And so it was that on August 16, 1815, when one era was closing in Europe with the exile of Napoleon, and the Industrial Revolution was clanging another open, "a man was sent by God whose name was John." He came to the scrubby stone cottage of Francis and Margaret Bosco on the hills of Becchi, at the foot of the Italian Alps. "A fine healthy baby," the neighbors all agreed, "fit for the soil, to take his father's place on the old homestead." But no one went further than that in predicting the child's future.

As a youngster, John quickly toughened to the strain of farm labor. There were house chores to do, firewood to cut and gather, fields to plow, crops to tend. Little John and his older brother Joseph, supervised by their stepbrother Anthony, tackled the endless work with energy.

By far the sweetest influence in their lives, easing the otherwise crushing burden of poverty, was their mother, as noble a character and as tender a woman as the world has known. She meant everything to them, especially after they lost their father before John was two years old. All who knew her called her Mama Margaret. Fathomless was the love she showed her sons, not in coddling words but in deeds; innumerable were the lessons in upright living, Christian fortitude, and fear of God, which she taught by her example. A pillar of goodness, she stood before them as sturdy as the very Alps. At her knee John first heard the voice of the Master calling him to a special assignment. It was a low insistent voice, an urge that once in a while manifested itself in a sudden outburst-like the time Margaret and John were walking along the countryside and met one of the local priests.

"Hello, Father," cried the lad, to be acknowledged only by a curt bow of the head. Deeply hurt, he complained that the priest had hurt his feelings.

"When I grow up," he told his astonished mother, "I'm going to be a priest, and I'll talk to children all the time, and I'll do everything for them!"

Again the voice urged John to go among the farm lads, not just as a playmate but as a leader. More than once he came home with a battered cheek or torn shirt and in explanation would say, "But, Mother, those boys aren't really bad. They haven't got a good mother like I have, and they don't know their catechism, and their parents don't take them to church. When I'm with them, they behave better. Please, Mother, may I go with them?"

Soon the lad took over completely, as God's plan called for. He learned the tricks of magic from traveling showmen. He juggled. He walked the tightrope. Then he opened his own carnival show. Admission: one rosary to be recited by all spectators; added attraction: the Sunday sermon, repeated by the little ringmaster. The show grounds were the field in. front of the house, where Margaret Bosco often watched her son at work and wondered what might come of it all.

When John was nine, the Master called him openly. A mission as important as his could not be left to a mere urge. In a "dream" the boy found himself fighting a large crowd of rowdy lads who were cursing and carrying on abominably, refusing to listen to his voice. Suddenly, a Man appeared, who motioned to John and said, "Not with blows will you help these boys, but with goodness and kindness!" "Who are you?" gasped the astonished lad.

"But what does it all mean? I'm just a farm boy. What can I do?" He burst into tears.

The Lady's answer came to him, ever to resound in his heart, to be repeated audibly several times in his life. This is the field of your work. Be humble, steadfast, and strong!"

John now knew his vocation. But the priesthood meant studies, and there was no money on the Bosco farm. Even school was almost impossible. Due to the goodness of a farmer who taught him, John learned to read and write and do sums at the age of eight. His first schooling came the next year, when he hiked some three miles every morning to the country school of a priest. But the increasing hostility of his stepbrother, not pacified by John's attempts to put in extra hours on the farm, made life at home unbearable. And so, for the sake of domestic peace, Margaret Bosco divided the paltry estate left by her husband and allowed her youngest son to go to Castelnuovo to attend public school and board with a good family she knew.

Alone in the town, John soon learned the hardships of an orphan's life. He worked after school to support himself. Though he was only 15, he labored in a blacksmith shop, then as a tailor, a waiter, a pin-boy in a bowling alley, a shoemaker-anything to get a few pennies and ease his mother's burden.

At school he did exceptionally well. True, he had been looked upon by teacher and classmates as a country dolt in the beginning, but his brilliant memory and steadfast application soon won him everyone's respect. In one year he was ready for secondary studies.

As we look back over the records, we find that John did three years of high school in one scholastic year and one summer. How he ever succeeded is quite a problem, unless we take into account his exceptional memory and intensive study habits.

One teacher, on finding this husky farm lad in his class, almost dwarfing the smaller town boys, remarked, "What are you-a giant moron or a genius?"

"Somewhere in between," was John's ready answer, "just a pupil who is determined to study hard and learn."

Throughout his school work John did not lose sight of his vocation which was now, more than ever, an actual conviction. "I'm going to be a priest," he told his friends, "and I'm going to give my life to the care of boys!"

By 1835, when John was 20, he was ready for the seminary, taking with him an enviable record for excellence in studies, a reputation for solid piety, and the friendship of countless people in many walks of life. Prominent among them was a young priest, Father Cafasso, now St. Joseph Cafasso, John's confessor, who best understood him and helped him to interpret God's plan.

On June 5, 1841, John was ordained to the priesthood in Turin. He celebrated his first Mass the next day in the church of St. Francis of Assisi. "During my first Mass," he said, "I asked for the gift of efficacy of speech, and I think I got it!"