Sunday, August 9, 1998

Guinness recognizes collection of crosses as the world's largest

By Richard Scheinin / Knight Ridder Newspapers

SAN JOSE, Calif. -- In early July, 60 years after Ernie Reda's mother gave him his first cross in Blackey, Ky., the retired San Jose handyman received this letter from the special projects coordinator at the Guinness Book of Records:

"Congratulations! I am happy to report that your claim for the largest collection of crosses has been accepted as a new record. ... Should someone call or write to us inquiring about who holds the record for the largest collection of crosses, your claim will be given."

"I felt like jumping up and down, to have the world's honor," says Reda, 75, whose collection, the result of a patient, decades-long spiritual obsession, includes 8,439 crosses and crucifixes, not to mention the 2,758 other "religious items," 1,758 religious books and 21,200 religious postcards and greeting cards that he has wedged into his Latimer Avenue garage. This effusion of religious artifacts fills the room, floor to ceiling: crosses made of gold, silver, buttons and matchsticks; crosses that stand 8 feet tall; and crosses that would fit on the tip of Tom Thumb's pinky.

There are so many crosses of so many styles and geographical and historical derivations that Reda has long felt they belonged in a special museum that he envisions atop a mountain overlooking the Santa Clara Valley. Inside there would be religious items from all the world's faiths, an ecumenical cornucopia of spirit. People would look up to the glass-faced museum, glistening in the sun, and "know that there's a God," says Reda.

But no patron has stepped forward to donate land or building, and Reda, who has slowed down because of arthritis and chronic stomach and back problems, has grown a little frustrated. He's usually not one to complain, but "it's got to the point where it's really pathetic, sad," he says in his soft Kentucky drawl. "There's a man in South Dakota who's willing to build me a museum in a shopping center. There's a guy in Brooklyn who's taken over an old convent with over 500 statues of the saints and apostles and he wants me to bring my collection and go in with him.

"But I want to stay here," Reda reiterates. "I got in 84 more crosses on Friday from a man named Ohr in Florida -- they keep coming in from all over the world. See, I want to make this museum so doggone interesting that you can't see it in a day. I've got a pin of a little angel playing golf that Bob Hope and his wife, Dolores, gave me. A lot of times, I wake up in the morning and there are boxes setting outside the front door. Full of crosses. One of them a priest sent me from Zambia, Africa, made out of ropes. A lot of people tell me I'm nuts, but this museum -- there's going to be nothing like it."

It's easy to dismiss Reda as a fanatic, but his sense of mission is heartfelt and his one-of-a-kind collection is the sort of thing that turns up in the pages of American Heritage magazine -- or, for that matter, in an exhibition space at the Smithsonian Institution. Early this year, it was part of a San Jose State University exhibition, "The Impulse to Collect," and now the Guinness people have thrown their weight behind Reda's efforts.

Last year, Reda wrote to Guinness about the size of his ever-growing collection. They responded by asking him to provide testimonials about the truthfulness of his claim from a number of community leaders, including business people and clergy.

Now, Guinness Special Projects Coordinator Kim Stram is struck by the quantity of crosses assembled by Reda: "Pretty impressive numbers," she says. "This is a new category for us, crosses, and Ernie's record has now been entered into our database. We thought that it was of worldwide interest; we love collections of any sort, and it really opens a lot of doors when this kind of thing comes through. We're very excited for Ernie."

The caveat is that not every record certified by Guinness makes it into the annual book of records; there's not enough space. As of now, Stram can only say that Reda is in the running to be mentioned in the 1999 edition, due out in September.

For Reda, Guinness's recognition looses a flood of stories about his childhood and religious upbringing in the mountains of Kentucky. He was born in Vicco, a tiny coal-mining town, where the Redas were one of only two or three Italian families. Three Sundays a month, the family piled into a Model A Ford and drove to Mass in Hazard, about 13 miles away: "That was the biggest event in my life," he says, "every Sunday to put on a white shirt and go to church."

Reda got a little wild as a teenager, and his parents, grocery store owners, sent him off to boarding school in Blackey, Ky. His mother gave him a cross, to hold in his bed at night if he ever got scared. Every time she visited, she gave him another cross, until he had a shoe box full. That's how the collection started.

Then Reda moved about the South. He managed drive-in movie theaters and restaurants. One drive-in restaurant was in Bishopville, S.C., where the townsfolk threatened Reda for serving a group of black G.I.s who stepped off a bus one day in the early '60s. That's when Reda and his wife, Carmela, picked up and headed for California, where three of his sisters lived. Driving westward, he spotted three crosses atop a hill, he says, repeating one of his favorite stories, "and that's when I made a promise to God that I'd collect 5,000 crosses and make the world's first religious museum."

In San Jose, Reda worked as a plumber, electrician and general fix-it man, all the while haunting flea markets and garage sales, buying crosses. Every time he acquired another cross, he gave it a number, entered its description in a notebook, and mounted it inside a pine frame that he built in his workshop from grocery crates.

"Let's take a look," he says, opening his garage door. There's a crucifix from Mexico: Jesus nailed to a cross made of grapevines. There are black Jesuses of painted pine, a white Jesus of alabaster, a shiny copper-colored Jesus of papier-mache.

Reda unveils a hand-carved crucifix: "Look at this baby. Ain't she beautiful?" he croons. "He's got the fingernails, everything, on it. Handmade. The time spent doing a thing like that -- you'd think they'd never give it up. And so when they send that to me, I believe it's given from the heart.

"Hey, will you do something for me?" Reda asks. "Will you let me thank the thousands of people who have sent me their crosses? Because without them, and without God, this wouldn't have happened. And I want to ask for help from some of the churches, because this museum would be for all them. And I've done everything to make it happen but stand on top of a pulpit downtown and preach.

"Sure, people say I'm dreaming," Reda says. "I hear that all the time. But I won't give up. I tell you what: I had a letter from a nun in Missouri and she had heard about the collection in the Catholic Digest. She gave me such a feeling not to give up. And some of the words she put in there! 'If God hadn't meant for me to have the museum, he wouldn't have let me get this far.' I think that made good sense. I think God's testing me. So I think it's just a matter of time."

IF YOU'RE INTERESTED

For information on Ernie Reda's cross collection, send a self-addressed envelope to 3997 Latimer Ave., San Jose, Calif. 95130.

(c) 1998, San Jose Mercury News (San Jose, Calif.).

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