"Saintly endeavor" by Angus Lind

The Times Picayune - Sunday, January 16, 2000

Lawyer moonlights as a painter of religious medals

Is it a coincidence that Florian, the saint who watches over firefighters, also protects beer lovers and brewers? Or that Sebastian, the patron saint of athletes unto whom the fortunes of the New Orleans Saints are entrusted, was clubbed after he was killed?

"The Saints have been clubbed to death a few times," said Rob Clemenz, the creator of Saints for Sinners hand-painted patron saints medals. Sebastian, it should be noted, is also the patron saint of body piercers. Before he was clubbed, this saint, who is said to have possessed great healing qualities, was put to death by a firing squad of archers, his body pierced by countless arrows. Left for dead, he healed miraculously, with the help of a widow. Saints fans, draw your parallels. Body piercers, use caution.

Clemenz, 40, a consumer advocacy lawyer, will tell you that he can find a saint to fit any situation - such as Richard, the patron saint of NASCAR drivers and cabbies - and that there are some saints who have some whimsical qualities, such as the popular St. Christopher; said to protect skateboarders in addition to travelers. Well, skateboarding is a form of travel, isn't it?

But there is a serious side and a troubled past to this native of Hampton Bays, N.Y., and graduate of Loyola University Law School - and it is much of the reason he began the saintly cottage industry for which he and friends handpaint medals imported from Italy.

"I've thought about this a lot, and I know it came from suffering through loss," he said. His mom died when he was 13. In 1981, he and his girlfriend were in a car accident. She was killed. He was told he would never be able to talk again. Today he does fine, but his voice is soft and raspy.

"I had a tough time in my 20's. It was like a scene out of Hamlet. I was haunted by ghosts out of the past," he said.

At Loyola, without family here, he was adopted virtually as a son by the family of Richard Duplantier; the father of a classmate. Duplantier, who has since died, was a lay brother and a man that Clemenz says through tears, "was saintly, a person who would do anything for anyone."

After Duplantier died, his widow offered Clemenz his entire set of "The Catholic Encyclopedia for School and Home" and other religious books. He was taken with the stories of the saints. "I went through some sort of catharsis," he said. "They got me back on a better path. I'm getting more spiritual. The saints and their stories have brought me to a great place."

The stories, said Clemenz, are not just Catholic and not just about religion. "These people had problems, and they kept on going. They didn't let life's adversities slow them down. Maybe I learned that my problems weren't as all-encompassing as I thought they were."

Clemenz imported some medals from Italy in 1997. "I began taking tiny little steps. Then things kind of took off when a friend suggested that they could be painted." And they are, very meticulously. "They are very much one-of-a-kind items," he said.

Through word of mouth, a story here and there, and a friend who liked what she saw and stocked his medals and bio-cards at The Living Room, a shop in the 900 block of Royal Street, things slowly picked up.

A story in a Florida paper was translated into French. An order came in from Montreal. One came from Kenya, another from Australia. His web site (www.saintsforsinners.com) started getting a few hits. Letters from people from around the country and the world now lie on his dining room table.

"It hasn't made me any money to speak of but then it's not about money," he said. "It's about serenity, the comfort, the ability to connect with people and give them guidance. It's magical. The rewards so outweigh the money spent. I've reaped great rewards." Clemenz's medal kits come with each saint's life story and a message, "Serenity For Sharing," which instructs the owner to pass the medal on to someone else after a while.

"I'm drawing from the loneliness and loss of my younger years," he said. "The older years are better. And it's nice to give people who are having a tough time something worth having."

Clemenz's personal favorite saint is Rosalie, the patroness of those seeking comfort. In her saintly profile, Clemenz, and English major, invokes a little poetic license by personalizing the story. St. Rosalie's Church was the church in Hampton Bays where he was baptized and confirmed, where he went to pray after his mom died and where a kindly priest comforted him. He was also best man in his brother's wedding there and his sister-in-law is a dedicated eucharistic minister there. But...

"The greatest thing about St. Rosalie's to me and, I think to my mom, too, was... bingo!" As a boy, he tagged along on Monday bingo nights and the laughter and many happy memories have stayed with him through the years, providing, as St. Rosalie would have it, much comfort. "It may sound odd but I could never fairly describe what those memories mean to me," he wrote.

Fond memories about bingo? Not that odd, compared to the tortured lives of many of the saints. They endured, at least according to their fantastic stories, so much suffering and pain that some cynics have noted that many of them may have lived long enough to wish they had chosen another occupation.

Now, is anyone curious why Florian, the saint with whom this column began many paragraphs ago and who keeps a vigil on firefighters, also watches over beer-drinkers and brewers? Well, so the story goes, and keeping in mind that much about any saint remains a mystery, Florian was an officer in the Roman army that occupied Austria. After he admitted he was a Christian, his skin was stripped from his body, and he was tossed into a river with a stone around his neck.

He also apparently at some point miraculously put out a raging fire with a single pitcher of... water. Or beer? Since Florian is also the patron saint of Austria, a country known for its love of beer, we can only wonder - and check with the firemen who hang out at Pete's Bar at Sixth and Chippewa.