Guest column: Msgr. Elbert can 'really flip the pages'

By FATHER MERLE KOLLASCH
Guest columnist
 
My cousin Joe was the pick of the litter, one of five sons born to my dad’s sister, Christina (Tene) Kollasch and August A. Elbert. He was good, very good at everything he did. He was two years older than I, graduating from Presentation Academy in 1950, Loras in 1954, ordained in 1958 and died at age 55 in 1987.
 
He was an All-State pitcher and led Presentation Academy to the state tournament several times. Once, while sliding home (he was safe), he broke his left, non-throwing hand, only to return to the mound a few days later sporting a cast white in color. Coach Vince Meyer of St. John’s in Bancroft quoted the rule book which prohibited anything white on a pitcher’s arm or hand and thought he had us. Joe went to Elbert’s Hardware store where his brother Dean painted it black, resolving the problem but forcing A.J. to bat with only one hand. He was surprised and sad to see his batting average sink. If anyone ever got a hit off him, he’d ask the ump for another ball.
 
At Loras he pitched, studied, and sang along with our mutual cousin, Lou, and two others. One of the quartet’s favorites (it always brought down the jam filled house) was:
  
I joined him at Heelan in 1964, he as superintendent, I as teacher, and later, as dean of
discipline. Those seven years were happy for us both. He heard my last confession before my ordination and I recall him saying: “You’ll be happy, priests have a great fraternity.” He was always kind to me.
 
One day Mary Castle, English teacher and yearbook moderator, went to his noonday Mass at Next Door Cathedral and she commented on her return: “A.J. can really flip the pages.” A.J. was multi-talented, never lacking confidence in anything. He was a great leader.
 
Yearly Bishop Greteman asked him to “state the case” for the D.D.P., the Diocesan
Development Program.
 
Golf club in hand, he always started with a joke, one of them I’ll quote and embellish: Pierre and Andre were twin brothers. They lived in Paris and rang the bells at Notre Dame’s Cathedral daily. One day, Pierre noticed that the rope was broken. Undeterred, he climbed the back stairs, and reaching his destination, he rang the bells by using his head as the hammer. He slipped and fell and died right there. “Who is this guy?” one parishioner demanded. I don’t know his name but his face “rings a bell,” One week later, Andre ascended and ran to the bells in the same manner, the result also being the same. Again, a crowd formed “Who is this guy?” they questioned. The answer was soon forthcoming: “I don’t know his name, but he’s a dead ringer for his brother.” 

With such a start the campaign began and was successful partly because of A.J.’s banter, and the drink and steak that followed.
 
One time I saw his confidence falter. We took a piper cub from South Sioux City to Steier’s
landing strip outside Whittemore. Passing over Cherokee, his brow began to bead with sweat, his voice began to falter. The motor was slowing, coughing, skipping and almost dying. While looking for some level place to land, he pulled the “choke” lever and the airplane recovered, much to our relief and freeing us from fear and panic.
 
Joe was a great trumpet player, bowler, and golfer. Tijuana Brass, no perfect games in bowling but some really good scores, high in bowling, low in golf. He’d remark, “Now watch this one.” 200 yards, straight and accurate, then rising for some yards more, over the trees and landing safely in the fairway. While he was good, I never ceased to tell about my two “hole-in-one” lucky shots. He just said, “Never up, never in.”
 
He was heartbroken when his tenure at Heelan ended, but with an obedient heart and resolve moved on to Corpus Christi in Fort Dodge moving in to the abandoned convent where he built a fire place and won the parishioners’ acceptance, approval, love and gratitude, especially for his pace in “really flipping the pages.”
 
His next move was to the Lakes area where he pastored Milford, St. Joseph, revived the Winter Games and gained everyone’s love.
 
When he was 55, he was there and I was moving back to the diocese. I was staying with him when, one night, he came to my door, retching in a pail. He asked me to drive him to the Spirit Lake Emergency Room, where the doctor on call looked at him briefly and questioned “Rochester or Sioux City?” I said without much hesitation, “Sioux City.”
 Father Merle Kollasch
 His doctor is there and our cousin Sheila was a nurse there too. It was not a good decision. He continued to fail, so much that in the last weeks when I’d see him, I’d pray that he would die. My prayer was granted Sept. 10, 1987.
 
My cousin had “flipped the pages” too fast but squeezed out all life had to offer and now rests in St. Michael’s Cemetery. Middle row, on your left, beside Andrew and Christina. “Requiescat in Pace.”

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