Upside of fearing monsters, hell, and Fr. Peter's Shoes

THE STREET WHERE I GREW UP IN Southern California could be a menacing place for a young boy.

Freakishly tall, ugly monsters patrolled at night, walking single file past fences and mailboxes to ensure children had gone to sleep at their bedtimes. As they passed our house, each would turn his head to peer into the window of my second-story bedroom; if my eyes were open, terrible calamities would befall me. Habitually I would lie still and pull sheets and comforters up to my forehead, even on sweltering summer nights, just to be safe. The strategy worked: I never was caught, and eventually I’d sleep.

By day, the ugly monsters with bad attitudes were just 100-foot eucalyptus trees (the Tasmanian blue gum variety), some of the thousands planted throughout California from seeds brought by Australian immigrants during the 1850s gold rush. Eucalyptus trees grow big and fast even in poor soils and so were expected to provide a good source of wood for building and burning. It was later discovered that blue gum didn’t make the best building materials, given its tendency for splitting, but as an oily wood it did burn well — too well. Eucalyptus groves provided highly combustible tinder for a devastating 1991 fire in the Oakland Hills that destroyed 3,500 homes. Area residents still debate whether the remaining groves should be cut down.

In California, eucalyptus trees in residential areas would drop heavy limbs or fall over entirely, sometimes causing death and destruction. Their roots often did not run deep into the soil, preferring easier surface hydration from lawn sprinklers and irrigation runoff. I recall one tree falling across the road in front of our neighbor’s house with an unmistakable thud, fortunately with no human casualties.

In time, out of caution, the city took down all the eucalyptus trees from my street. Presumably, the monsters went with them. It’s a much safer place for kids with vivid imaginations today.

Fear is a great motivator. This is true even in bigger matters than whether a preadolescent sleeps at his assigned bedtime. It is best, of course, that we always perform our duties well, observe laws, and strive to choose what is morally good for the simple reason that it’s the right thing to do. When tempted otherwise, however, a fear of potential consequences — or, at the very least, a prudent consideration of them — can be the safety net that keeps us on the straight and narrow.

That goes for temporal as well as eternal consequences. Contemplating the severity and eternity of hell did much to influence my behavior, but I also did not want the shame or punishment associated with disappointing teachers or parents — or priests. Once, when I got in trouble for an uncharitable remark, my father warned me that “if Fr. Peter heard you say that he’d give you a swift kick in the rear.” After that I could never help but notice that our pastor always wore hard black leather plain-toe Oxfords, likely about size 13.

As I matured into adulthood I increasingly embraced the desire to act responsibly and to do what is morally and ethically good for its own sake. But even so, whenever I am tempted to shirk duty or go against my deeply held principles, I am thankful there are real potential consequences to consider that help me stay in line — and sleep better at night.

Gerald Korson is acting editor of Legatus Magazine