Well, we asked readers to submit their memories of Jesuits —retreat directors, pastors, teachers—who have had an effect on their lives, and we've received over 200 responses at the latest counting. The stories that came in were touching and funny, some were sad, and others joyous. One respondent wrote in a preface to his submission that he realized that he had previously shared his story with only one other person. This issue includes more of these and similar responses.
We hope you enjoy all the submissions!
For some reason, Fr. James McGoldrick, the moving force behind Seattle University going co-ed, took me under his wing. He sought me out every quarter to slip $10 or $15 into my hand, for books, he’d say. Back in the ’50s, that amount really helped cover book costs.
He knew I was working my way through college, so he found me a nanny job that included room and board. He even tried to set me up with a Seattle University grad, “worth a quarter of a million!” he told me.
He encouraged me to step out of the stereotypical roles for women still prevalent in the ’50s. I went on to study theology in graduate school. Some say I was the first laywoman to receive a PhD in religious studies from The Catholic University of America.
Sonya Quitslund
Bainbridge Island, Washington
Seattle University ’58
One priest, Fr. Charles Suver, stands out during my years at Seattle Prep in the late ’30s. Though we were never supposed to run in the corridors, this rule was often ignored. However, we learned quickly not to run around Fr. Suver. I became a believer the first time I saw what could happen. Fr. Suver set down and threw a block into one running student, who went flying. Fr. Suver got up and kept on going to his next class.
Fr. Suver went into the service as a chaplain shortly after the start of World War II. He was the chaplain who said Mass on Mt. Suribachi on Iwo Jima at the time of the famous flag raising.
Br. Charles Johnston, CSC
Mountainview, California
The end of my marriage was devastating to me, nearly to the breaking point. At the time, I was working at Bellarmine Prep in Tacoma, Washington, where Fr. Dan Weber was president. He stopped by my office nearly every day to check on me. One day I told him I did not think I would ever be able to heal. He gently took my hand and rubbed my finger over a long, raised piece of flesh from an old wound on his hand. He told me that my wounded heart would heal, but the scar would always be there. After that, I began to view my life from a different perspective.
Eighteen years have passed. I sometimes still feel the pain of a failed marriage, but I know it is only the scar. Fr. Weber’s wisdom continued to guide me over the years. I’m still at Bellarmine but Fr. Weber has passed away. I was blessed to know him and my life is richer because of his influence.
Judy Torgerson
Bellarmine Prep
Tacoma, Washington
In the ’20s, Fr. Hugh Dalton, a priest of Holy Trinity Church at Georgetown in Washington, D.C., frequently came onto the playground at recess and talked and joked with the elementary school girls. I was a second grader and I guess I was rather sad about all of my freckles. How we began to talk about them, I don’t remember. Anyway, he said something that I’ve never forgotten: “Freckles are grace notes on the keyboard of beauty.”
I lost my freckles as time went by, but I never forgot his comforting phrase. I am 92 years old now and was a student at Holy Trinity until high school graduation in 1932 and a parishioner until 1952. I had many years of Jesuit influence in my life.
Hilda Mohan Rosenbaum
Washington, D.C.
From ’77 to ’78 I served with the Jesuit Volunteer Corps (JVC), working with the poor in Cleveland. Our director, Fr. Dennis Dillon, was also our mentor and friend. His thoughtfulness, compassion, and good humor were a great gift to us as we navigated the challenges of our various forms of service.
I was the lone Protestant in our JVC community. That year I began to consider that God might be calling me to ordained ministry. Fr. Dillon showed me how a priest or minister could enjoy life while being fully devoted to serving God and others.
I will always remember one of his final gifts to me, an act of kindness. Toward the end of my JVC year, my parents were in a car accident. My mother died almost immediately; my critically injured father was taken to a hospital in Flint, Michigan. I didn’t own a car, so Fr. Dillon drove me to the hospital, a trip of several hours.
After pastoring churches for eighteen years, I am now a hospice chaplain. I don’t know where Fr. Dillon is now. He’d be pleased, I trust, to learn of his influential role in the vocational formation of one Protestant minister.
Mike Pennanen
Hammond, Indiana
Most people know him as Brother Sudz, and most of his siblings called him Brother Bill, but to me he was Uncle Bill. Growing up I heard stories of the untiring energy of my uncle the Jesuit as he worked around the Jesuit novitiate in Wernersville, Pennsylvania, and in Osorno, Chile. These stories included accounts of his working at all hours, his talents of being able to fix most anything, and his skills in cooking, especially baking.
I didn’t believe them; I just thought that they were tall tales told by my aunts and uncles. But after high school I had the opportunity to visit him, and then I found out that the stories were true and then some. The more I visited, the more I saw the fruits of his labors and the things that he was able to do. I am amazed at the number of people who know of my uncle and the things that he has accomplished.
Of course, I’ve always loved explaining to people about my uncle the brother.
Sean Petrisko
Duquesne, Pennsylvania
In the early ’70s, as a newly ordained Episcopal priest, I was planning to return to school for a doctorate in theology. My philosophy background was pretty miserable so I contacted Saint Joseph’s University in Philadelphia and was referred to Fr. Hunter Guthrie, then in semi-retirement. The match was a good one. I would review my problem areas in philosophy with him in the faculty residence instead of a classroom. Every meeting with him was worth several weeks of the unproductive classes I had earlier experienced. I have been told frequently that my speaking and preaching comes through with a philosophical bent—before my background is known. My knowledge of philosophy and the ability to use it came solely as the result of my study with this wonderfully gifted Jesuit.
Rev. David Taylor
Flemington, New Jersey
It would be easy and justifiable for anyone of my generation, born before World War I, to say that Fr. Daniel Lord influenced him more than any other Jesuit. I served his Mass while a freshman at St. Louis University High in ’27. I worked with him as a staff member on a Summer School of Catholic Action in Denver in ’48. His influence was great.
Nonetheless I must go with Fr. Raymond Corrigan, my freshman history teacher at Saint Louis University. He was not the best teacher I had, not even in history. His classes were totally unorganized—but highly provocative. The students called him “Razzle Dazzle Ray” after a football formation popular at the time. Fr. Corrigan was at his best in informal discussions, such as the Journal Club that he held every other Friday evening. He rightly had the reputation of being the brightest Jesuit at Saint Louis University until his early death during World War II.
Fr. Corrigan was a small, wiry, athletic man who quarterbacked Creighton’s team in his college days. His education included theology studies in Spain and Holland, graduate studies in Germany and Italy, and tertianship in France. His specialty was the Church in the nineteenth century, but his vision covered all of time and space.
William Barnaby Faherty, SJ
St. Louis
I arrived at Loyola High School in Manhattan’s Upper East Side in the fall of ’76 having been raised various shades of Protestant, so you can well imagine the novelty of stepping into a world of such high and artful ceremony and ritual. The mid seventies was also when the Church began experimenting with face-to-face reconciliation. Inevitably, I came face to face with Fr. Prior one morning. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “I wanted to see what this was all about,” I responded. He patiently explained the ceremony; satisfied, I got up and walked away. I attended all the Catholic rites at Loyola, sometimes participating, sometimes observing. I was made to feel completely at ease with the whole arrangement.
For some reason I have never understood, Fr. Prior took an interest in me. He knew that my parents were divorced and that I was a little unsettled. I don’t recall the details of the first time Fr. Prior asked about my home life and general state of being, but I know that the result was that I wept. I do recall the kind way Fr. Prior had of getting to the heart of the matter. It wasn’t the last time that I would find myself in Fr. Prior’s office being prompted and consoled by this at once stern assistant headmaster and the most gentle man I knew.
I entered the Church at the age of 25, a choice heavily informed by my experiences at Loyola and my relationship with Fr. Prior.
Tom Pynn
Kennesaw, Georgia
In ’81 I was the alumni director at St. Ignatius College Prep in Chicago. During the summer, the lay staff could lunch where the Jesuits did. One day I made a sandwich, grabbed a Coke, and sat down next to a visiting priest.
Enter Fr. Raymond Grant, wheeled in by Robert, his caregiver. Fr. Grant, debilitated by Parkinson’s, bore his infirmity with amazing grace. His eyes still shone with the indomitable spirit and uncompromising view of the world that he had as dean of students to Ignatians in the ’30s, ’40s, and ’50s.
The routine was that Robert would line up Fr. Grant’s meal, his teacup with a bag inside, and a pot of hot water.
After some pleasant lunchtime conversation, Fr. Grant’s trembling hand reached for the hot water. “Allow me, Ray!” said the visiting Jesuit; Fr. Grant nodded thanks.
The water was poured to a decent level, but Fr. Grant instantly said, “All the way, man.” A little surprised, the helper poured water to within a fraction of the rim.
“TO THE TOP!” ordered Fr. Grant.
Completely flustered, the would-be good soul poured the water level with the rim and put the pot down with a thump.
Fr. Grant didn’t look up; he just calmly replied, “Now, THAT’S the top!”
When Fr. Grant went to his reward my father wrote, “With Fr. Grant, there was no gray in life; only black or white, right or wrong. It was how we learned life’s lessons.”
Rob Cummings
Chicago
St. Ignatius College Prep (Chicago) ’72
John Carroll University ’76
My favorite Jesuit was Fr. Edward J. O’Connor, dean of men at the University of Detroit in the ’40s and ’50s. He was a Chicago southsider with a slow drawl and an easygoing manner.
Several of us students gathered in his office one Sunday afternoon. He had envelopes stuffed with raffle tickets for the Spring Carnival. He wanted to mail them but not near the university; mailing raffle tickets was illegal. We found a mailbox on Woodward Avenue, and he got out of the car and ambled toward it. Someone noticed a cop approaching and called out to him to hurry. He was not to be rushed. He got back in the car and said, “That copper can’t touch me—this is a federal offense.”
Jim Collins
Farmington Hills, Michigan
University of Detroit BS ’51, MBA ’55
In ’47, when Fr. William Kelley was working on a doctorate at the University of Minnesota, he was also serving as assistant pastor at Visitation Parish in Minneapolis. Parishioners Jack and Margaret Manning became close friends with Fr. Kelley; he officiated at the wedding of their daughter, Julie Ann, and me.
In ’52, when I was finishing my doctorate in biology, Fr. Kelley, arts and sciences dean at Creighton University in Omaha at the time, invited me to visit Creighton. He hired me and later appointed me biology department chair.
In 1997 Fr. Kelley officiated at our 50th wedding anniversary Mass.
When Fr. Kelley became ill with cancer, Julie and I visited him in the hospital. Julie bent down, kissed him, and asked, “Is there anything we can do at this time?“ Fr. Kelley rose up in the bed, opened his eyes wide, thrust his arm forward, and commanded, “CONTINUE!“ He died the following day.
May he rest in peace.
Allen Schlesinger
Omaha
Returning to the United States in 1947 aboard ship, he landed in New Orleans, went to an auto agency, bought a used Ford, and asked the salesman to teach him how to drive it. The salesman, shocked beyond belief, took him out. Uncle Edward thanked him, got into the driver’s seat, and drove from New Orleans to Springfield, Illinois.
In December of 1947, he married Jacquie and me. He visited us in the summer of 1948 in Peoria, Illinois, and asked how my studies were going at Bradley. I was having trouble with integral calculus. He looked at the problem and proceeded to write out the steps even though he had not seen a calculus textbook in more than 22 years.
He returned to India and stayed until 1951, when he was assigned to do promotional work for the Patna Mission in Cleveland until his death in 1968.
Uncle Edward was thoughtful, slow to speak, but well worth listening to; he was humorous, kind to everyone, tolerant to a point nearing sainthood, and interesting beyond anything one could even imagine. I loved him—and he was my friend.
James Cadagin
Pekin, Illinois
Having spent four years as an undergraduate and then 30 years working at John Carroll University, I came to count many memorable Jesuits among my friends and colleagues. One of the most memorable was Fr. Charles Castellano, “Casty.”
Casty tried to teach me Classical Greek for four semesters, and that was an experience. To say Casty was animated would be a gross understatement. He believed that the only way to teach a dead language was by providing a lively class, every day.
He whirled around the classroom, his cassock flying, running us through grammar drills, laughing, urging, cajoling, begging us to exercise our brains. When we mishandled a translation, tears would well up in his eyes. Teaching was Casty’s stage, and he was an Oscar winner.
I came to know him even better as a counselor. His specialty was helping young men and women patch up their differences during those rocky dating years. With wise counsel, he steered many couples through uncharted waters to the altar of matrimony. My wife and I were among his many successes.
When I worked at John Carroll, I visited Casty regularly for a dose of his wisdom. My wife and I sometimes brought our young kids to the Jesuit residence, and he was always as delighted as a grandfather to see them. Casty was one of a kind. We’ll never forget him.
Paul Kantz
Melbourne, Florida
John Carroll University ’63
In April ’53, I was at Camp San Luis Obispo, having just been drafted. I joined the chapel choir at camp out of boredom and met Johnny Foster. He could read music and play the piano. He was always telling me to “get on key.” I figured that was his way of being a buddy.
One weekend Johnny (left) and I climbed to the top of Serra Ramouldo, outside camp. We were told not to do that again as it was off limits, infested with rattlers.
After basic and signal school I went to Fort Benning, Georgia, and he went to Adak, Alaska. We kept in touch by mail. After I had finished my tour of duty, Foster visited his aunt in San Diego and made a stop to visit me in Long Beach. Of course I invited my buddies Bill, Dean, and some others over for eats, drinks, music—typical young men’s stuff. Foster, talking about the good old days, mentioned he had photos of Alaska in his car. Dean offered to get them; Foster gave him the keys. In a few minutes, Dean was standing in the doorway, white as a ghost. Something was wrong. Dean looked at us, pointed to Foster, and said, “He’s a PRIEST! His collar’s on the DASHBOARD!”
Silence, dead silence, and then laughter. It was a good ending to a wonderful afternoon of reminiscing. Johnny Foster was now a Jesuit. My army bud, my friend. And we still keep in touch via internet now.
Jose Flores
Long Beach, California
Our family was fortunate to be part of the northernmost U.S. parish (St. Patrick’s in Barrow, Alaska) and members of the flock of Fr. Frank Mueller. During most of our 22 years there, Fr. Mueller was based at the cathedral in Fairbanks but served St. Patrick’s with weekly or biweekly flights to Barrow for Sunday Mass and other duties. He seemed almost immune to the cold during walks around Barrow while visiting members of his flock.
I used to kid Fr. Mueller that when he left on the plane, the devil would celebrate by running up and down the streets. Fr. Mueller was a saintly man who always had time for people dealing with life in the Alaskan bush. My work involved some of the coastal people just across the Bering Strait. When one of my Russian friends would visit Barrow, he would seek out Fr. Mueller for religious instruction and eventual baptism. During his years in Barrow, Fr. Mueller also oversaw replacing the old Quonset hut church with a new and handsome structure.
Thomas F. Albert, VMD, PhD
Chambersburg, Pennsylvania
During my freshman year in 1957 at Boston College, Fr. William Leonard and I were talking after theology class. He asked why I was majoring in history. Did I plan to teach? Did I like to write? I told him that history appealed to me more than other possible majors, that I didn’t plan to teach, and that I wrote when necessary. He suggested I discuss my future with my advisor, which I did. I took a preference test with results showing a high interest in zoology. As a boy all animals interested me, but I saw no career path at BC, where zoology was primarily intended for pre-med students. It was suggested I look at majors at other schools. I left to study zoology and graduated from Cal Poly, leading to a 38-year career at the Bronx Zoo.
I lost contact with Fr. Leonard after leaving Boston College. When I read that he had died, I was disappointed that I had never thanked him for having an interest in me. He was an excellent teacher who brought Christ into our lives in a meaningful way, and he cared about his students.
Jim Doherty
Orlando, Florida
In ’58 I went to St. Xavier High in Cincinnati to register for junior year. Students had the choice of three “programs” for the last two years. I chose the Scientific course with French, having little interest in any more Latin and none in Greek. To my surprise, my name was not listed in a Scientific/French room but was in a Classical course room. Worse, my room would start an hour early so we could take Latin and Greek and also pilot the first AP chemistry and calculus courses!
I cautiously approached the principal, Fr. William Fay, to inform him of the mistake. He replied something like, “Well, Mr. DuBrul, I’m sure you can take anything you want if you go to (the neighborhood diocesan school), but if you choose to remain at St. Xavier, you’ll take what you are registered for.”
In 1960 I went to Xavier University on a scholarship and got hooked on biology. I received a PhD in the field from Washington University. As I move into the twilight of a satisfying career as a scientist, scholar, and professor, I often wonder where I would have been had Fr. Fay and the other Jesuits in my education not cared enough to say, “We know you and your potential better than you do. We will not let you take the easy way and simply do what you want.”
Ernest F. DuBrul, PhD
Department of Biological Sciences
University of Toledo
In September ’56 I began my high school education at Brooklyn Prep in the shadow of Ebbets Field. There were no nuns to coddle me any more. I was on my own and felt very small and lonely.
When I found my way to my home room with twenty or so other frightened freshmen, I was greeted by Jesuit regent Mr. Bob Groenewold, who was going to teach us religion, Latin and English. That day began a relationship that lasted until just two years
My father, a fireman, got to know and love Mr. Groenewold. After report cards went out, parents could come to Prep to meet the teachers. My father couldn’t wait to get there—not to hear how I was doing but to meet my teachers and have a “few” b
I went to Fr. Bob’s first Mass and, with my wife, Monica, to his 25th anniversary Mass. He was there when my father was waked on Easter Sunday in ’88. “I have to be here for my Eddie,” he said. I walked Bob out to his car and kissed him goodbye. That’s the last time I saw him. But he is always in my heart.
Ed McCabe
Ridgewood, New Jersey
On May 24, 1949, when Fr. Henry Schultheis was pastor at St. Ignatius in Portland, Oregon, my mother had a fatal stroke. My youngest brother, Jack, who was at home with her, called the rectory, a block and a half away. When my brother Joe and I arrived, mother had died. It was so consoling to have Fr. Schultheis with us.
My brothers were all in college at the time, and I was finding it hard to come home from work to a darkened, empty house. One afternoon I got off the bus, came around the corner, and saw Fr. Schultheis; he had brought the rectory’s push lawn mower the block and a half over to our place and was mowing the front lawn.
I was dumbfounded, delighted, grateful, and a bit embarrassed. We loved this man, whom someone had dubbed “Happy Hank” Schultheis. His homilies were beautiful and he was a real pastor. God bless his big generous heart.
Eileen Moore Sorensen
Aloha, Oregon
The one Jesuit who probably had the greatest impact on my life was Fr. Joseph Peters, chairman of the biology department at Xavier University. After graduating from St. Xavier High in Cincinnati, I enlisted in the navy. Two years of worthless pursuits followed my discharge; I had no goal or direction. But then I enrolled in pre-med studies at Xavier University. That’s when my relationship with Fr. Peters began. I soon realized how fortunate I was to have such a dedicated and stimulating teacher.
About the time that we were beginning to apply for entrance to medical school, I received a telegram advising me to report in ten days for the Korean War. This was terribly devastating as I was finally headed in the right direction. My bad news soon reached Fr. Peters’s ears; the very next day he called and said, “You don’t have to return to the war. I made a phone call and you’re now in medical school.”
With all of the support it was a must that I continue on with the educational course that had been mapped out for me. I graduated from Loyola University Chicago’s medical school in 1955.
Charles Don Hafner, MD
Marco Island, Florida
I am sending this “Good Memories” piece for my father, age 91, who had been a Jesuit seminarian at Grand Coteau, Louisiana, in the early 1930s. His mentor and friend was Fr. Joseph Carbajal, on the left in this photo, taken in the summer of 1959 at Grand Coteau. My father, Arthur Jimenez, is on the right, while my sister Catherine (age 10) is on the left and I (age 9) stand in the middle.
“My favorite Jesuit is Joseph Carbajal,” says my father, “once of Guadalupe Church in San Antonio, Texas, because he was a very humble, sincere, and holy priest. My family and I visited him in 1960 at Grand Coteau. Fr. Carbajal died soon after, but from his vantage place in Heaven he has interceded for me and my wife, obtaining numerous answers to serious requests.”
Mary Clare Wickins for
Arthur Jimenez
Westminster, Colorado
I was a freshman at St. Joseph’s Prep in Philadelphia in ’53. It was the custom to go to Mass and Communion Friday morning before class and confession on Thursday during an extended lunch period. The trick was to have a fast lunch and a faster confession so you could get to the schoolyard for basketball or football games.
I remember entering the Church of the Gesu and not believing the lines at each confessional except for Fr. Bill Lynch’s. He had a well-deserved reputation as a strict disciplinarian so he had very few waiting. My decision to go with the short line began my lifelong relationship with him that endures to this day. He became my confessor and also taught me Latin, Greek, English, and religion with a little Russian thrown in. He was the best prepared instructor of any college or graduate course I ever took.
He visited our house most Tuesdays; he and my dad liked to watch Uncle Miltie on TV. He officiated at our weddings, baptisms, and funerals. Even to this day my wife and I look forward to his kind words and guidance during tough times. I can only wish him ad multos annos and pray I have the right declension or else I know I will hear from him.
Dick Wickersham
Downington, Pennsylvania
St. Joseph’s Prep ’57
Part I of this feature is contained in the Spring 2007 issue of Company Magazine