One day in life of Cathedral

A few of them turn aside, moving up scaffold-shaded steps to open the Cathedral's heavy Gothic doors. They go past unreadable, faded graffiti and bright yellow signs that request men and women "passing beyond this point" to wear hard hats.

Among the worshippers at the 7:15 a.m. Mass one recent morning are a white-haired, middle-aged man wearing a blue coat; a young man in a Yankees cap and red sweater; a smattering of white-haired ladies; and three young adults dressed for the office. The space is so cavernous that you can hardly hear them speak the prayers of the liturgy.

Dark windows

After Mass, sacristan Wanda Maddex moves through the confusing maze of stairs, sacristies and music rooms congregated behind the sanctuary. She pauses, noting a closet-full of half-burnt vigil candles.

"We don't let anything go to waste. We try to use everything we can. Stuff can be pretty expensive," she said.

Cleaning time

The marble altar floor needs to be swept, mopped and burnished, she points out. If a light goes out, she changes it. She restores dried-out wood to its original luster, empties hot water running through the boiler, and knows where everything -- absolutely everything -- is.

Making plans to pick up after a particularly arts-and-craftsy afternoon in the religious education rooms, she takes a few minutes to work in the boiler room near the crypt. As she does so, a swelling sound fills the church and seeps into the basement: Glenn Osborne, the Cathedral's organist, has arrived.

The glorious strains of Bach provide the background as Ms. Maddex pushes aside a sign that says "Reserved for Bishop," some large pieces of sheet rock, pieces of an old marble altar and an industrial-size fan in order to get to her destination.

"We're very short of storage space around here," she laments.

Quiet prayer

"It reminds me why I do what I do," he says of the Cathedral. "Some days, things get pretty hectic, and I can lose my head. I come here, and it's peaceful."

Restoration

Cathedral reconstruction workers begin their day early. Atop scaffolding that seems to stretch into the sky, a number of American and British workers, using ashlar and lime mortar, are replacing stones that are disintegrating due to a combination of poor construction and upstate New York weather.

It's cold, but the crew is jovial, and pop music floats on the breeze from a battery-operated radio someone has brought along. A worker loses his hard hat to a blasting gust of wind. Another climbs, quickly and deftly, down six stories of scaffolding to retrieve it, seeming at home with avoiding stairs entirely.

They draw heavy, purple-hued stones up to their workspace using an industrial elevator, spread lime mortar, and carefully replace the stone against the mishmash of bricks and old adhesive.

As Romans do

One worker is nearly a speck, casually perched on the apex of the roof, blithely making measurements for a new lead roof "that will last for 500 years instead of 150," Mr. Galka explained.

The sky isn't the only place where the activity has reached a frenetic pace. Across the street in the Cathedral rectory, business is being conducted.

"9 a.m. is when everything starts hopping around here," said Thomas Prindle, the Cathedral's director of development and public relations. As if on cue, the doorbell to the rectory and the phone ring in concert. "From now until four, it just doesn't stop."

Neighborhood

Nearby is a scruffy man wearing an Army cap, asking for a bus ticket to Troy. Tending the door is food pantry volunteer Claudia Egan. Down the hall, office manager Ceil Charles is counting the weekend's Offertory collection.

Ms. Egan's associates, six volunteers crammed into a small office that doubles as food pantry and file room, are busy unloading pallets of canned goods. Volunteer Vince Ozimek, "the computer guy," goes over the figures: Last month, 545 households within the Cathedral's boundaries were served, with 500 children, 739 adults, and 61 elderly men and women making up that number.

All of this, and a bishop, too; Bishop Howard J. Hubbard and the Cathedral's rector, Rev. William Pape, live upstairs (see separate articles).

Juan's wants

"You have to be flexible here," he said, snagging volunteer Dot Kelley, who is stacking containers filled with peanut butter. "I think he was robbed. I think someone stole his cart. He usually comes with his cart, and he doesn't have it today."

"Last Christmas, we gave our elderly shopping carts," explained Ms. Egan. "It's their most precious possession."

Serving the needy

To perform this charitable work, said Mr. Ozimek, the Cathedral depends on money and donations from such places other Albany churches, private individuals and the Regional Food Bank.

People get a listening ear along with their food at the Cathedral, Ms. Kelley said, indicating that the ear belongs to a busy Geraldine Wall, who has been on the phone for a good 15 minutes. She has served as the food pantry's de facto leader after the death of her sister, Sister Veronica Wall, from cancer.

"We miss her terribly," Ms. Egan said.

Noon Mass

"Father Mohr is one of the legends of the Cathedral," said Mr. Prindle. Ordained there, he'd been a member for far longer: He recalls serving as an altar boy for Bishop Edmund Gibbons, who served as head of the Albany Diocese from 1919-'54.

Noon mass is celebrated in the Cathedral to the sound of the congregation's a cappella song, the whistling sound of a power tool and the muffled sounds of the restoration going on outside.

Eileen Feeney, a parishioner of nearby St. Mary's Church in Albany, comes to the noon Mass as often "as she can find a parking space."

It's Monday, and the Mass-goers have places to be; so, at 1 p.m., the inside of the Cathedral falls silent once more, and Ms. Maddex pushes a broom across a floor below the intricate stained-glass windows.

But all that may change within the hour. After all, "you never know what'll come up" at the Cathedral, Ms. Charles said.

(11-14-02) [[In-content Ad]]