The Diving Cur

In his royal blue swimming trunks, the Rev. Robert Simon climbed the 115-ft. diving tower. This time, as he looked down at the shimmering river and the upturned faces of the crowd, he was not frightened. He prayed to St. Teresa of Lisieux with a calm heart. This, he hoped, would be his most lucrative dive of all.

Sometimes he had been frightened. But not of the water--he had always been an unusually good swimmer. At the age of three, he had fallen into the 23-ft.-deep fountain at his native village of Roulans, in eastern France. "Other children would have drowned," he says. "I kicked the bottom and came up to the top without drinking a drop of water." Two years later, a bunch of toughs threw him into a lake; he bobbed to the surface and splashed ashore.

Happiness & God. When he was only eleven, he decided to be a priest. His war-widowed mother protested that she could not afford to support him during the long course of study. He retorted: "I will eat potatoes every day, if need be, but I will become a priest." The following year he entered the seminary at Besanc,on; 13 years later he was ordained.

In 1944 he was appointed vicar of Saone (pop. 700), near the Swiss border. The church was tumbledown, the few parishioners indifferent. Father Simon decided that the trouble with the parish was that the villagers were unhappy. "The more happiness there is in the souls of men, the more love there is for God in their hearts," said Father Simon. He made friends with the Communist mayor and the Communist schoolteacher. He organized games and singing lessons for the children. He arranged with manufacturers in nearby Besanc,on for piecework to keep his housewives occupied and increase their income. By 1947, the parish of Saone was much happier.

But now, though many more wanted to come to church, its dilapidated state kept many away. In the winter the water froze in the font and the wine in the chalice. Parents would not let their children go to catechism class because of the cold and damp. Father Simon realized that he would have to build a small chapel that could be heated in winter and have the church restored for summer services. But where would the money come from?

Two Black Eyes. One day, the sight of an old trophy he had won for diving gave Father Simon an idea. He would organize a water-sports festival. As the main attraction he would perform a really spectacular high dive.

On the big day Father Simon sneaked out of his parish without telling anyone what he was going to do. Billed as "L'homme planeur" (the gliding man), and scared stiff, he climbed the rickety wooden ladder up to the diving board and thought to himself, "What a funny idea you had to come up to this high perch!" Then, with a prayer to St. Teresa, who was to be patroness of the new chapel, he took off in a wild, unsteady swoop, kicking as he fell, to keep from landing on his back. He hit the water with a smash, and bobbed up to the surface with two black eyes.

Since that first plunge in 1947, Father Simon's annual water sports have raised enough money for him to paint the church and begin work on the chapel. "Now that the church is gay," his parishioners say, "we come more readily to pray there." Father Simon still owes some 450,000 francs ($1,300) on the construction work; it will take a good bit of diving to make that up. But he is full of faith and hope.

Last Sunday, as he climbed to his new diving platform, he felt "as calm as when I sip a glass of liqueur after dinner." He plummeted down & down in a perfect swan dive. As he came up, blinking, the crowd cheered happily for their "cure sportif."

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