Book of Memories for Bro. Anthony Iazzetti, F.M.S. http://sistofh.frontrunnerpro.com/runtime/97435/include/storage/97435/DeathRecordStub/1880245/2778958.jpg http://sistofh.frontrunnerpro.com/runtime/97435/runtime.php?SiteId=97435&NavigatorId=1494408&ItemId=1880245&op=tributeMemorialCandles&viewOpt=dpaneOnly Book of Memories for Bro. Anthony Iazzetti, F.M.S. Recent updates for the Book of Memories http://sistofh.frontrunnerpro.com/runtime/97435/runtime.php?SiteId=97435&NavigatorId=1494408&ItemId=1880245&op=tributeMemorialCandles&viewOpt=dpaneOnly Frontrunner Professional Book of Memories V4 en-gb Story shared: I'll be seeing in unfamiliar but glorious places http://sistofh.frontrunnerpro.com/runtime/97435/runtime.php?SiteId=97435&NavigatorId=1494408&ItemId=1880245&op=tributeFamilyStories&viewOpt=dpaneOnly&gid=story6515856 In the fall of 1949, I was registered in first grade at Mount Saint Michael's Academy for Boys as a boarding student. Brother Andrew was the dormitory prefect for the youngest. It was a time of great adjustment for little guys…being away from home and our families. I was spared the big shock of lights out in a strange room away from my mother after having spent the previous seven months in a hospital and a convalescent home recovering from a kidney ailment.

In fifth grade Anthony Iazzette joined as a "new-comer." (I must admit that I'd always thought he'd joined in second grade)

I recall that Anthony's family didn't live far from the campus…it may even have been within walking distance, but it was his first time away from home. He suffered homesickness and in the beginning of his career at the Mount was teased by some and often comforted by Brother Andrew who was an amazing man.

If ever a child's face could have been described as cherubic, it was Anthony's. We  attended the same classes together, ate together, slept together, studied together, played together…and when the weather was fair and cold Anthony, John Francavillo and I would retreat to the comfort of the library…the only acceptable alternative to getting chilled on the windswept east playground.

We were responsible students competing against each other for the academic merit medals handed out with the year's last report card, I've got a bunch, and I know Anthony did, too. There were about a half dozen of us that relished that competition for the silver-ish medals with the gold and blue ribbons presented in their gold covered, faux silk or velvet cardboard boxes.

The years rolled by and we got to high school at the Mount, and still we boarded. I recall Anthony would often attend mass in the mornings…we would often assist as altar boys together in the celebration…this was when we had to read from stiff plastic cards that detailed out duties as well, their placement in the service and our responses…eventually we'd get to memorize them. Anthony's wore his devoutness and his love of Christ on his arm…he was never ashamed or embarrassed. He owned his religion.

Sophomore year at the Mount, Anthony made up his mind to devote his life to the work of Our Lord. He left, if memory serves, to finish high school at Esopus. I had enough of boarding, and left to attend school in New Jersey where my parents had moved. We lost touch.

A few days before my birthday in 1991, my mother who lived up the street called me to come see something on the news. It was the report of the deaths on Webster Avenueof four Mounties and two students from St. Barnabas. Toward the end there was an interview with the Mount's principal, Brother Anthony Iazzetti, from the tragedy I learned that my childhood friend and classmate had made good and returned to the Mount. I felt such joy for him knowing that he must have relished returning to his Alma Mater.

The internet and Google became available, and I'd infrequently do a search to see how his vocation and career was moving and gave him a mental thumbs up with every success.

We can never forget, "Ad astra per aspera."

All of us have out crosses to bear, and Anthony was not spared his. Reaching out to him once to let him know that someone from the distant past cared about him, he chose to not respond. I didn't expect it nor was I hurt by it, because I know that someday in the not-too-distant future we'll be seeing each other again, and I'll just glide over and say, "Hey, Iazzetti, remember me, Helmond, we made it out alive, forever. Amen."

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