.
"Will it ever be possible to tame those savages?'' he
was asking himself when he noticed that a new group of
missionaries was approaching from the opposite side with a
number of boys walking in front of them. He was amazed to
recognize in them his own Salesians. Distressed , he was about
to shout to them to turn back when something incredible
happened. The savages first looked at the boys, then at the
missionaries , and immediately dropped their spears and came
forward to meet them as if they had always been the best of
friends. Soon they were all kneeling and singing together. ..
The dream left Don Bosco wondering. Was his newly-
founded society to become involved in mission work?
Where? Who were the tall savages he had seen in his dream?
Were they from Australia , Asia, or the Americas? He con-
sulted several books and even an anthropologist friend, but
got nowhere.
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Early in 1875, the Italian Consul in Argentina was
visiting the Oratory. Don Bosco questioned him on his
experiences in South America, and was amazed to find out
from the Consul's description of the Pampas, and even more
from his photographs of the natives, that the place of his
dream was unquestionably the Patagonia region of Argentina .
Nearly one hundred thousand Indians roamed the bleak
Pampas, in the most abject condition and constantly harassed
by the colonists and the government troops. Charles Darwin,
who had visited a few years previously , described them as
"the tallest , most athletic Indians in the Americas, the most
backward and impervious to any civilizing effort. . ."
An inquiry at the Vatican's Propagation of the Faith
Bureau revealed that the missionary endeavors among the
natives of Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego had been ex-
tremely few and with disappointing results; often, too, with
disastrous consequences. The Vatican informant wondered
"if the Salesians might not consider sending missionaries to
those regions."
"A Little Nothing . .."
On November 11, 1875, ten Salesians, all volunteer
missionaries to Patagonia , stood in the sanctuary of Our
Lady's church for the farewell ceremony. The Turin news-
papers had given front page coverage to the "new missionary
venture" ; and not only the church, but even the large square
fronting it was filled with well-wishers.
Don Bosco spoke feelingly at the service. "It is only a

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tiny stone," he said , "we Salesians bring to the building of
God's Church. But who knows that this little nothing may
not be the beginning of something that will grow beyond our
fondest dreams.. ."
At the close of the ceremony, Don Bosco embraced each
of the missionaries and then accompanied them to the
carriages lined up in front of the church, ready to leave for
the port of Genoa.
"Do you want the Lord's blessings to follow you?" he
said to them. "Then look only for souls...The youngsters,
the sick and the old should be your first concern."
Brave Men
The new m1ss10naries made Buenos Aires their home
base , _and the Oratory they opened in the city soon rivaled
Turin's in size and variety of activities.
In the meantime they planned a strategy for the "con-
quest " of Patagonia. They were brave and zealous men , but
they soon realized that the task was far above the strength
of ten men. Their appeals for help did not fall on deaf ears.
So great was the enthusiasm generated by their letters to
Turin , that Don Bosco was hard put to satisfy the requests of
all who wanted to go to Argentina. To Father John Cagliero,
who headed the mission, he wrote : "Were I to allow all who
volunteer to join you , I would be left without a single
Salesian in Turin ."
Father Cagliero 's plan was bold : open as many bases as
possible among the white colonists who , incidentally , were
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move on to contact the elusive Indians. But in the meantime
the governments troops, harassed by the natives, were ready
to spring an all out attack. The Salesians asked to become
army chaplains, hoping thereby to lessen the impact of the
conflict, and, if possible, to prevent it altogether.
"Brother! ...Brother! . .."
The bloodiest encounter took place in the winter of
1886. The missionaries had persuaded the troops to use
peaceful tactics as far as possible, and never to attack the
Indians unless threatened. However, the natives feigned
friendship, bu t then let fly their poisoned arrows. In a few
minutes over four hundred were cut down by the soldiers'
deadly fire. From then on, whenever the Indians were
spotted, the missionaries would approach them first, offering
them presents and shouting "brother1 . ..brother1 ..." in
their language. They would thus persuade them to come to
terms with the government troops. Their efforts not only
proved successful, but won for the missionaries the lasting
friendship of the suspicious and embattled Indians.
Within the span of four decades, mission centers dotted
Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego. Villages with schools,
churches, and clinics literally transformed the face of the
Pampas. The white colonists, too, benefited immensely
from the work of the missionaries. As for the Indians, when
disease, the inevitable consequence of their contact with the
whites, struck down those unconquerable sons of the wild,
it was again in the Salesian missionaries that they found
their most trusted friends and protectors. The limited ma-

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terial comforts the rruss10naries brought those vanishing
tribes, and the peace and contentment many of them found
in the Christian faith were no small solace as they moved
irrevocably toward near total extinction.
Since 1875 , some ten thousand Salesian missionaries
have followed in the footsteps of the ten men who first
blazed the missionary trail for the youthful Salesian Society.
They have gone everywhere in the world, the words of
Don Bosco echoing in their hearts : " Look only for souls."

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CHAPTER XIII
MAN FOR ALL SEASONS
"It's Not That Hard"
"Don Bosco, you have flooded Italy with your pam-
phlets. I saw your Catholic R eadings everywhere. How do
you do it? Where do you find the time to write?"
Don Bargotti , editor of Italy's foremost Catholic paper,
wanted to know. He had come to the Oratory to interview
Don Bosco, and was out to get the facts.
Don Bosco smiled at the ebullient young editor.
"Father," he replied, "it's not that hard! I burn the midnight
oil, as you yourself must do. That's it."
It is what Don Bosco did right to the end of his life .
He devoured books (the Oratory's library was one of Turin's
best), and wrote with ease on a variety of subjects. Some
seventy books came from his pen , ranging from a brief
treatise on the metric system to a full-length, well -researched
History of Italy, probably his finest literary work. Unbe-
known to him, this book was translated into English and
published in London, in 188 1, by Longman & Green Pub-
lishing Company. In the preface , after asserting that "writing
a complete history of Italy is an arduous task indeed ,'' the
translator, I.D. Morrell , LL.D. , former Inspector of Her
Majesty's schools, writes:
"The book was originally written for Italy's secondary
schools by Giovanni Bosco, a scholarly Italian priest. It has
had a most remarkable success, having had several printings.
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In translating this work I have essayed to adhere to its very
attractive if simple style..."
When indeed did Don Bosco find time to write? Stealing
it from his sleep , obviously ; but in other ways as well. There
were the rare times when he would leave the Oratory and
spend the day at the home of friends, buried in his work.
On the train , he would invariably place his bag on his knees,
pull out rolls of galley proofs and go right on with his work
oblivious of all the noisy and often strange goings-on in the
third class coach.
His was a plain, simple, extremely readable style. He
learned soon enough to shed the bombastic rhetoric, typical
of the times , which he had picked up in school. He would
often read what he wrote to Mama Margaret whose unerring
instinct for simple phrasing was easily jolted by high-
sounding words or long-winded sentences. "You lost me ,"
she would say to John while listening, intent on her sewing.
And John was quick to blue-pencil the abstruse word or
phrase.
He kept the Oratory printing and bookbinding shops
humming away , and nothing would please him more than
when his boys came up with a brand-new copy of his latest
work . "Here is your book , Father ," they would say to him ,
glowing with pride. "No ," he would reply , " not my book,
our book. You worked as hard to print it as I did to write
it."
"Had he wanted , Don Bosco could have made a name
for himself as a writer , a name to stand among the best of
his time. But his life was meant to be spent in works of
charity for the young. He bent his uncommon genius for
writing to that end . Although he did not live to produce

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a great literary masterpiece , he left the impress of a great
mind and a great heart in writings that have done souls
unimaginable good." These are the words of Pope Pius XI
who knew Don Bosco personally, and lived to bestow on
him the grestest of all honors: sainthood.
"Don Bosco Will See It Through"
There was more than a tinge of bitterness in the Pope's
voice as he addressed the assembled cardinals on a subject
"very close to our heart." Plans for erection in Rome of a
great basilica in honor of the Sacred Heart of Jesus were
floundering. The foundation of the new church was barely
above ground when work had come to a halt for lack of
funds.
"What has happened to all the promises of financial
support that came from wealthy Romans?" Pope Leo XIII
asked. "A fast-growing section of Rome," he continued,
"is being deprived of a much-needed place of worship. And
what of the sorry spectacle this unfinished church presents
to the world?"
"Your Holiness, put Don Bosco in charge ," suggested
Cardinal Alimonda. "He will see it through to the end."
"But will Don Bosco accept?" asked Pope Leo eagerly.
"The poor man has enough problems on his hands , feeding
his youngsters ... "
" Holy Father, for Don Bosco a wish of the Vicar of
Christ is a command."
Don Bosco went to work. At sixty-seven , undaunted by
failing health, he took on this heavy burden at a time when

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seemingly he had exhausted every known means of raising
money for his own projects. "The Pope wants it," he said
to his worried assistants. "It is for the good of souls, and it
will give us Salesians a foothold in Rome. I told the Holy
Father that the one condition I place to this undertaking
is that an oratory and a school be included in the plans.
He was delighted."
He approached the new task with his usual energy and
sagacity. He wrote a circular letter to the episcopate of the
whole world and to the editors of Catholic periodicals,
explaining the nature and object of the undertaking. He
persuaded wealthy Catholics to finance specific items, such
as the massive granite columns of the church, the altars,
the pulpit, the organ, etc. Leo XIll, who had informed
him that he could do little to help him, came generously to
his assistance. Still, money was needed all the time, and it
did not always arrive in sufficient quantity to prevent the
suspension of work. It was then that he thought of France.
"Father," the French Salesians warned him, "French
Catholics are being drained for the bulding of their own
Basilica to the Sacred Heart at Montmartre in Paris. How
can you expect them to give to your church?"
"How little you know your own country!" he replied.
"France is a great country, with money for every need.
Say what you like, but despite storms and trials, she remains
to those who know her well, and I am one of them, generous
France!"
France gave Don Bosco a triumphal reception. It was
as if he had been known, loved and expected wherever he
went. Wrote le Univers, Paris' prestigious daily:
"For the past week, religious circles in Paris have talked

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of nothing but Don Bosco and his Oratory. The Italian
St. Vincent de Paul is now spending a few days in Paris...
Long lines of carriages are seen standing in front of all the
places he visits. Members of the aristocracy vie with one
another to have him as their guest, and crowds of people
fill the churches he goes to."
At the Madeleine , Paris' most fashionable church, the
crowd was so large Don Bosco had difficulty reaching the
pulpit. His French was faltering, his delivery low-toned;
yet his listeners, though accustomed to the best French
pulpit oratory, were deeply impressed. He spoke of the
young, especially the poor and neglected among them,
and what they meant to the future of the Church and of
society in general. The new Church of the Sacred Heart
in Rome, he told them, was to provide a care center for
such youths. And couldn't Paris, too, use one such center?
"These youngsters need you," he added. "Quite simply
their salvation is in your pocket. Either we set them on the
right path now, or they will one day become a threat to
society , to us- you and me ."
France was generous to Don Bosco, and put into his
hands over one hundred thousand francs. Friends and con-
tacts were made, too , that would prove very helpful for
years to come. Part of the money went to the church for
which he was responsible in Rome; part, to meet some
of his most pressing debts; and the balance was used for
the new Salesian Center which two years later was estab-
lished in Paris.

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"Was That Man Victor Hugo?"
Monsieur Boullay could hardly believe his eyes. "Tell
me,'' he asked his friend Father Roussel, "was that bearded
old gentleman I saw you with by the gate Victor Hugo?"
"Yes, but, please not a word about it~ He came secretly
to speak to Don Bosco , and I wouldn't want anyone to
know."
"So the old agnostic , too, felt the pull of the saint, eh,
Father?" Boullay went on. "What do you suppose the two
talked about?"
" That, I don ' t know. But come in, M. Boullay , Don
Bosco is waiting for you."
Boullay's visit with Don Bosco was most cordial. A
distinguished Paris lawyer, he wanted a special blessing for
himself, his two young daughters, who were with him, and
his ailing wife. "Don Bosco," he said when he was about to
leave , "I see you had quite a visitor a few minutes ago ... "
"Who told you?"
"Your host, Father Roussel."
" Yes , it was Victor Hugo. He is old , and I did my best to
turn his thoughts to God. We must pray for him .. ."
Why would the great French writer want to visit Don
Bosco? Victor Hugo was then eighty-two years old , still
shattered by the recent death of Jules Drouent , his beloved
life-long friend and companion. He must have felt that a
visit to the Turin priest, about whose presence in Paris the
newspapers were filled , could bring him a measure of com-
fort. In his memoirs, Don Bosco details the long dialogue
between himself and the famed author of Les Miserables.
That Victor Hugo must have been impressed is clearly

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testified by his parting words to Don Bosco . "Monsieur
!'Abbe , I trust you will continue to be my friend. In spite
of what I might have told you during our conversation , I
do believe in God , and hope that , when my time comes,
a priest will be at my side to assist me. "
When two years later Victor Hugo lay dying, the Arch-
bishop of Paris was informed that the renowned Frenchman
had asked to see a priest. Unable to go himself because of
illness, the Prelate sent one of his priests to the Hugo
residence. The priest was kept waiting in th e servants' quar-
ters for more than two hours and was finally told that
Victor Hugo had died and there was no point in seeing him.
"So they did not let you in to see him,'' the Archbishop
said to the priest. "I knew his frie nd s would do something
like that. France 's greatest self-professed agnostic making
his peace with God? They would never allow a thing like
that1 It is most un fortunate, but don't feel too bad, Father.
You were not by Victor Hugo 's bedside when he died, but
I am sure the Lord was."
"Why Doesn't He Leave Me Alone?"
Don Bosco came in late for lun ch on a cold November
day in I854. He held in one hand several letters intended
for the mail. After greeting his young assistants he told
them , "I have got letters here going to some ve ry distin-
guished people: the Pope. King Victor Emmanuel 11 , and the
hangman.''
There was a burst of laughter amo ng his listeners who
wondered why Don Bosco would associate the name of

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hangman with the revered names of his other two corres-
pondents.
"It is not at all a laughing matter," Don Bosco con-
tinued , explaining that the young son of the hangman was
so ostracized in the Turin public school that his father had
asked that the boy be admitted to the Oratory. As for the
letter to the Pope , he was not at the moment in a position
to reveal its contents. "What about the one to the King?"
someone asked. " It contains a grave warning for His Ma-
jesty," Don Bosco replied.
He then went on to tell them that for days he had been
haunted by a strange dream. "It seemed to me," he said,
"that the door of my room suddenly opened wide. A court
attendant in full uniform stood there looking sorrowful
and grave. "There are to be solemn funerals at Court~" he
shouted. He closed the door and left. A dream is a dream,
and one should not give it too much importance. But I
feel the King should be warned . As you know he is about
to sign into law the confiscation of a great many church
properties. Who knows? He might decide to give the matter
more thought. "
It was not the first time Don Bosco had warned the
young King. It pained him to see him at the behest of anti-
Church politicians who , in the name of a unified Italy ,
were seeking to undermine the Church at every step . After
one such warning , Victor Emmanuel was he ard to ex claim:
"I love Don Bosco ; I even help support his boys. Why doesn't
he leave me alone ?"
In January , 1855 , less than two months after Don
Bosco's prediction , the mother, the wife , and the brother of
the King died , all of them after a brief illness, only days

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apart from one another. Since Don Bosco 's message to the
King had become known, the impression in Turin was
enormous. Through the troubled years that followed, event-
ually leading to the unification of Italy with Rome as the
capital of the new kingdom , Don Bosco quietly continued
his behind-the-scene work , often at the request of the Pope ,
to smooth out the differences between Italy's government
and the Vatican. The King, too, appreciated his efforts.
Speaking one day to Marquis Fassati, one of his close
attendants, Victor Emmanuel asked him: "Tell me about
Don Bosco. You know him better than I."
"I might tell Your Majesty that he is a saint. But that,
Your Majesty knows already ," replied the Marquis. "This
much I'd like to say: Few men are as devoted to the Church
as Don Bosco ; few as loyal to Your Majesty."
" You've said it all quite weW Thank you , Marquis ,"
the King replied.
"We Never Heard Such Sermons Before!"
On his first visit to Rome, in 185 8, late one evening,
while Don Bosco was resting after a particularly busy day,
Don Rua knocked gently at his door.
"An unexpected visitor , Don Bosco ," he said. "The
private secretary of the Holy Father is here to see you on
an important matter."
It was but a few days after Don Bosco's first audience
with Pope Pius IX. What could this visit possibly mean?
" Your Reverence ," the suave Monsignor said, "you must
forgive me for coming at such a late hour. It is the Holy

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Father's wish that you conduct the annual retreat at the
women's detention house here in Rome. Would you accept?"
"How could I possibly refuse, Monsignor?"
It was a spur-of-the-moment decision by the Pope, who
had been much impressed with Don Bosco and who felt
he would be the ideal man for the difficult task. When, on
the following day, Don Bosco reported to the prison to
make arrangements with the chaplain, "When does the
Retreat begin? " he asked.
"Today, Father. In fact, the inmates are already in
the chapel , waiting for you. "
Unperturbed, Don Bosco collected himself briefly
in prayer and went to the pulpit for the first of several
sermons he preached during the five-day retreat. Preaching
four times a day was only part of his work. The prison
chaplain later related that all of the 260 woman prisoners
insisted on going to confession to Don Bosco. "We never
heard such sermons before," he added. "It was unquestion-
ably the most successful retreat in the more than fifteen
years of my chaplaincy at the detention house. "
"Don Bosco ," continued the chaplai n , "kept those
unfortunate women spellbound with his preaching . He
was particularly effective when he preached on sin. Toward
the end of the sermon, he pointed to the crucifix. 'With
all he did for us ,' he said, 'will we ever want to offend him
again?' Stifled sobs were heard all over the chapel. 'No,
no . .. ' He then turned to the crucifix again, 'Lord Jesus,'
he said. ·you have heard them. These dear souls are truly
repentant. They do love you, Lord ; and if they did wrong,
it was only because they did not know what they were
doing .' "No ," concluded the elderly chaplain , "never before

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had I heard such effective preaching."
The Pope, too, made some comments when he was told
of the great success of the retreat. "I had a feeling," he said,
"that there is to Don Bosco a great deal more than appears
at first sight. Now I know he is truly a man of God."
"Did I Really Say That?"
Despite his heavy schedule of work at the Oratory,
Don Bosco seldom turned down an invitation to preach.
He was certainly not going to refuse his old friend Don
Clivio, pastor of Montemagno , a small agricultural center
not far from Turin. Early in August, 1864, the priest had
written to him, "Come, John, we need you at Montemagno."
The feast of Our Lady 's Assumption, on August 15,
was the town's great annual festival, preceded by three days
of preaching and devotional practices. But those hard-
working farmers were in no mood for celebrating. A frightful
drought was threatening to destroy their crops. A few more
days of blistering sun, and all would be lost.
"How about it, my friends," Don Bosco told his sparse
audience toward the end of his sermon on the first day.
"Let's put a lot of faith in what we do during these days,
and, if need be , amend our ways with a good confession.
Let's do it; and I promise you we'll have rain on the 15th,
without fail."
"Some nerve, Don Bosco 1 How could you promise
a thing like that , and with such assurance?" the pastor
asked him after the sermon.
"What thing, Don Clivio? "

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"The rain on the 1Sth-without fail ..."
"Did I really say that?"
"You most certainly did! Ask anyone, John."
"Impossible! You misunderstood me ..."
"Then a lot of us did, Father. .. "
On the two following days the church was filled to
capacity at the evening service. The people took Don Bosco
at his word. Don Clivio had to call on neighboring priests
to help with the confessions. On the 1Sth, the day dawned
as bright and hot as ever. The church was filled at all the
Masses. "Everybody at Montemagno went to Communion,
as on Easter Sunday," Don Clivio said later.
The church was again filled to overflowing for the
Vespers service at 4:00 p.m. Still no rain. "Will it come?"
people kept asking one another. "What if we get no rain,
Don Bosco?" someone said to him in the sacristy as he was
about to mount the pulpit for his final sermon. But Don
Bosco hardly heard him, deep as he was in thought and
prayer.
All eyes were fixed on him as he began to preach.
He had said but a few words, when the sunlight streaming
through the stained-glass windows seemed to dim somewhat.
And then, suddenly, the first rumble of thunder. A murmur
of joy ran through the vast throng. The sky was getting
increasingly dark. Don Bosco's voice broke a few times as
he tried to raise it amidst louder thunder claps. Finally the
rain, pouring and beating against the windows.
There were muffled cheers; many people had tears in
their eyes. Don Bosco, deeply moved, stopped preaching
for a while, as the rain kept pounding on the roof and
against the windows, and the thunder rumbled above. He

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finally resumed his preaching. which ended in a hymn of
thanksgiving to the Lord and his holy mother.
In the sacristy, after the sermon, Don Clivio embraced
Don Bosco and said, "I told you the other day that you had
a lot of courage. No, not courage, John: faith!"

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CHAPTER XIV
IN HIS FOOTSTEPS
"Come Next Sunday"
Eight-year old Michael Rua was impressed. "Where did
you get that nice tie?" he asked an older friend at school.
"I won it at a raffle at Don Bosco's Oratory ," came
the reply.
"Who is Don Bosco? "
"Oh, he is a fine priest who gets boys together on
Sundays, teaches them catechism, and then plays all kinds of
games with them."
"Can anybody join the Oratory?"
"You are a bit young, but come next Sunday anyway,
and I'll take you to see Don Bosco. "
For Michael, who had lost his father a few days before,
meeting Don Bosco was a thrilling experience. "He is like
Dad," he told his mother. A third-grade pupil at the Christian
Brothers' School, he saw Don Bosco only occasionally , but
grew more and more fond of him each time they met.
"Won't you give me a medal, too, Father?" he asked
him one day, seeing he was distributing tiny religious medals
to a group of boys.
"Here is the medal, Michael , And something else, too."
Don Bosco replied. "The two of us some day will go half-
and-half in everything. Here, let's begin right now," and with
113

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his right hand Don Bosco made a gesture as if he were trying
to cut something on the palm of his left hand. "Come on,
Michael , take your half." But there was nothing to take, and
Michael wondered what Don Bosco meant.
Years later, when he became Don Bosco's right-hand
man and shared with him the heavy responsibility of govern-
ing a growing Salesian Society, Michael Rua understood the
meaning of Don Bosco's baffling words and gesture . In
Don Rua, Don Bosco had a perfect lieutenant. "Why, if
Don Rua wanted, he could even work miracles," he said
one day with a smile.
"Is it really so Don Rua? " someone asked him .
"Don't believe it ," he replied. "One day, Don Bosco
asked me to take his place and go to bless a very sick woman.
Well, I went , I blessed her and she died ..."
"Make yourself loved ," Don Bosco would occasionally
say to his vicar, in an effort to smooth out his apparent air
of severity . " Let me tell you a dream I had last night," the
Founder said one day when, surrounded by his Salesians ,
he noticed Don Rua approaching the group. "I dreamt I
was in the sacristy and wanted to go to confession. I was
looking around for a priest and caught site of Don Rua
saying his breviary. He looked so stern that my courage
failed. I could not bring myself to go to confession to him,
for fear he might be too strict with me." They all laughed
heartily , Don Rua even more than the rest of them. But
he took Don Bosco seriously , too. He worked with might
and main to achieve in himself the fatherliness he so admired
in Don Bosco till it was said of him that in this , as in every-
thing else , Don Rua was a faithful replica of the Founder.
Don Bosco considered him a gift from the Lord. It was

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this frail-looking man's uncommon energy, his unquestioned
loyalty to the Founder, his deep spirituality, and his genius
for administration that made him not only Don Bosco's
greatest collaborator, but the obvious choice as his successor
as head of the Society. Shortly before Don Bosco died, when
the conversation veered to what some described as an uneasy
future for the Salesians, Don Bosco remarked : "I do not think
we need worry. We have men of high caliber in the Society.
Take Don Rua for one. If the Lord were to say to me, 'Your
time has come; choose your successor and ask me to endow
him with all the gifts and graces you deem necessary,' I
would not know what grace to ask for him. He is already
blessed with them all."
"Michael, the two of us will go halves in everything,"
Don Bosco had told the little boy with a thin , pale face and
round bright eyes. They did, literally, sharing work, respon-
sibilities, problems, joys and sorrows- even the honors of
the altar; for he is no longer just plain Michael Rua, but
Blessed Michael Rua.
"Who is This Boy?"
For years, in a village church in Piedmont, Italy; under
the portrait of a bright-faced adolesce nt , people read the
following inscription and marveled that a mere boy of
fifteen could have lived and died like a saint:
DOMINIC SA V!O - 1842-1857 - He wanted
to do great things for God and souls; he wanted
to be a priest. He was cut off in the flower of

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his boyhood and, through his lovable holiness,
has become a model for the youth of all times.
The Church declared Dominic a saint, the only teenager
ever to be raised to sainthood who had not died a martyr's
death. It has been said of him that he is the finest product
of Don Bosco's educational system. Don Bosco himself
tells us how he first came to meet him.
"It was," he writes, "the summer of 1854 when Mon-
donio's pastor came to see me about admitting a young boy
from his parish to the Oratory. 'I doubt, Father,' he told me,
'if you will ever again meet the likes of Dominic in good-
ness and intelligence.' We agreed I would meet Dominic at
Murialdo in the fall when visiting there with my boys.
"I must say I was quite impressed with Dominic when I
met him. He was then a little over thirteen. We talked at
length about his studies and his life at Mondonio. I then
said to him: 'Dominic, I see you want to come to the Ora-
tory to take up a Latin course. What is it you are aiming
to become?' "
" 'A priest, Father, God willing,' he replied eagerly.
" 'I'll be happy to have you come, Dominic,' I replied.
His face brightened, 'Oh, thank you, Father ; thank you very
much! I know you'll never regret taking me with you.' "
Dominic spent barely two years at the Oratory , but
they might have been fifty if one is to judge from the lasting
impressions he left there. That he was mature beyond his
years is shown by the extraordinary influence he exerted on
his companions, many of whom were a good deal older
than he. "You have many fine boys here, John," Mama
Margaret remarked to Don Bosco one day, "but none quite
like Dominic Savio."

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A born leader, he organized a group of the Oratory's
best students into a society which had a unique stabilizing
influence at the Oratory for years to come . Its aim was to
help create in the school an atmosphere of healthy activity
and cheerfulness which would assure a fine spirit and a high
level of morality among the students.
But something deeper lay behind the large pensive eyes
of this teenager, something that seemed to betray a com-
munion with the Unseen, a communion that was soon to
reach unexpected heights. Dominic knew his time was
short. He astounded Don Bosco one day. "Father," he
said, "I just feel I must become a saint-and soon ...But I
really don't know what to do. Saints did great things, all
kinds of penances. You won't let me do any penance."
"Dominic," Don Bosco replied, "we become saints
just by putting a lot of love and care in all we do, and doing
it all with a smile, for the Lord, even when the going is hard.
Will you remember this? "
"I will, Father!"
There were things about Dominic that not even Don
Bosco could explain. One day the boy went to him, looking
frightfully concerned. "Father," he said, 'I just have to go
home. Mother is not well."
"But Dominic, we haven't heard anything of the sort
from home ..."
"Please, Father, I must go. It will only be a short visit."
He made it by carriage to Mondonio in little more than
half an hour, and was walking home when he met his father
running in the opposite direction.
"Dominic , why are you here? Who told you about
Mother?"

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"I just knew , Dad. Where are you going?"
"I am going for the doctor. Come with me."
"No, Dad, I am going to see Mother."
Mrs. Savio was expecting a child and having a difficult
time. Dominic , oblivious of all that was going on in the
house, dashed to her room. "Mother," he said , embracing
her, "take this. . ." He took off his medal and chain and
placed it ~round her neck. "I know you will be fine now,
Mom," he assured her. He then kissed her goodbye and
rushed off to catch the coach for Turin.
" Another time ," relates Don Bosco, "he came to my
room. 'Quick, Father, come with me,' he said.
"'Where to , Dominic?' "
"'Hurry, please , Father. . .' "
"I followed him as he led me down several streets with-
out uttering a word. Finally , entering a doorway , he took me
to a third~floor apartment where he briskly clanged the bell
at the door. 'They need you here,' he said and left.
"A woman opened the door. 'It's my husband, Father.
Come quickly or it will be too late.' The man had left the
Church and was anxious to make his peace with God. He was
barely in time to receive the last rites.
"Later I asked Dominic how he had known about the
dying man. Embarrassed , he just looked at me while tears
welled in his eyes. I did not press the point any further .''
Dominic's health, never too strong, began to fall percep-
tibly toward the end of the winter , 1857. Don Bosco had a
team of doctors examine him . They were amazed at his
cheerfulness, his ready wit , and maturity of mind. "What
a jewel of a boy!" one of the doctors remarked . They knew
nothing could be done to stay the onslaught of his lung

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disease. Dominic knew it, too, and prepared to welcome
death as a schoolboy might look forward to the happiest
of holidays.
On the doctors' advice and somewhat unwillingly,
Dominic went home to his parents. Shortly afterwards he
took a turn for the worst. He asked for the Sacraments
which, in the words of his pastor, he received "like an
angel." On the evening of March 9, 1857, he suddenly
called his father, "Good-bye, Dad," he said to him. "Good-
bye! Oh, if you only saw what I now see! ... "
"He was smiling," his father related. "It was the most
beautiful smile I ever saw on his face. Then suddenly he
was dead."
When Pope Pius XII canonized Dominic, in 1954, he
said: "At the school of Don Bosco young Savio learned
that one can become a saint simply by serving the Lord
joyfully and making Him loved by others." It was Don
Bosco's way and Dominic proved him right.
"I'll Donate Him to You."
His father was dead and he was becoming too much
for his mother, a positive terror of a boy who was forever
in trouble. Don Bosco met him one day while visiting Castel-
nuovo. He was struck by the twelve-year old's liveliness
and mischievous smile .
"You are John Cagliero, aren't you?"
"Yes, Father. I think you know my mother. . ."
"I do , of course. Let's go to see her, John."
Young John's mother was a close friend of Mama

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Margaret. "I wish your John, Don Bosco I mean, would
take my boy off my hands," she had said to her once.
"I can't manage him anymore."
"Teresa, I hear you want to sell me your son," Don
Bosco said with a smile as he entered the Cagliero home with
John.
"Father, I thought you knew that we don't sell boys at
Castelnuovo. We sell only calves and chickens .. .If you want
him, I'll donate him to you."
For John Cagliero Turin was an adventure, and the
Oratory the answer to his dreams: sports, music, excursions,
everything he had ever wanted. It took some time before
he realized that all was not play; but when he did, he soon
topped his companions with the exception of Michael Rua.
He had a fierce sense of loyalty to Don Bosco. "I owe him
everything I have ," _he said one day, "even the shirt on my
back." Yet, when the moment came to decide whether
or not he should become a Salesian, Cagliero wavered.
"He wants to make monks of all of us," someone
whispered to him one evening after a conference with Don
Bosco.
"You have a point," Cagliero replied. "It doesn't make
sense to become a religious when religious orders are on the
way out. .." He thought about it for some time. The interior
conflict did not last long. "How can I even think of leaving
Don Bosco? Monk or no monk, I am staying with him."
Ordained a priest after he had received his doctorate
in theology, he soon became proficient in music , too , and
initiated a music program which brought great renown to
the Oratory. His musical productions were an instant success,
and his tuneful arias sung or whistled all over Turin. His

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composition ll Figlio dell 'Esule (The Son of the Exile) , when
performed at Turin 's Royal Theater , was given a standing
ovation. Many thought they had listened to one of Verdi's
latest productions.
Cagliero's incredible energy found full scope when, in
1875 , he enthusiastically accepted Don Bosco's invitation
to head the first Salesian missionary expedition to Argentina.
His exploits are numbered among the great missionary
achievements in the annals of the Church. In 1877 , he
returned for a brief visit to Italy to recruit personnel for his
missions. One evening, after accompanying Don Bosco to
his room, he was about to leave him when, "One minute ,
John ," Don Bosco said , as he opened his desk drawer. ..
"Take this. You will need it someday." Later, on opening
the tiny box, Father Cagliero could not believe his eyes:
a bishop's ring~ " Someday . . ."
That day dawned on December 5, 1884, when he was ·
consecrated a bishop and given episcopal jurisdiction over
nearly all of Argentina's mission territories. In the evening
of that eventful day for the Oratory, the new bishop, point-
ing to his ring , "Do you remember, Father? But how could
you possibly know?"
"I knew it," Don Bosco replied , "a few months after
you arrived as a boy at the Oratory . Do you recall how
close you came to dying when you contracted typhoid
fever during the great epidemic? For a while , I, too , thought
it was the end of you . I came to your room to give you the
last rites; and , suddenly, like a vision , it was all there before
me. A dazzling white dove with an olive branch in its beak
hovering over your pillow , while all around your bed strange
men , savages actually , were bending ove r you , looking

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terribly concerned as if fearing you might die. It all lasted
but a few seconds. I knew then you would live and become
a missionary (the savages around your bed were a clear sign
of that), and eventually a bishop, too, since that was the
significance of the white dove with the olive branch. But
dreams or no dreams," Don Bosco concluded, "here you
are now, John: His Excellency, Bishop Cagliero!"
Bishop Cagliero continued his mission work for nearly
thirty years, criss-crossing the South American Continent
numberless times with the same vigor and enthusiasm he had
displayed at the Oratory in the early years of his priest-
hood. Recalled to Rome in 1917 by Pope Benedict XV, he
was created a cardinal, the first Salesian to attain the honor
of the _purple. He was often heard to repeat: "I once said
that I owed Don Bosco everything, even the shirt on my
back. But I never thought that I would live to be able to
say that I owed him the cardinal's hat!"
The Tall Young Prince
"Royal" is the word that could best describe the recep-
tion Don Bosco was given on May 18, 1883 , at the Lambert
Palace while he was visiting Paris . Hostess of the gala event
was Princess Marguerite d'Orleans, sister of Louis Philippe,
Count of Paris, and wife of Polish Prince Ladislaus Czartory-
ski.
The day-long reception opened with the Mass offered by
Don Bosco in the palace chapel. Prince Czartoryski re-
served for himself and his 25-year-old son, Prince Augustus,
the privilege of serving Don Bosco's Mass.

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"I have been wanting to meet you for quite some time,
Augustus," Don Bosco said to the tall young prince while
vesting for Mass. The young man was known in the courts
of Europe as much for his brilliant mind as for his intense
piety. His mother, Princess Maria Amparo , was the daughter
of Maria Cristina, queen of Spain. Prince Ladislaus Czar-
toryski had married Princess Maria in 1856 , and Augustus
was born in 1858. The child's mother died soon after,
and Prince Ladislaus married Countess Marie d'Orleans
from whom he had two other sons. As the first -born of
Prince Ladislaus, pretender to the Polish throne , Augustus
was in direct line of succession.
During the reception at the Lambert Palace, Prince
Augustus was constantly at Don Bosco's side, "conquered,"
as he related later, "by the simple, gracious manners of that
saintly man." Shortly afterwards, he visited the Oratory.
"It was then ," he told his friend Noguier de Malijay, later a
Salesian , "that I discovered my purpose in life. " That visit
marked the Prince 's first step in the long and painful journey
that eventually brought him into the Salesian Society.
"My father ," he told his friend Noguier, "thinks mine is
just a passing fancy . I am dead serious about my vocation.
I have no other interest in life and am quite prepared to
renounce all my rights as the first-born son in the Czartoryski
family . Ever since I met Don Bosco, I know I must be , and
will be , a Salesian."
When it became clear that Prince Augustus was deter-
mined to pursue his vocation, his father tried to dissu ade
him from joining Don Bosco 's religious family. "I kn ow
Don Bosco , and I revere him as a saint ," he told his son,
"but the Salesiam are almost unknown . Besides , your frail

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health will never be able to withstand their rugged life.
"Why don't you become a Jesuit?" Don Bosco kept pru-
dently in the background. "What matters," he wrote to
Augustus, "is that you do the Lord's will."
Undaunted and anxious to convince his father and Don
Bosco, too, that his decision was God-inspired, Prince Au-
gustus personally brought his case to Pope Leo XIII. "Go
to Turin , my son," the pontiff told him after listening to
him at length, "and tell Don Bosco to admit you into his
society. "
But the last battle had yet to be fought. Two days be-
fore the ceremony at which Augustus was to be given the
religious habit , Prince Ladislaus, accompanied by his wife
and Augustus ' two step-brothers, arrived in Turin. A dra-
matic encounter took place at the Oratory. Tearfully , they
pleaded with Augustus to reconsider his step. It was all to
no avail , and the solemn ceremony took place in the Church
of Mary Help of Christians on November 24, 1887, before
an overflow congregation. Don Bosco gave the Salesian habit
to Augustus, his friend Noguier de Malijay, and two other
candidates, while the members of the young Prince's family
looked on , resigned to "lose" their beloved Augustus.
Don Augusto, as he was familiarly known in the Society,
was one of those rare souls destined by God for a very special
mission: to inspire men to follow the magnificent example
of total detachment and humility set by him during his
short life . Ordained a priest in 1892 , he died a little more
than a year later , offering his young life to God with a prayer
on his lips that the Sa1esian Society be enriched with many
good vocations. It was a prayer which did not remain unan-
swered. From Poland, Don Augusta's native land, hundreds

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of young men flocked to enroll in the Society, among them
the future second Salesian Cardinal, August Hlond .
The cause for the beatification and canonization of
Father Augustus Czartoryski is well advanced in Rome .
The proud family that had "lost" a prince gained a saint.
"Think About It, Philip!"
Young Philip Rinaldi folded the letter he had just read,
and , looking up to his mother, "Why is Don Bosco so insis-
tent?" he asked. "I told him so many times that the priest-
hood is not for me . Nothing will ever change that."
Insistent , Don Bosco had been ever since he had met
Philip at the Mirabello Salesian School some eight years be-
fore. "Philip," he had told him , " What if the Lord wanted
you to be a priest? Think about it." The fact was that the
more Philip thought about the priesthood, the less he liked
the idea. He felt he had made it clear to Don Bosco time and
again. He had done so recently again with a letter in which he
had informed him that he did not think he was fit for the
priesthood , and that, in any case , his eyesight was poor and
studying caused him intense headaches. And here now was
another letter from him, more insistent than ever. " Come
Philip ," it read, "I promise you that your headaches will
pass and that you will have enough eyesight to carry you
through the priesthood and through life." In a postscript,
Don Bosco was asking him to meet him at the Salesian
school in nearby Borgo San Martino where he expected to
spend the day on the following Sunday.
"I will go to see him, of course, " Philip told his mother ,

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"but just to make it clear once and for all that I am not
about to change my mind."
Sunday, November 4 , 1887 , was Founder's Day at the
Borgo San Martino School. Hundreds of people had con-
verged on the place to see Don Bosco. The bishop of the
diocese, dignitaries and clergymen from the entire country-
side had been invited. Philip could hardly hope to see much
of Don Bosco on a day when everybody seemed to crowd
around him whenever and wherever he appeared. But, as he
was to recount later, the unbelievable happened. Don Bosco
spotted him in the crowd and invited him to dinner with
the guests of honor. Later, when everyone had left the dining
room, the Saint motioned to Philip to stay for the talk they
were both equally eager to have.
There is nothing in Philip's memoirs concerning this
interview, but the outcome is itself revealing. Less than a
week later, Philip was at the preparatory seminary. What he
saw as he sat alone with Don Bosco in the community dining
room on that bright November day must have impressed
him even more than what he heard. Shortly before he died ,
he spoke about it, in a sworn testimony, to Don Bosco's
biographer.
"Toward the end of the interview, Don Bosco, who had
suddenly become silent , seemed to compose himself in
prayer. He sat motionless, his head bowed, his hands crossed
over his chest. Soon his face began to radiate a light which
gradually became brighter, brighter even than the sunlight
that streamed through the windows. After a few brief mo-
ments, he became his normal self again, resumed the con-
versation, and, rising to his feet, begged to be excused and
headed for the door."

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Don Bosco's exceptional interest in Philip's career
continued unabated even after the young man joined the
Society. No sooner had Philip been ordained a priest than
he appointed him rector of the seminary for delayed voca-
tions. Surprisingly, he even invited him to attend the month-
ly meetings of the Superior Council, the highest governing
body of the Society. It was an unheard-of privilege for a
young priest, still relatively unknown among the older
Salesians. One day, on one of his private visits to the Foun-
der, Philip found him pouring over a map of the world,
spread open on his desk .
"Would you permit me to go to the missions, Father?"
Philip asked him.
"Philip," he replied, "you will stay here to send others
to the missions." He then pointed to Australia and remarked
that the Salesians would go there someday . "And you will
be the one to send them there, Philip," he added. Then
pointing to Spain, "Here is your field of action," he told
him, and went on to speak of frightful reverses for that
Catholic country during which much blood would be shed,
"Salesian blood, too , And you will live to see it all, Philip."
It all began to happen after Don Bosco's death. Follow-
ing several years of fruitful work in Spain, Father Rinaldi
was recalled to Turin by Don Rua and appointed to the
second highest post in the Society . Elected Superior General
in 1922 , he headed Don Bosco 's religious family during its
greatest period of expansion , and presided over the beatifi-
cation of the beloved Founder.
"There was something charismatic about Father Ri-
naldi's insight into the mind, methods and spirit of St. John
Bosco. That he joined dynamic action to a profound under-

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standing of Don Bosco's mission is his great merit , and the
reason , too, behind the results that crowned his work as
Superior General of the Salesian Society." These words
appeared in the Osservatore R omano, the Vatican official
newspaper, when notice was given that the cause for the
beatification and canonization of Father Rinaldi had been
introduced.
Shortly before he died on December 5 , 1931 , Father
Rinaldi wrote; "As I draw near the end of my life, I can
see more clearly than ever how bright was the light that led
me to our Blessed Founder." He must have found , too, at
that point the answer to the question which, as a reluctant
young man , he had asked himself so often, "Why does Don
Bosco insist that I become a priest?"

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CHAPTER XV
THE WAYS OF A SAINT
"Invariably Cheerful"
"At first sight, you might have thought of him as just
a good, simple country priest , with a pleasant smile and
bright, penetrating eyes ; but start talking to him , and sud-
denly you were mesmerized." It was the way Father Michael
Fassio put it when asked what Don Bosco was like.
"He was invariably cheerful ," Father Fassio continued,
"full of fun , really , to the very end of his life. I remember
one day when he visited our home on the outskirts of Turin.
He was then close to seventy, and looked even older than his
age. Once he sat at table with us , he seemed to find his old
energy and sparkle again . His conversation was spirited and
full of humor. He had us all laughing so much with his
pleasant jokes and tricks that we almost forgot to eat. I
recall that we were served walnuts at the end of the meal.
With the simplest of ease and joking about it , he kept crack-
ing one nut after another by squeezing it between his thumb
and forefinger. 'It's easy ,' he kept telling us... 'Try it. . .'
None of us , not even the older ones among us, could do it.''
" Don Bosco , how on earth do you keep all those enter-
prises of yours going? " a successful businessman once asked
him .
129

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"I go on like a steam engine, pouf. ..pouf. " he
replied.
"Yes, but how do you keep the engine going?"
"Mostly I trust in the Lord . Right now I so trust He will
inspire you to help my boys that I am quite certain you'll do
it."
His trust in Divine Providence at times took on unex-
pected forms. To a wealthy widow, who asked him how best
she could invest her fortune, "Put it right here, Madam," he
replied, opening both hands.
"I won't let you go," implored another lady , "until you
have given me your autograph." On a piece of paper , he
wrote : "Received from Mrs. Bianchi the sum of two thou-
sand liras for my boys. Signed, John Bosco ," and offered
it to her with a smile.
The Right Approach
It happened at Marseilles, at the home of a wealthy
benefactor who had invited Don Bosco to be his guest of
honor at a formal dinner. A lady friend of the family , who
was anxious to see the priest everyone called a "saint,"
entered the dining room toward the end of the meal to find
Don Bosco standing with a glass of champagne in his hand,
toasting his hosts and doing it with great humor to the
delight of all present.
"He , a saint?" the lady thought to herself. "Saints don't
go around drinking and cracking jokes. . ."
A few minutes later, while she was standing with other

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guests in the foyer , Don Bosco came by on his way out.
He suddenly stopped, and turning to her, "Madame," he said
gently, "do you remember the words of St. Paul: 'Whether
you eat or drink , or whatever you do, do it all for the glory
of God.'?"
"Oh , Father, won't you, please, forgive me?" It was all
she could say as Don Bosco smiled and moved on.
At a reception given in his honor, among the guests was
an old retired general, known for his anticlerical ideas. The
general was much impressed with Don Bosco, but did not
get up enough courage to speak to him. The guests were
beginning to leave when he finally approached Don Bosco.
"Father," he said, "at least a parting word from you ..."
"General," Don Bosco replied gently, "you took part
in many a battle. There is one more you can't afford to
lose . .. ."
"Which battle, Father?"
"The one that will see you safely home," Don Bosco
answered , pointing toward heaven.
The general replied, deeply moved: "I know what you
mean, Father. . .I know what you mean. I promise to do
something about it, too...."
When travelling by coach, Don Bosco usually managed
to get a seat beside the coachman. He would chat with him
pleasantly on all sorts of subjects, and gradually lead the
conversation to more serious things.
It was shortly after Easter. He was seated alongside the
driver on the way to Castelnuovo , and the two fell to talking
about the unusually warm weather they were having. "The

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warmest Easter I ever recall," the coachman remarked.
"By the way, my good man," Don Bosco asked, "did
you make your Easter duty?"
"No," he replied. "Frankly, it's been years since I have
been to confession. But, on my word, if I could find the
priest to whom I made my confession some years back,
I'd go immediately."
"Who was he?"
" Don Bosco, 'the boys' priest.' Perhaps you have heard
of him..."
Don Bosco laughed. "You have found him. I am Don
Bosco . ..."
The man stared. "Why of course. I never did recognize
you, Father. But I can't very well make my confession now,
can I?"
"Why not? Give me the reins .... " And while the horses
trotted on, the driver poured out his soul to the priest.
"A Poor Priest Like Me"
"Brother, I know you take care of Don Bosco 's room.
See that these two shirts get to him as soon as possible." The
lady placed the neat package in Brother Peter Enria's hands,
and vanished before he could even say a word of thanks.
Don Bosco was not in his room, and Brother Peter left
the package, partly opened , on his bed. He noticed that the
shirts were handmade and of excellent material.
"Peter, whose shirts are these?" Don Bosco asked him
on the following day.
"Yours, Father. A lady brought them yesterday."

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"A poor priest like me with shirts fit for a king? Oh,
no ..."
"What shall I do with them, Father?"
" Anything you want, Peter. Keep them for yourself,
or sell them, or give them to somebody . . .I won ' t be seen
wearing those shirts, Brother!"
It hurt him to spend money on himself. Before leaving
for Rome 'in 1858, he went to visit a friend. The cassock he
was wearing, while spotless, was patched in several places.
"You are not going to Rome with that cassock , are you
Father?" his friend asked him.
"Why not? It's the best we have in the house. Actually,
it's not even mine. I borrowed it from one of the Fathers. "
One day , walking with Don Bosco on their way to visit
a benefactor, Don Rua noticed that his shoes , rather old and
worn , were not tied with laces, but with twine blackened in
ink.
"Don Bosco, look at your shoes. How can you? Let
me go buy a pair of shoelaces."
" If you really must," he replied, "here is a dime."
A barefoot beggar was suddenly standing there with
an outstretched hand .
"Michael , give me back that dime. Talk about shoelaces!
This poor soul does not even have shoes . ... " He gave the
dime to the beggar.

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"How About It, Carlo?"
He went to a barber shop one day where he met a young
apprentice with whom he was soon conversing.
"Your name?"
"Carlo Gastini, Father."
"How old are you, Carlo?"
"Fourteen. My father is dead, and I must help support
my three younger brothers...."
"How about it, Carlo? Suppose you give me a shave?"
"Oh, no!" interjected the shop owner. "I hired him
only last week. He couldn't even shave a dog ...."
"Well, he's got to learn sometime. Come on, Carlo!"
During the painful half-hour that followed , Don Bosco
kept calmly talking to the boy about the Oratory, its boys,
games, and feasts, occasionally coaching him on the rough
spots of the shaving operation.
"Not bad, is it?" he said to the owner as he got out of
the chair, patting his chin.
"He half-flayed you , Father," the man replied . "Give
him a tip if you want, but you won't have to pay for the
shave. I should be paying you!. .."
"Carlo," Don Bosco called to the boy , "a little more
practice and you'll be a first-class Figaro! Here is your
lira. See you Sunday at the Oratory?"
"I Don't Want to Lose My Baby."
"Don Bosco is not well, Mrs. Ceria. He cannot possibly
see you. I will tell him you came. He will pray for you and

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send you his blessing." Much as he tried, Father Viglietti,
Don Bosco's secretary , could not convince the young expec-
tant mother, who stood before him in tears, pleading to see
Don Bosco.
"I came up two flights of stairs just to see him, Father.
I want him to bless me and the baby I carry . Please, Father,
I lost two of them already!"
"All right, Mrs. Ceria. Wait here. Please , sit down and
stop crying."
"Oh, thank you, Father! ... ."
A few minutes later, the door to Don Bosco's room
opened, and the good Father stood there smiling , an old
blanket around his shoulders.
"Oh , it's you , Mrs. Ceria," he said. "You came all
the way up here just to receive this poor man's blessing.
You deserve a big one; yes, you do! "
"Don Bosco , I don't deserve it ; I need it , more for
my baby than for myself. . ..Oh, Father, I don 't want
to lose this one . . . ."
"You won't , Mrs. Ceria. Here , now, you don 't have
to kneel. And I want you to smile . You 11 have a lovely ba-
by, one that will give you much joy. Bless yourself now .. ."
Don Bosco traced the sign of the cross on the woman after
invoking for her Our Lady 's intercession.
"Stop worrying now ," he reassured her. " Here , let me
see you out."
" No , Father, please.. .I know my way. You don 't have
to trouble yourself. You are not well. I'll take it easy on the
way down. "
Supporting her by the arm, Don Bosco accompanied her
down the two flights of steps, gently warning her to step

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slowly and to hold on to the banister with her hand.
"Oh, Father, how can I ever thank you? The way I feel,
I know everything will be fine .... "
"And you'll be back with your baby to thank Our
Lady . . . ."
"Of course, I will, and to thank you, too, Father."
The birth of a healthy baby boy shortly afterwards was
only the first of many reasons that brought joy to Mrs. Ceria.
She lived not only to have several other children, but the
"child of Don Bosco's blessing ," as she used to call Eugenio,
became a Salesian priest and the esteemed author of eight
large volumes of Don Bosco's biographical memoirs.
"With the Charity of Christ"
No attacks against the Church were more bitter than
those that came from the pen of Louis De Sanctis, a former
priest, who had joined the Waldensians. With his monthly
Catholic Readings, Don Bosco sought to offset the harm
done by the ex-priest. While De Sanctis' writings were often
offensive and even scurrilous, Don Bosco's rebuttals, though
firm and direct, were inspired by a true Christlike charity.
In November, 1854, De Sanctis fell into disgrace with
the Waldensians and had nowhere to turn. Hearing of his
plight, Don Bosco wrote to him. Only a Christlike heart
could dictate such a letter.
"I have been thinking of writing to you for sometime
if only to tell you that I would be very pleased to offer you
whatever a good friend can give. May I, therefore, invite
you to come to see me at whatever time you may wish?

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I shall gladly place a room at your disposal and welcome
you to partake of our modest meals.
"You might say , 'What shall I do at the Oratory?' What-
ever the Lord will inspire you, my good friend. You will be
able to devote yourself to your studies. You need fear no
expense. You will see that my feelings of friendship for you
come from my heart."
"You can scarcely imagine," replied De Sanctis , "the
effect your friendly letter had on me . I would never have
believed that my most persistent opponent was possessed
of so much kindness. You extend your hand to me! You
practice the Christian love about which so many pointedly
preach.. . ." He signed himself, "With sincere respect, your
servant and friend."
Don Bosco did not let the matter rest with a brief
exchange of letters. The soul of a brother priest was at
stake . Here was someone who needed a friend. The invitation
to the Oratory was renewed. "Since you call me a friend ,"
Don Bosco replied in part , "I should be glad to meet you per-
sonally . .. .Would you like me to visit you at your residence,
or would you prefer to suggest a meeting place in the city?
Or you might wish to come to the Oratory. It would give
me the greatest pleasure if you would do me the honor of
coming to my house. I believe we would both be very happy
with the solution, and no sort of pressure would be brought
to bear upon you ."
The invitation was accepted. Louis De Sanctis became a
frequent guest at the Oratory , where he was always sincerely
welcomed. He became convinced of the error of his apostasy
and sought to return to the Church, but his way was barred
by his wife, whom he did not have the courage to leave .

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Don Bosco, seeking to surmount the difficulty, offered to
provide a life annuity for the woman, but before it could
be arranged De Sanctis died of a sudden heart attack.
Brother Joseph's Adventures
"Brother Joseph, I should like you to come with me to
Caselle. We only have a few minutes to catch the train.
Suppose you run ahead to get the ticket?"
"First or second class coach, Don Bosco? '
"You know I always travel third-class ...."
Those were the days when European trains had third-
class coaches, uncomfortable, crowded , but cheap. They
made it just in time to board the train when one of the
station's officials recognized Don Bosco.
"Don Bosco in a third class coach?"
"Only because there isn't a fourth class," Don Bosco
replied.
"No , Father. This train will not leave until I see you and
your friend seated comfortably in a first class coach. And no
extra money, either!"
"Joseph," Don Bosco remarked when they were both
happily seated in the luxury coach , "Joseph, do you remem-
ber the Lord's words in the Gospel. 'Do not seek the first
place?' Had we gone to a second class coach, we would
probably have been left there. As it is, here we are, traveling
like kings! "
Brother Joseph was involved in another episode not less
revealing of Don Bosco's personality. The young lay-brother
doubled as choirmaster and as headwaiter in the faculty

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dining room. One evening, Don Bosco was late for supper,
having spent long hours in the confessional . All that was
left was a bowl of rice that had not as much as been warmed
up. Brother Joseph went to the kitchen and remonstrated
with the cook , who was about to close up for the day .
" It 's for Don Bosco. . . .Don't you have anything
better?"
"Don Bosco is no better than anybody else ," the cook
shot back within Don Bosco's hearing.
Brother Joseph apologized to the Founder for the cook's
irate remark. Without batting an eye , and trying to swallow
the cold mushy rice , Don Bosco said quietly: " He is right.
I have no business to be late ."
A few days later , Brother Joseph was himself in trouble .
Important guests had come for dinner , and everything
went wrong with the service , beginning with a soiled table-
cloth-''a positive disgrace ," Don Bosco said later, speaking
to the headwaiter. "You are in charge of the dining room ,
Brother Joseph , " Don Bosco added, " how can you be so
incredibly slipshod about things ?"
Do n Bosco 's unusu al outburst surprised and unsettled
Brother Joseph . Later in the day he slipped a note under
Don Bosco 's door in which he told him he had never thought
he could be treated so harshly by him. " I did not think it
possible you could become so angry with anyone , least of all
with me ," the distraught Brother wrote.
On the following day, Don Bosco humbly apologized
to Brother Joseph. " Do you remember , Brother," he told
him, "what the cook said the other night about Don Bosco
not being better than anybody else ? Well , now you know it
is true. I should try to be a whole lot bette r. You must help

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me with your prayers."
Some fifty years later, in 1929, when Don Bosco was
raised to the honors of the altar , Brother Joseph Dogliani,
then close to ninety, and a world-known and highly esteemed
composer, recounting this and other episodes, exclaimed
with tears in his eyes : "That was Don Bosco 1 No wonder
he is a saint!"
"An Ugly Fellow"
Early in 1862, Don Bosco's close associates noticed that
for several days their beloved Father, much paler than usual,
seemed on the brink of exhaustion . One day, in the presence
of several Salesians, "We are worried about you, Don Bosco,"
Father Cagliero said to him. "You don't look well. Is any-
thing wrong?"
"I need rest," he replied. "I haven't had a decent night's
sleep in a week."
"Father, do you have to work till the small hours of the
morning? Try to get more sleep."
"I want to sleep, but someone makes me stay awake a-
gainst my will," he answered. They clamored for an explana-
tion. "You may not care or like to believe it," Don Bosco
went on, "but the truth is that an ugly fellow is giving me
a bad time." And he told them of loud noises , of gusts of
wind that scattered his papers all over the room, and of
sudden bursts of flames in the most unlikely places. "The
moment I put out the lamp and try to go to sleep, things
begin to happen, usually with the covers being violently
pulled away from me. One night a horrible-looking mon-

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ster pushed the door open and advanced toward me with
open jaws. It disappeared at the sign of the cross, but the
ugly fool manages to find its way back in one manner or
another. "
Father Angelo Savio volunteered one evening to stand
watch in the foyer leading to Don Bosco's bedroom. He
became so frightened at the horrible noises that he fled
to his own room in terror.
The nightly attacks continued intermittently for some-
time. Asked whether he was afraid of the devil, Don Bosco
replied: "Being, as I hope, a friend of the Lord, I have no
fear , since I do not believe he can really harm me. The old
fiend thinks he can have the best of me and wear me o.ut
so as to stop doing God's work, but he has a long way to go."
Asked whether there was a remedy to such infernal perse-
cutions, he replied: "The sign of the cross and holy water
offer some temporary relief. But I have found a way that
is quite effective ." When pressed to say more about it , he
turned the conversation to another subject.
Noting that he would occasionally skip his meals or
reduce them to practically nothing , some of his Salesians
became convinced that the remedy to which Don Bosco
alluded was the one suggested by the Lord Himself: "Certain
devils are conquered only through fasting and prayer."
(Matt. 17: 21).
A New Brand of Diplomacy
Bettino Ricasoli, Italy's prime minister, came to the
conclusion that only Don Bosco could solve his problem. The

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relations between the government and the Vatican had
reached an impasse. Unless the thorny question of the
appointment of bishops to half of Italy's vacant dioceses
was solved, the very fabric of the government's relationship
with the Vatican would come apart.
Ricasoli knew that Don Bosco enjoyed the full con-
fidence of Pope Pius IX, that he was well thought of by King
Victor Emmanuel II, and that he was, too, a saintly man.
Who knows, the prime minister mused, but that where di-
plomats have failed, a saint might succeed. He sent for the
Turin priest, who agreed to meet the prime minister at the
Pitti Palace in Florence, on December 12, 1876.
Don Bosco, who had reasons to suspect that Ricasoli
wanted him to play his game , astounded the prime minister
at the very onset of their conversation.
"Your Excellency," he said, "I should like to remind
you that I am a priest , not just at the altar and in the con-
fessional , or with my boys in Turin, but a priest right here
in Florence, and in this office."
"If I understand you correctly , Father," the prime
minister replied, "you seem to imply that any term that
might conflict with your loyalty to the Church would simply
not be negotiable."
"What I mean ," Don Bosco explained, "is that I can
hardly be expected to bring to the Holy Father anything like
an ultimatum from the Italian Government. What precisely
does your government want?"
"The suppression of a number of bishoprics in Italy as
a first step toward the appointment of bishops to the more
important dioceses," said Ricasoli.
"Your Excellency, I would not as much as dare to sug-

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gest such a thing to the Holy Father. In practice, what you
suggest is a weakening of the Church in Italy by suppressing
a number of dioceses which the government finds expend-
able. This is unjustifiable interference in the affairs of the
Church, against both the ltalo-French Convention and the
Italian Constitution. You should know that, Your Excel-
lency. "
The prime minister excused himself and left briefly
to consult with the other ministers who were meeting in
a nearby office. He returned to reassure Don Bosco that the
question of the suppression of bishoprics was to be dropped.
"We shall be grateful to you, Father," continued Ricasoli,
"if you will assure the Holy Father on this point. He might
then wish to proceed with the matter of appointing bishops
to the vacant sees.... "
Later, the prime minister admitted to friends that he had
been much impressed with Don Bosco's directness and firm-
ness. "I realized that saints have their own brand of diplo-
macy, quite different from ours, but often more effective."
A Painful Calvary
"The heaviest cross I had to carry during my life was laid
on my shoulders by the man I once considered my best
friend. " Don Bosco , who spoke these words shortly before
he died , did not elaborate on them. The few persons to
whom he had addressed them hardly needed an explanation.
They remembered only too well the painful Calvary the
beloved Founder went through for a decade , between 1873
and 1883, at the hands of Lorenzo Gastaldi, Archbishop of

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Turin.
Lorenzo Castaldi and Don Bosco were of the same age,
and, when they first met as young priests , shared the same
enthusiastic dreams of apostolate among the young. They
became fast friends; and though Lorenzo , a brilliant intel-
lectual, pursued his studies in search of all kinds of degrees,
he was one of Don Bosco's most trusted helpers during the
early, troubled years of the Turin Oratory.
So close were the two priests that, when Castaldi left
Turin for England on a special mission , he told his disconso-
late mother: "My friend Don Bosco will take my place and
be like a son to you." Recalled to Italy, he was appointed
bishop of Saluzzo. Shortly afterwards, Pius IX, acceding to
Don Bosco's suggestion, named him archbishop of Turin.
It did not take Don Bosco long to realize that a com-
plete change had come over his once-trusted friend. The
new archbishop, as jealous of his rights as he was conscious
of his authority, opposed Don Bosco's new religious society
on the ground that he could not tolerate in his diocese
clergymen who were not directly subject to him and trained
in his seminary. Even though he was aware that the Salesians
had been approved by the Holy See, he was determined to
keep the new society under his thumb. He pursued his
purpose relentlessly with letters to the Vatican, misrepre-
senting Don Bosco's ideas and conduct. He snubbed him
publicly , and even suspended him for a period of time from
hearing confession in the archdiocese of Turin.
On his part, Don Bosco, while defending the rights of
his religious family, never engaged in the least recrimination,
and preferred to suffer in silence. He wept one day when
the Archbishop dismissed him from his residence with a few

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curt words, without as much as entering into the subject for
which Don Bosco had for months pleaded for an audience.
"Why ? Why? " he exclaimed in anguish as he and his secre-
tary left the Archbishop 's house. He then essayed his own
answer: "I thought that with him as archbishop of Turin,
we Salesians would have a smooth sailing. Oh, my poor hu-
man calculations! How much better to trust in the Lord!"
The stubborn opposition of Archbishop Castaldi to
Don Bosco is indeed difficult to explain. When people
broached the subject to Don Bosco, he would invariably
repeat: "The good man is in poor health. , ,He is constantly
under pressure by some of the men aro und him, .. He does
not seem to understand us Salesians ... '''
One thing is clear ; whatever the Archbishop's feelings
about the dynamic young Salesian Society, he never for a
moment doubted its Founder's holiness. On October 28,
1882, shortly before he died, he presided at the inaugural
blessing of the new Church of St. John the Evangelist built
by Don Bosco on one of Turin's finest boulevards. After the
service, in the sacristy , he pointed to Don Bosco , whom he
had all but ignored up to that moment, and said to his
seminarians: "I want you , young men, to come to assist at
Don Bosco's Mass tomorrow. Look at him well. ...You are
looking at a saint! "

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CHAPTER XVI
FAREWELL, FATHER!
"No Passport..."
When early in 1887 Pope Leo XIII was told that
Rome's new Church of the Sacred Heart was to be inaugura-
ted in May, he said: "I do hope Don Bosco will come to
Rome for the occasion. After all, we owe it to him that the
church was built."
"Your Holiness," his informant replied, "'Don Bosco is
far from well. It's doubtful ifhe can stand the journey ..."
"Oh, but he must come," the Pope insisted. "Write to
him that I expect to see him here in Rome. Tell him I won 't
give him the passport to heaven if he does not come ."
In spite of the first class accommodations graciously pro-
vided by the Italian National Railroad, the journey was hard
on Don Bosco. "How could I possibly refuse the Holy
Father?" he told his jubilant Salesians and hundreds of
friends who, on April 30, gathered to welcome him at
Rome's Termini Station. He was given a triumphant recep-
tion at the new church, with formal speeches and brass band
selections. At the end of the reception, he had them all
laughing. "With all your fine speeches and kind expressions,"
he quipped, "you still haven 't told me when we11 have
dinner!" "But," related one of the Salesians, "even his
ready smile and humorous sallies could not lessen the pain-
147

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ful impression his stooping shoulders, labored breathing
and tottering step made on all of us."
Those were incredibly busy days for Don Bosco. Endless
lines of people waited patiently for hours for the privilege
of a word with him or even just a blessing. The task of
shielding him from the crowds became nearly impossible.
"How the good Father can take all the turmoil around
him without collapsing is a mystery," wrote one of the
Salesians. "He is exhausted, and yet always has time for a
good word, a smile and a blessing for everybody."
On May 11, Pope Leo sent word to him through his
own personal secretary , Monsignor Macchi, that he would
be "delighted" to see him on the 13th, the day before the
dedication of the new Basilica. "The Holy Father will see
you in the evening, Don Bosco," the Monsignor told him.
"It is the time he always reserves for his closest friends."
The Pope received Don Bosco in his private study.
Setting all protocol aside , Leo XIII helped him personally
to an armchair near his desk. "It's a bit chilly tonight, Don
Bosco ," he said , "Here, let me put this coverlet on your
knees. Isn' t it beautiful? It's made of ermine, a gift someone
has just made to me. Now , then, tell me how you are ... "
"I am old, Your Holiness , and really not much good for
anything anymore."
"But I am older than you, Don Bosco, and in no hurry
to die yet. Don't you be in a rush , at least not until you
hear that Leo XIII has died ...."
Don Bosco smiled. "Your Holiness, you may speak
infallibly on certain things, and J wish J could believe what
you have just told me. But I know I am at the end of my
days . ..."

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The Pope wished to be informed in detail on everything
that concerned the Salesian Society. He was pleased to hear
that a great many young men were asking to become Sale-
sians , and gave specific recommendations as to their training
and formation. He was elated when informed of the progress
of the Salesian missions . He then grasped Don Bosco's hands:
"What about the future of the Church , Don Bosco?" he
asked him. "'Do you have anything to tell me? "
"I am no prophet, Holy Father, but if you insist. . ." He
later related that he had told Leo XIII "what I knew," but
never went into detail about the nature of the long conversa-
tion that followed.
Word that Don Bosco was at the Vatican spread quickly
through the vast and silent halls of the great palace. Even
though it was evening , the members of the Pope's official
family came out to see the "Turin Saint . . .. " As he emerged
into one of the hallways, a group of Swiss Guards presented
arms in the traditional salute to dignitaries. Don Bosco
stopped and , with his genial smile , said to them: "You
needn't do that , my friends. I am just a p oor priest , all
hunched up and good-for-nothing." They lowered their
halberds and , forming a circle around him, " Would you give
us your blessing, Father?" one of them asked , while the
others knelt or kissed his hand . Said one of the Salesians ,
who was present : "I wish that scene could have been photo-
graphed. . .."

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"Now I Understand."
The young Salesian who stood at the church's entrance
directing the flow of visitors was approached by an elderly
gentleman, who seemed unwilling to wait in line with the
rest of the people.
"Is Don Bosco in the church?" he asked.
"No, not at this moment," the cleric replied.
"I am going home ...."
"Don't you want to see the new church?"
The man was a bit annoyed. "I did not come to see the
church. I came to see Don Bosco. We have hundreds of fine
churches in Rome, but where do we find a saint like him?
Will he be here tomorrow?"
"Yes, he will. He will say Mass at 9:00."
"I'll be back tomorrow.... "
The man expressed the thinking of thousar..ds of Romans
who, on the weekend of May 14, flocked to the new Salesian
Basilica not far from the Termini Station. Word spread that
Don Bosco would offer Mass in the church on the following
day. Even though it was fairly early and a weekday, the
Basilica was filled to overflowing. Don Bosco offered Mass at
a side altar dedicated to Mary Help of Christians. He was
assisted by Father Viglietti, his personal secretary. Upwards
of fifteen times during the Mass he paused, and was seen in
tears. He was obviously very deeply moved.
Following the Mass, the people surged around him, as he
slowly made his way to the sacristy. "It was a stampede,"
one of the Salesians related. "We shielded him the best we
could from the more ardent enthusiasts, who sought to
touch him and kiss his vestments. It was incredible! They

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could have forced their way into the sacristy if Don Bosco,
barely able to stand anymore, had not turned to bless them
just as the heavy sacristy doors were shut before the surging
crowd."
In the sacristy , Father Viglietti, while helping him to
take off his vestments, spoke gently to him. " Don Bosco,
you did nothing but weep during the Mass. What happened?"
"My mind ," he replied , "was constantly on the dream I
had as a boy of nine . I was seeing it all over again: the majes-
tic Man who bid me take charge of a crowd of neglected and
unruly youngsters, telling me to treat them with kindness,
and the resplendent Lady he gave me as 'your guide and
helper. . .' Her words kept recurring in my mind, 'Johnny,
someday, in due time , you will understand everything.' That
was sixty-two years ago. Now I understand . . .. "
A Little Rest
Back in Turin, Don Bosco for the first time admitted he
needed to rest a little. " I am beginning to think that doctor
who examined me in Marseilles two years ago was right,"
he told Father Viglietti.
" What did he tell you , Father? "
"Nothing to cheer me up , really. He said I was like
an old coat worn threadbare by too much use. No amount
of patching will help anymore."
In July, he was persuaded to go to spend a few weeks at
the Salesian School in Lanzo , at the foot of the Alps. The
cool dry air would be easier on his lungs , and visitors would
be less likely to disturb him. One day, in August , a large

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delegation representing the first Oratory boys came to see
him.
Father Viglietti was adamant. "I thought the doctor
made it clear that you were to have no visitors ," he told him.
"Father Viglietti ," he replied , " don't you know who
those people are? I have known them for the last forty years.
They are not visitors, they are my boys! ... "
Shortly afterwards he presided over the annual retreat of
his Salesians at the Valsalice Seminary , on the outskirts of
Turin.
"You'll be back to visit with us again, won't you,
Father? " the rector , Father Barberis , asked him as he was
leaving for the Oratory.
"I'll do even better than that ," he answered, " I'll be
back to stay with you and watch over this place ...."
Father Barberis was puzzled. What did Don Bosco mean ?
They happened to be standing looking out over an outside
flight of stairs which from the terrace led to the play-field
below. "See that staircase ," Don Bosco continued . "It will
have to be remodeled. You '11 be the one to get the plans
ready."
To Father Barberis those words began to make sense
when, after the Founder 's death , the Valsalice Seminary was
unexpectedly chosen as Don Bosco's burial place. The burial
vault was built below that stairwell , and it was he , Father
Barberis who, as rector , supervised the remodeling of the
entire area which eventually was turned into a memorial
chapel.

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"Let's Go for a Ride."
December 16, 1887, was an unusually mild day; a pale
sunshine bathed Turin's beautiful boulevards in a golden
glow. "Don Bosco, let's go for a ride this afternoon," Father
Viglietti suggested . "It will do you a world of good."
Don Rua went along with them in the sturdy old carriage
of the Oratory. The two horses were going at a slow trot, and
people, recognizing Don Bosco, greeted him enthusiastically
along the way. "He was in great spirits," Don Rua related.
"At a certain point he began to recite long passages from
Latin and Italian poets, commenting on both their content
and form."
Suddenly, on Victor Emmanuel Boulevard, they spotted
the Cardinal-Archbishop of Turin , Cajetan Alimonda, walk-
ing with one of his priests under the arcades. Don Bosco
directed the coachman to ease the carriage to the curb.
"Father Viglietti," he said , "go tell His Eminence that I
would love to have a word with him ...."
The Cardinal rushed to the carriage, and embraced and
kissed Don Bosco. "Don Giovanni , what a joy to see you!
How are you? Of course, I'll be delighted to speak with
you .I . . ."
He sat by Don Bosco, while the people stopped to take
in that rather unusual scene: Turin's two most celebrated
churchmen in pleasant conversation right in their midst.
It was his last visit to the beloved city. "When he got
back to the Oratory," relates Salesian Father Alfonso
Volonte , a former student, "we were at our games in the
playground. No sooner was the carriage spotted than all
the five hundred of us boys rushed to greet him. It was

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bedlam, and I still wonder how the horses did not take a
fit! In the midst of all the turmoil, all the good Father
could do was wave his hands , his feeble voice drowned by
our shouts. An armchair was waiting for him at the foot
of the stairs. He was gently carried from the carriage and
seated in the chair. Four of the bigger boys picked up the
chair and carried him up the two flights of steps to his
room. But we kept calling for him, looking up toward
the balcony that fronted his rooms. He came out , supported
by Don Rua and Father Viglietti. Again we let loose with our
vivas until someone intoned what had become a sort of
school song: 'Come , fellows, Don Bosco is calling.' He was
trying to smile while w"aving to us , but we could see he was
in tears ."
"There Won't Be Any Jubilee."
Confined to his rooms, one of which had been turned
into a tiny chapel , Don Bosco carried on much as usual,
saying his Mass daily spending much of his time at his desk.
He refused to turn away anyone who came to him , whether
for confession , counsel, or even only for a blessing. He was
al ways amiable and serene , often making light of his ail-
ments.
"Don Rua," he once asked his vicar, "is there a place in
Turin where they make bellows?"
" And what would you want bellows for , Don Bosco?"
" For my chest. . .."
With his uncommon talent for rhyming , he would impro-
vise little sonnets in Italian and Piedmontese , and then play-

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fully recite them to entertain his visitors. "Come, listen to
my latest li terary production," he told a group of boys,
who were visit ing him. For several minutes he had them all
laughing as he recited verse after verse of a sonnet with this
refrain:
O my poor legs now weak and bent.
One day so straight and strong and fast ;
You'll never know how much I spent
To keep you going and make you last.
Occasionally someone would bring up the subject of
the golden jubilee of his ord ination , in 1891. He would
shake his head and say, pointing upwards, "Up there ..."
Countess Gabriella Corsi went to see him one day ; she, too,
turned the conversation to the jubilee.
"Don Bosco, I promised you I would pay for the ban-
quet, no matter how many guests. I in tend to keep my
promise. "
"You will not be able to keep it, my dear Contessa. And
besides , there won't be any jubilee," he replied.
The elderly countess left , convinced that he r own days
were numbered. ''I kn ow what Don Bosco meant,'' she told
Father Yiglietti. " I must prepare myself." She died two
weeks later.
Toward the end of December , he hobbled from his
room to the infirmary to visit Father Louis Deppert who was
"dying.'' "Louis ,'' he told him , "you needn't worry about
dyin g yet. Someone else will die in this bed first." Father
Deppert recovered in a short few days; "'miraculously ,"
said the doctor. His bed was soon after transferred to Don
Bosco's room to replace the rickety one he had used for

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15 6
some forty years.
One day , Don Bosco noticed that Father Viglietti , who
was constantly at his side, was rearranging his clothes closet.
"Would you do me a favor?" he asked him. "Go through
the pockets of my clothes, and if you find any money , take
it to Don Rua. People know we Salesians have no money in
the bank or anywhere else. I want it to be known, too, that
Don Bosco died without a cent in his pocket. .. ."
That the Salesians had no money was no fiction. On the
very day on which the Founder died, the Oratory, with
something like one thousand mouths to feed, was obliged,
once again, to plead with the baker to bring the daily supply
of bread on credit.
"It Is the Last Time."
They walked up the two flights of steps so quietly that
Father Viglietti could hardly believe his eyes when he saw
the boys, all fifty of them, members of the senior class,
crowding the hallway in front of Don Bosco's room.
"You can't possibly see him ," he told them. "He is
much too sick)"
The boys would not leave. Reporting the unscheduled
visit to Don Bosco , Father Viglietti said : "They may want
you to hear their confession, Father. You just can't do it. ..
You can hardly breathe . . . ."
"It's the last time. Let them come in ," he replied in a
whisper.
The doctor was not a bit pleased to see his patient
expend his ebbing energies so recklessly. He ordered him to

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bed. Thereafter, only the Council's members and special
visitors were admitted to his rooms. His priests vied with one
another for the privilege of saying Mass in the little chapel
adjoining the sickroom, happy to administer Communion
to the beloved Father.
The presence of Bishop John Cagliero , his favorite
missionary son , who had returned for a brief spell from
Argentina , was a source of great comfort to him. He called
him frequently to his bedside , sharing with him his final
recommendations , as he did with his vicar Don Rua and the
other members of the Council.
" Love one another ," he told them, often with tears
in his eyes. " See to it that a true family spirit prevails in our
communities... .Work with faith , solely for the Lord and
for the good of souls. If my faith had only been greater, how
much more could have been done! ...Love the Madonna ,"
he told them one evening , as the bells of the nearby Church
of Our Lady Help of Christians announced the Vesper
service. "To her , we Salesians owe everything.. . ." Another
time , seeing one of his young priests in tears at his bedside ,
"My greatest sacrifice ," he said , ·'is that I must leave you."
Asked what message he had for his boys, he replied in a
whisper , "Tell them I will be waiting for them in heaven."
"Farewell, Father!"
After a little more than a month, during which hopes
and fears followed in quick succession the ups-and-downs
of their Father's illness, Salesians and youngsters alike knew
Don Bosco was dying. The end came sooner than they had

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feared.
On January 30, 1888, word spread around the Oratory
that the beloved Founder had lapsed into a coma, and that
the doctors did not expect him to live through the night.
The routine of the great institution came to a halt. All asked
to see their Father one last time. "How could I possibly
refuse them?" Don Rua said later.
First the priests, then the Brothers and the Sisters, and
later all of the nearly eight hundred youngsters silently
lined up in the corridors, on the stairways and under the
arcades. Others came from the nearby schools and oratories;
and as the word spread in the city, former pupils and friends
joined the procession. They tiptoed through the room of the
dying man. He lay motionless, his head slightly raised and
inclined to the right, his eyes closed, his hands resting on the
top of his covers. A crucifix had been laid on his breast; a
violet stole, symbol of his priesthood, had been placed across
the bed. They knelt briefly by the narrow bed, most of them
in tears, and kissed the hand which had so often blessed
them. The procession lasted far into the night.
At 4:30 in the morning, on January 31, 1888, as the
Angelus bells rang from the church of his beloved Madonna,
Don Bosco gave a gentle sigh and ceased to breathe.
*
*
*

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EPILOGUE
"What was it that , during the past cold wintry days ,
brought some two hundred thousand people around the
mortal remains of this humble priest?" The Turin daily
which, somewhat rhetorically , asked this question in its
editorial column the day after Don Bosco's funeral , did not
attempt to give a reply. "Whatever it was," the editor wrote,
"we were not at all surprised at what a Roman prelate,
present at the funeral , told one of our reporters. Said the
Vatican Monsignor: 'It was more than just a funeral. It was
as if the people of Turin rose en masse to say to the world ,'
the Monsignor added , ' that the Church will eventually
canonize Don Bosco. Turin did so today.' "
The editorial concluded : "Rightly, Don Bosco belongs
to Turin in a very special way . Unquestionably , the Church
some day will claim him among her saints. But we are certain
that none of our readers, whatever their religious persuasion ,
will object if we say that, in a wider sense, Don Bosco truly
belongs to the world ."
*
*
*
On June 2, 1929, Pope Pius XI raised Don Bosco, whom
he had known personally , to the honors of the altars, de-
claring him " Blessed." On Easter Sunday , April 1, 193 4, the

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same Pontiff proclaimed him a "Saint" at what was then
described as the most solemn canonization ever held in the
Catholic Church.
***
" Tell me, Caterina," Margaret Bosco asked of her fn·end
and neighbor Caterina Agagliati, "What do yo u make of my
Johnny ? What do you think he will be ?" Signora Agagliati
spoke with unusual solemnity this time. "Margaret," she
said, "mark my word: that boy will have the whole world
talking some day."

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Distinguished for its service to the Church , the family to
which Peter M. Rinaldi was born , had close contacts with
St. John Bosco, the protagonist of MAN WITH A DREAM.
Born near Turin, Italy , he is a grandnephew of Father Philip
Rinaldi, one of "Don Bosco's boys ," and later his successor
as head of the world-wide religious order established by the
Turin saint. Himself a Salesian, Father Rinaldi knew Father
Philip personally, and was acquainted with other Salesians
who were close to Don Bosco and whose names appear in the
pages of this book.
A graduate of Fordham University , Father Rinaldi held
teaching and administrative positions in several Salesian
schools, and he was a pastor of Corpus Christi Church,
Port Chester, New York from 1950 to 1977. He is the
author of It is the Lord, a study of the Turin Shroud, and of
By Love Compelled, the life of the Servant of God Philip
Rinaldi. Articles from his pen have appeared in such mag-
azines as Sign, Mankind, Sindon, and others, both in the
United States and in Europe.

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18 Pages 171-180

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PATRON BOOKS
FOR YOUNGSTERS OF ALL AGES
GENERAL MICKEY The compelling story of a street
kid who found happiness and holiness in Don Bosco's
house. by Peter Lappin.
CONQUISTADOR The scrappiest kid in the Oratory
turns out to be "made to be a missionary." An
exciting story of South America's Cardinal on Horse-
back, John Cagliero. by Peter Lappin.
.ST. DOMINIC SAVIO A biography of the Church's
youngest saint by the boys' priest and patron of
youngsti~rs, Saint John B<1'sco. With notes by Paul
Aronica.
STORIES OF DON BOSCO More than one hundred
colorful anecdotes from the amazing life of Don ·
Bosco. Ideal for children through junior high school.
by Peter Lappin.
DON BOSCO PUBLICATIONS
148 Main Street New Rochelle NY