Could Today, April 3rd, Be The Exact Parallel Date of the Crucifixion? Scholars, Sources and Loyola in the 1970's

 

On the whole I consider that the date A.D. 33 April 3 offers fewer difficulties than any of the
others, but my ambition has been rather to explain the character and tendencies of the different
lines of evidence than to arrive at a conclusion, and I believe, as I certainly hope, that my opinionhas in no part of the discussion been biased by the desire to support any particular conclusion. J.K. Fotheringham 1934

Those of us who studied at Loyola University in the 1970's remember Father Filas, S.J. as one of the pivotal scholars in the study of the historical Jesus, based upon his deep scrutiny of the Shroud of Turin.  Father Filas seemed to be Loyola's show-horse. I never had the opportunity to study with Father Filas, but many of my pals had the pleasure.  We were the south side L-crowd and took classes in the old brown stone Lewis Towers and the now long gone Marquette Center which was accessed by a bridge over Rush.  I missed out on Father Filas.

There were others, many other: Dr. Francis Swarzenberg, Dr. Larry McCaffery (Leo '43), Father Charles Ronan & etc.

I recall taking classes and a senior seminar on English histor from the War of Roses to the Stuarts with Dr. Lionel Trimble. Dr. Trimble was an exacting scholar who expected no less than exacting work from this former member of Janitors Local #25 and a senior hoping to graduate on time with Mike Manske, James "Molly" Molloy, Mike Miller, Mary Kay Harvey, Joe Phelps and Rita Buckley, with whom he had begun his baby steps on the scholastic throw rug.

Dr. Trimble argued for the very best sources, as the only key to unlocking the past.  Paper and parchment crumbles, rots, burns and tucks neatly away in places meant to shun the eyes of the curious. Censorship, neglect, wars, pestilence and the ancient examples of losing the TV remote affected history as well.

We must always be careful about jumping to conclusions - Irish Inquiry.

We must always be sceptical of partisanship when it comes to memory - Irish Alzheiners.

We must always look to 'the best sources.' One is an excerpt, unearthed, so to speak, and reprinted in Real Clear History,

Early this morning of good Friday, I finished reading a great old piece of scholarship by J.K. Fotheringham (14 August 1874 – 12 December 1936).  John Knight Fotheringham was a British scholar of Middle Eastern history and religious history.

Fotherigham dove into the deep end of the pool and came up with treasure chest packed with scholarship: Hebrew, Greek, Latin and Aramaic sources that includes Josephus, the Synoptic Gospels, as well as the Gospel of John, Tacitus, Annidazugga, as well as, what we should call, modern (His contemporaries) studies.

This is a dense read. It is slow going.  It was just like the dusty texts and manuscripts dumped in my mitts by Dr. Lionel Trimble concerning that nasty son of a bitch Perkin Warbeck.   Yet, we arrive at a scholar's conclusion. April 3, A.D. 33.

The primary morals of an undergraduate, wearing Orchestra Hall janitor's wear, come back and I nod with conviction.  Old Johnny Knight Fotherington nailed it.  Maybe.  

Thoughts of Glenna and the War of Roses and my Toeses

When I went to Loyola back in the early 1970's, I took a class with Dr. Trimble - English History: The Wars of the Roses To The Tudors. Only five students took the class and by the second week it was down to me and a girl named Glenna, most days as the other three students made only perfunctory appearances.

Dr. Lionel Trimble was a scholar*of the old school. He was close to seventy years old and spoke in very mannered, low and formal English, but what he spoke of -Perkin Warbeck, Nat Tyler, Bolingbroke, Hotspur, Mortimer, Richard II,III, Pope Nicholas Breakspear, York and Lancaster, Richard Duke of Gloucester, Buckingham, Owen Glendower, and Henry Tudor honeyed the air of Loyola's Lewis Tower on Rush Street, or so I believed.

Dr. Trimble began lecturing the moment he closed the door at the appointed time - if you were late you were locked out. History after all is about time.

Glenna was from the far North - Kennilworth or Winnetka and dressed like she was going to a board meeting at Northern Trust Bank. This was in the days when blue jeans were uniform of the day for Catholic girls freed from jumpers of Longwood Academy, Queen of Peace, Maria, St. Scholastica and other convents-lite.

Glenna had jet-black hair and alabaster skin and wore pearls most days and horn-rimmed black glasses. More importantly, to this late-adolescent testosterone bubbling scholar-manque, Glenna was graced by God with the body of mortal sin itself.
Her calves and legs, usually encased in grey or blue hose, were magnificently athletic and femininely arched at the feet, shod in low heeled pumps or black boots.

Glenna was a twenty year old Mary Tyler Moore encorpified. It took every level of self-control and self-worth in my poor powers to focus on the Wars of the Roses, when the war of hormones and romantic day-dreaming of a life as the kept man of Glenna: she attending to the world of corporate banking and larding our savings and checking accounts and me ministering to her every passion, while cooking and cleaning our Tudor Brick Home adorned by Red and White Rose bushes and maintaining my wash-board like belly, and rock hard chest with feats of home-spun athleticism.

To say that I was distracted is understatement.

Glenna and I communicated but once as I recall - days before the end of the Spring Semester. I was seated in my usual position of advantage angled just behind and to the right of this exquisite beauty, in order to take in every move and crossing of legs, but most importantly the neck, ears and superior jaw occasionally draped by the raven hair - flicked with an elegant racking by manicured and lovely fingers.

As was my wont - I was adorned in my janitor's uniform grey green work slacks and light grey long sleeved shirt with patches over each pectoral -left emblazoned HICKEY and right in Gothic script ORCHESTRA HALL. I wore heavy work boots and thick white socks. I would go from my classes directly to 220 S. Michigan and work the 3-11 shift, get relieved by cousin Willie and Tony Gac, study and sleep. Get up take a shower in the musicians locker room and return to class. Ah, the Days of Ivy!

My legs stretched comfortably in anticipation of Dr. Trimble's arrival and luxuriating in the breath-takingly sexy propriety that was Glenna and I checked my notes.

Glenna forced down her Oxford University text and pulled her horn-rimmed glasses off, tossed her cascade of black hair in a sweep that scarfed her neck and stared into my eyes with her own lavender blue orbs - "Excuse me."

My heart stopped. Yes?

"Please move, or do something. Your feet smell awful. Really. I am sorry. Please; before I throw up."

Slack jawed and silently I skulked back several seats and rows away. Dr. Trinble saved me from further shame by transporting me to Bosworth Fields.

I got and A + for my essay, notes and exams; never saw Glenna again.

By the way, my feet had soured due to the fact that I wore the same work shoes day-in-day out in rain, snow, and slush. My doctor gave me a formaldehyde regimen. Rule -toss boondockers and tennis shoes; merely washing feet don't do it.

My feet are like Roses, ever since Glenna.


*

Powicke, F.M. (1953). The Oxford History of England: The Thirteenth Century 1216-1307. Oxford University Press. ISBN 0198217080.

Green, V.H.H. (1955). The Later Plantagenets: A Survey of English History Between 1307-1485. Edward Arnold (Publishers) Ltd. ISBN 0713151765.