Three-quarters of a century ago, on April 29, 1951, I was baptized by Father Thomas Love, SJ, in Baltimore’s Church of Saints Philip and James.
Old Scratch must have thoroughly sunken his claws into my infant self; according to family tradition, I sent up such a howl when he was ousted by water and the Holy Spirit that my cousin Judy hid in a confessional. (Critics may find traces of this experience in my later prose style; I couldn’t possibly comment.)
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