|
April 2003
We have a limited number of back issues available in print. To
request back issues, e-mail jjob@dioceseoflansing.org
or call 517-342-2595. You will be charged the regular cover price
of $2.50 per issue.
crippled not once but twice –
Keith is still standing strong
By Fr. Charles Irvin | Photography by James Luning
 The
most perfect example we have of what it means to be meek is the
example we see in Jesus, the Son of God, standing in silence before
the craven Roman magistrate Pontius Pilate. Judas Iscariot,
one of Jesus’ chosen Twelve Apostles, had betrayed Him. And
yet Jesus was clearly more powerful than all of the forces of evil
arrayed against Him, even the worst that Satan could throw at Him.
It was in His meekness that He faced them all down.
He stood before the worst in silence, not lifting so much as a finger.
There was no anger or fury in His soul. His fists were not clenched.
He didn’t call down damnation and destruction upon them. He
was totally and completely meek; He was totally and completely in
charge. He stood there in unimaginable power – meek and mild.
Only the strongest can do that
I’ve never liked the idea of being meek –
too wimpy, too weak, in my way of thinking.Who would ever want to
be admired for being meek? Well, I’ve changed my mind now that
I’ve met Keith.
Keith Mixer has every reason to rage against life. He knows life
is unfair – in fact he knows it too well. Life has dealt him
some terrible blows. And still he is meek. I wish I could be like
him.
Life has its crossroads ... and life has its crosses. We
often intersect with life’s unfairness and get nailed. Keith
has. He has been paralyzed not once, but twice!
Keith Edward Mixer was born in Southfield, Mich., on March 29, 1968,
to William and Judy Ann Mixer. He has an older brother, Kevin, and
a younger sister, Anne Marie. He went to Groves High School in Birmingham
and lived a very typical life in a very typical American family.
When he was 12 and in the seventh grade, he had an adverse reaction
to a polio vaccine that resulted in paralysis from the neck down.
He nearly died. A very painful emergency tracheotomy and an alert
hospital orderly saved him. He went through the eighth grade in
a wheelchair and on crutches. Keith began to use a cane in the ninth
grade – and was still aided by it as he finished high school.
Along the way he had surgery to release the constricted tendons
in his leg muscles. That forced him to live in a body cast from
his waist down for many months.
 During
high school he lived a good, clean life: free of drugs and alcohol;
free of being defiant or rebellious. He and his family regularly
attended Mass although they weren’t particularly involved in
the life of their parish. Keith followed all of the rules, did what
was expected of him, and was a good son and brother.
Keith graduated from high school in 1986 with a 3.4 GPA and then
enrolled at the University of Michigan Dearborn. In 1987, he transferred
to UM-Ann Arbor and lived with a roommate he knew from junior high
school.
Pope John Paul II came to visit Detroit Sept. 18 and 19, 1987.
Keith will never forget Saturday, September 19, 1987 – the
date on which life in all of its cruel unfairness nailed him to
his cross. That morning Keith and his brother, Kevin, were out
shopping. While driving through an intersection, a speeding van
broadsided their car. Keith, wearing his seatbelt, was riding in
the passenger seat. It was the passenger side of their car that
took the brunt of the impact. In an instant, Keith’s world
turned black.
The next thing Keith remembers is the “beep, beep, beep”
of life support equipment in the pediatric intensive care unit (PICU).
He had initially been taken to the emergency room of St. Joseph
Hospital, Pontiac, the same facility reserved for the pope in case
it was needed that Saturday. The ER was fully staffed with doctors
and support persons solely to take care of the pope. They had nothing
else to do now but care for a very battered Keith.
“After surgery in the emergency room, while I was still unconscious,
I was placed in the PICU because the adult intensive care unit was
reserved for the pope,” Keith recalls. “The following
Monday, when the hospital offered to move me, my parents resisted
because by then they had become acclimated to the staff. During
those two long weeks, I was unable to talk and communicated by squeezing
someone’s hand in response to questions.”
 Immediately
after his treatment began in the PICU, two strong-willed women intervened
in a very important way. This was very significant for Keith.
One was an intensive care physician, the other, a physical therapist
who was currently working with infants. Both absolutely insisted
that doctors place Keith in the rehabilitation ward immediately
after he was medically stabilized. This was significant in that
it allowed Keith to recover movements in his body that he might
not otherwise have regained. He is, to this day, very grateful to
them for their alert and forceful actions.
On another front, Keith’s parents had the nuns at the Sacred
Heart Monastery in Detroit praying for him during his recovery.
Given the nature of his head injury, the skills of the medical professionals
and the prayers of the religious sisters had a profoundly positive
effect.
Keith soon began to realize that he had a significant injury –
only his left arm was not affected. His right arm and both legs
had been significantly impaired and will remain so, unless God works
a miracle in Keith.
Years of physical therapy followed both the polio
vaccination incident and the September crash. Keith can now bathe
and dress himself, drive a van and live by himself. He only needs
a bit of help from others when it comes to house cleaning. He is
grateful to others for offering rides and very much likes to get
out of his apartment and enjoy the world.
Yet, Keith’s life has been anything but paralyzed. His
gentle, loving soul has flourished. In spite of all of his sufferings
and troubles he is sensitive to the moods and feelings of those
around him and shows remarkable concern for them. His sense of humor
buoys everyone, including himself. It’s all because he is a
powerful human being ... his soul is filled with the power of God.
His body, like Christ’s battered body, is a temple of the Holy
Spirit.
When we face life’s crossroads we are confronted with choosing
the road less traveled ... the harder one. Could Keith have
taken to drugs and alcohol? Certainly! Could he have played on the
sympathies of doctors and collected prescriptions for drugs? Certainly,
as many others have. But Keith didn’t. Even though his days
are filled with a sense of loss and his nights with foreboding over
his future, Keith has not turned to alcohol or drugs.
 “I
put a little more thought into why I don’t take antidepressants
or drink. Those only create an illusion of things being OK and
keep me from dealing with the precipitating cause of my distress.
When the effect of whatever I took wears off, the problem is still
there.”
Meekness is not passive resignation; it is acceptance of life as
it comes to us, acceptance as a beginning point, not as an ending.
The meek do not lash out at God or others. They take life and others
as they come to them and then begin working from there, just as
Jesus did. It would be good for us to meditate frequently on Christ
standing before Pontius Pilate. Standing there, He was anything
but passive, resigned and defeated. I think of Keith in that picture.
Academic achievements have resulted from Keith’s determination.
He has attended Schoolcraft Community College, Eastern Michigan
University, Cooley Law School, and the University of Michigan’s
School of Urban Planning. He has a bachelor’s degree in social
work from Eastern Michigan and a master’s in urban planning
from the University of Michigan.
When he received his master’s degree Keith realized “that
something incredible had happened to me. I was one of the fortunate
people who had suffered a head injury and was then able to go on
and earn a master’s degree. I started going back to Church
again.”
Determining a career is hard enough for anyone. Finding a job has
been, as one might imagine, tougher yet for Keith. “My doctor,”
Keith explains, “suggested the Urban Planning School because
all the changes that the ADA (Americans with Disabilities Act) was
mandating would call for planners with these sensitivities. I specialized
in transportation, specifically transit. I even wrote my final project
on getting more persons with disabilities to use the fixed-route
buses in lieu of the little buses because of the skyrocketing costs.”
It’s hard for me to fathom how Keith Edward Mixer has come
through two such terrible adversities and emerged with a soul that
is so faith-full, a heart that is so kind, considerate and sensitive
toward others, so solicitous, so gentle. He remarked to me once,
“As bad as things have been for me, when I saw what happened
on 9/ll in New York City, I began to see my own life differently.
Considering the fact that I’ve been knocked down twice in my
life and I’m still here, I believe God must have something
in mind for me.”
Yes, Keith, I’m sure He does. I know that He brought this old
Ann Arbor priest to meet you and find in you something I hope He
will one day give me. “Blessed are the meek ... ” Jesus
declared. Perhaps one day, if I am lucky enough to be like Keith,
I will find what power and beauty there is in being meek ... and
come to experience the blessedness and happiness it brings.
ministry focus
Do you or someone you know have an alcohol
or drug problem?
A helping hand and a listening ear is available. Contact Bob
LaPrad, Bishop’s Council on Alcohol and Other Drugs (877)
342-2513.
ministry focus
Ministry with Persons with disAbilities
For information on outreach, resources, advocacy and educational
opportunities: call Joann Davis at (517) 342-2500.
Pattie says she learns something new from almost
every group of people. And, according to Lois Patterson, Pattie
is also not afraid to say "I don"t know" and promises
to find the answer for next time.
Pattie's 'pure gift'
By Patricia Majher | Photography by Christine Jones
 It’s
an hour before the Tuesday night RCIA (Rite of Christian Initiation
of Adults) session begins at St. Francis of Assisi Parish in Ann
Arbor, and Pattie Scherer is already there: setting up tables and
chairs, arranging cookies on a plate, making coffee, laying out
the handouts for the night.
Just before the candidates and catechumens arrive, she takes a
deep breath, says a quick prayer for guidance and grace, and lights
three tapered candles. But it’s her smile – wide
and welcoming – that really illuminates the room, as people
trickle in from the church’s parking lot.
As fresh in her approach as a first-year teacher, Pattie is (amazingly)
in her 18th year of presenting St. Francis’ RCIA program.
She also serves as the diocese’s RCIA coordinator for Washtenaw
County, encompassing 14 parishes. And she is St. Francis’ director
of worship.
That’s an awful lot of responsibility to rest on one set of
shoulders. In a very real sense, Pattie’s work impacts every
parishioner at her church and anyone who wants to join that church.
When asked how she does it all, she offers this self-effacing observation:
“When you love what you do, you don’t mind taking on more.”
Pattie Scherer has always been an active member of the community
of Catholics. After high school, she attended Marquette University,
majoring in history and education with a healthy dose of theology.
A short teaching career in Milwaukee followed that.
Then, in 1970, she moved with her husband, Richard, to Ann Arbor
so he could take a job there.
 Once
settled in the city, the young couple joined St. Francis, where
Pattie immersed herself in the volunteer activities of the parish.
Early on, that meant the altar society and religious education;
later, she gravitated toward the worship ministry. Then, as the
first of her four children prepared to enter college, she approached
Fr. Charlie Irvin, who was serving as pastor, with the news that
she had to find a paying job to help her husband pay for tuition.
“Fr. Charlie created the director of worship position for me,
and that enabled me to stay on,” she explains. In 1985, she
joyfully accepted responsibility for the RCIA program as well: “I
thought, finally, I can use all of my education!”
“Pattie is just the kind of person you want to see in the
ministerial life,” confirms her current pastor, Fr. Jim McDougall.
“She’s very caring and has a great sense of the mission
of the Church: to bring people to the grace of Christ.” And,
he adds, she does that on a one-to-one basis. “Some people
feel overwhelmed in a big parish like ours. Pattie has a way of
connecting with our parishioners as individuals and really getting
to know their stories.”
Donna Rose knows what Fr. Jim is talking about. She met Pattie on
a casual basis at a church picnic, then decided to talk to her about
the idea of converting to the Catholic faith. “Pattie answered
all my questions and really put me at ease,” explains Donna.
“Then she asked me if I was serious about joining or just exploring.
I told her, ‘Unless there’s something really weird about
Catholicism, I want to belong.’ And she said, ‘Donna,
if there was something weird about it, I wouldn’t belong.’”Donna,
who is visually impaired, also had concerns about her ability to
fully participate in the RCIA program. But Pattie put those fears
to rest. First, she secured a Bible on audiotape for Donna, as well
as audio copies of FAITH Magazine. Then Pattie took the time to
put masking tape over all the graphics on her handouts, so that
Donna’s scanning software – which converts printed material
into the spoken word – would function properly.
 Pattie
also adjusted the way she taught Donna’s class, involving more
of the senses in her lessons. For example, during a tour of
the church and its contents, Pattie held up each object used in
the sanctuary, then passed them around to let the group fully experience
them. When the Book of Gospels was handed to her, Donna called the
ornate, raised surface of the cover “amazing” and marveled
at its heft and temperature (made of gold and silver, it was cool
to the touch). Another person commented on the granular quality
of the incense. And everyone was surprised to find a hint of balsam
in the chrism.
 “I
think the whole group benefited from Donna’s presence among
them,” Pattie commented. “I know I did.” Pattie
says she learns something new from almost every class she teaches.
And, according to Lois Patterson, her RCIA teacher is also not afraid
to say “I don’t know” when faced with a question
that stumps her: “She promises to find the answer by the next
week, and she always does.”
Lois and Donna are among the 60 to 75 people who enthusiastically
enroll in St. Francis’ RCIA – offered days and evenings
– every year. And, while it would be easy for Pattie to
take credit for this success, she demurs at the suggestion and points
instead to her team of facilitators, “any of whom could take
over for me at a moment’s notice.”
One of those facilitators is Finlay Beaton, who first met Pattie
through his volunteer efforts with the church’s ushering corps.
“One day, she spotted me at the back of the church and asked
me if I’d sponsor a gentleman in her RCIA class. I remember
thinking, ‘I’m not qualified for that,’ but she has
a way about her. You just can’t say no,” he said with
a smile.
Finlay joined the RCIA group in progress to refresh his memory
about the Church’s teachings. Then, the next year, he got talked
into attending a “Beginnings and Beyond” course for RCIA
facilitators. “The course was a week-long, out-of-town
commitment, right in the middle of my busy time at work. At first,
I told Pattie, ‘There’s no way I can go.’ But that
sweet smile and unassuming manner eventually convinced me to say
yes.”
Finlay attended the course as scheduled and, upon his return, formally
joined the RCIA facilitators at St. Francis; he’s also sponsored
someone every year since. In explaining his dedication to the program
and to Pattie, Finlay says simply, “She has a way of bringing
out the best in people. She sees the spark, the potential in everyone.”
After Easter Vigil, when newly-initiated have been welcomed into
the Church, it would seem that Pattie’s work with them is done.
But, in reality, it’s only beginning. “One of the most
rewarding parts of my other job (as director of worship),”
she explains, “is watching people continue to grow in their
faith even after they’ve moved on.”
Pattie is witness to that growth when the newly-initiated choose
to participate in the daily life of the parish as lectors, ushers,
even Eucharistic ministers: “When I see Christ working in their
lives like that, I call that ‘pure gift.’”
“Pure gift” may be the best way to describe God’s
special servant, Pattie Scherer, as well.
ministry focus
Do you have a talent for making people feel
welcome?
Contact your parish to find out how you can welcome Catholics
into the Church. Or for more on lay ministry contact Mary Tardif
at mtardi@dioceseoflansing.org
or call (517) 342-2512.
By meeting and working with humble priests and nuns, including
Mother Teresa, Fr. Timothy MacDonald met
the challenges of growing up and became a priest by learning from
the best mentors near and far.
meeting Mother Teresa
By Carolyn Smith | Photography by Christine Jones
 Fr.
Tim MacDonald, pastor of Most Holy Trinity Parish in Fowler, clearly
recalls the summer of 1997. He was a second-year seminarian
at the Pontifical North American College in Rome. He had gone to
Calcutta to witness the work of Mother Teresa’s Missionaries
of Charity. Though the water supply made him ill with hepatitis
for two of his six weeks there, he remains eternally grateful for
the experience.
Fr. Tim remembers: “Mother Teresa’s was the first home
for the dying, right next to a huge Indian temple. We saw the
Book of Registration, which Mother had kept since 1947. In her own
handwriting she recorded where each person was found, the condition
and the date of death of each person. Mother and her sisters gave
such dignity to poor people. While others chose to look away and
judge them as inconsequential, the sisters saw them as Christ, disguised
as the poor and suffering.”
 Because
Mother Teresa was in Rome at the time he arrived, Fr. Tim saw her
for only a week – merely five weeks before her death. He
served Mass and shared holy Communion and Holy Hour with her. He
spoke with her in the sacristy. “She made a definite effort
to find Christ in all people. As Americans, we can be quick to judge
and feel superior. She instilled in us a respect for all of God’s
creatures and that Christ encourages us to find Him in all people,”
reflects Fr. Tim.
 Back
in Rome and around Christmas, Fr. Tim contracted pneumonia resulting
from the hepatitis. He was hospitalized for two weeks and recovered,
thanks to good care from nuns. A product of Flint Community Schools
and religious education from St. Michael Parish in downtown Flint,
Fr. Tim, 28, is the youngest of six children, five boys and a girl.
He was ordained with his brother, Adam, 32, on June 10, 2000, along
with two other men. “My brother and I credit Fr. Matthew Fedewa,
pastor at St. Michael’s from 1975 to 1990, for his spiritual
guidance. He truly had a ‘shepherd’s heart’ and was
personally involved in our lives and the lives of our family. That
kind of spirit is contagious,” he says.
Also influential in Fr. Tim’s decision to become a priest
was Fr. John Klein, associate pastor at St. Michael at the time.
“What’s interesting is that Fr. John became the first
pastor I was assigned to as a priest at St. Gerard in Lansing. A
little later, Fr. Matt (Fedewa) moved to St. Gerard. So I had the
priest who gave me my first Communion and the priest who heard my
first confession working right along with me. I had my heroes right
there!”
 Fr.
Tim knew he would become a priest by the age of 17. But unlike most
other boys his age, he was struggling with a weight problem.
He weighed 300 pounds when he graduated from high school. By the
time he was a junior in college, he decided that fighting for breath
after walking up stairs and looking poor physically just weren’t
worth it. So diet, exercise, and prayer helped him drop 75 pounds
in four months. “It was my will in cooperation with God’s
grace,” he recalls.
After high school, Fr. Tim attended a program at St. John Vianney
Seminary at the University of St. Thomas, in St. Paul, Minn.
Before entering the Pontifical College in Rome, he attended intensive
Italian classes in New York for six weeks. That helped him understand
his professors, who taught only in Italian.
Like other folks, Fr. Tim has faced his share of challenges.
But spiritually he seems to have drawn strength from his predecessor,
Fr. Ray Rademacher, who died of blood diseases and diabetes at the
age of 67. In tribute, Fr. Tim says, “Fr. Ray gave excellent
witness to the sick people of Most Holy Trinity Parish. Often, he
would go out on sick calls when he was sicker than the people he
was visiting.
“Fr. Ray was a very spiritual man – a plain talker
and a deep thinker. Through his integrity, honesty and perseverance,
he gave witness to the faith. Though I’m much younger and have
far less experience, I feel inspired by that example.” Coincidentally,
Fr. Tim’s first day on the job took place Sept. 9, 2002, on
what would have been Fr. Rademacher’s birthday.
 on
the fast track to sainthood:
Mother Teresa will be Beatified Oct. 19,
2003
After studies by more than a dozen Indian and Vatican-appointed
physicians, Pope John Paul II formally recognized the miracle needed
for the beatification of Mother Teresa of Calcutta Dec. 20, 2002.
The beatification ceremony will take place at the Vatican Oct.
19, Mission Sunday, “the closest Sunday to the 25th anniversary
of the Holy Father’s pontificate and the end of the Year of
the Rosary.”
The process leading up to Mother Teresa’s beatification
was the shortest in modern history. In fact, the usual formal
first step in the process, a “decree of heroic virtues,”
which recognizes a person lived the Christian virtues in a heroic
way, was issued only minutes before the decree recognizing the miracle.
The sari-clad nun, known for her care of the sick and dying,
died in September 1997. In early 1999, Pope John Paul waived
the normal five-year waiting period and allowed the immediate opening
of her canonization cause.
The promoter of Mother Teresa’s canonization cause, Missionaries
of Charity Father Brian Kolodiejchuk, posted detailed information
about the medical condition of Monika Besra and about her cure on
the cause’s Web site in early January. For more log onto: motherteresacause.info
– Cindy Wooden (CNS)
Hot Cross Buns and Easter Egg Bread –
Easter Favorites
By Patricia Majher | Photography by Philip Shippert
 Hot
cross buns! Hot cross buns!
One a penny,
Two a penny,
Hot cross buns!
If you have no daughters,
Pray give them to your sons!
One a penny,
Two a penny,
Hot cross buns!
Remember this nursery rhyme? Taught to countless generations of
school children in America and abroad, it celebrates one of the
most anticipated foods of the Lenten season.
Hot cross buns, a traditional Good Friday favorite in England, are
thought to have originated there in pre Christian times. Sacred
cakes called “bouns” were baked in preparation for the
festival honoring “Eostre,” the goddess of spring. (Can
you guess how the words “bun” and “Easter” evolved?)
And the cross cut into the buns’ tops represented the moon
– the heavenly body associated with the goddess – and
its four quarters.
It’s said that the first Christian missionaries tried to stop
the people from consuming the buns because they were associated
with pagan rituals. Failing at that, the missionaries gave the sweet
treats a Christian meaning by blessing them and likening the markings
to the cross of Christ.
Over the centuries, many superstitions sprang up around the buns.
Some said a hot cross bun kept from one Good Friday to the next
would bring good luck or protect a person against being shipwrecked.
Or that hanging a bun over the chimneypiece ensured that all bread
baked there would be perfect.
To bake a perfect pan of hot cross buns all you need is the recipe
below. (By the way, the word “hot” refers to the temperature
of the buns, not the spiciness!) Following the hot cross buns, you
will find another popular Easter treat – braided bread baked
around five colored eggs. This delicacy is made even more mouthwatering
by the addition of candied fruit, almonds and anise seed.
Hot Cross Bun
Yield: 2 1/2 dozen
 2
packages active dry yeast
1/4 oz. each)
1 1/2 cups warm skim milk
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 cup softened butter or
margarine
1 Tsp vanilla
1 Tsp salt
1/2 Tsp ground nutmeg6 1/2 to 7
cups all-purpose flour
4 eggs
1 cup dried currants (the
traditional English choice)
or raisins
Glaze:
2 Tblsp water
1 egg yolk
Icing:
1 cup confectioner’s sugar
4 Tsp milk or cream
Dash of salt
1/4 Tsp vanilla
Heat the skim milk to 110-115°. In a large mixing bowl, dissolve
the yeast in the warm milk. Add the sugar, butter or margarine,
vanilla, salt, nutmeg, and 3 cups of the flour. Beat until smooth.
Add the eggs, one at a time, beating the mixture well after each
addition. Stir in the dried fruit and enough flour to make a soft
dough.
Turn out onto a floured surface and knead until smooth and elastic,
about 6 to 8 minutes. Place in a greased bowl and turn over to grease
the top. Cover with a damp towel or plastic wrap and let rise in
a warm place until doubled in size (about 1 hour).
Punch the dough down and shape into 30 balls. Place on lightly greased
baking sheets. Cover and let rise until doubled (about 30 minutes).
Using a sharp knife, cut a cross on the top of each roll. Beat the
water and egg yolk together and brush over rolls. (You’ll probably
have more than you need; you may discard the unused glaze.) Bake
at 375° for 12 to 15 minutes.
While the buns are baking, make the icing by combining its four
ingredients. Stir until smooth, adjusting the sugar and milk to
make a mixture that flows easily.
When the rolls are done, remove from the oven and cool on wire racks.
Drizzle icing over the top of each roll following the lines of the
cut cross. Serve while the rolls are still warm.
Easter Egg Bread
Yield: 1 ring
 3
to 3 1/2 cups all-purpose
flour
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1 package active dry yeast
1 Tsp salt
2/3 cup warm milk
2 Tblsp softened butter or
margarine2 eggs
(plus 5 eggs for garnish)
1/2 cup chopped candied fruit
1/4 cup chopped blanched
almonds
1/2 Tsp anise seed
In a large mixing bowl, combine 1 cup of flour, sugar, yeast, and
salt. Add the milk (warmed to 110-115°) and butter or margarine
and beat with an electric mixer on medium for 2 minutes. Add the
eggs and a 1/2 cup of flour and beat on high for another 2 minutes.
Stir in the fruit, nuts and anise seed, mixing well. Stir in enough
remaining flour to form a soft dough. Turn out onto a lightly floured
surface and knead until smooth and elastic (about 6 to 8 minutes).
Place in a greased bowl, turning once to grease the top. Cover with
a damp cloth or plastic wrap and let rise in a warm place until
doubled in size (about 1 hour).
About 30 minutes before the dough has finished rising, color the
5 eggs (leave them uncooked!) with nontoxic dyes. When dry, lightly
rub them with vegetable oil.
Punch down the risen dough. Divide in half. Roll each half into
a 24-inch rope. On a greased baking sheet, loosely twist the two
ropes together. Form into a ring and pinch the ends together. Gently
split the ropes and tuck the 5 colored, uncooked eggs into the openings.
Cover and let rise again until doubled (about 30 minutes). Bake
in a 350° oven for 30 to 35 minutes or until golden brown. Remove
from the baking sheet and cool on a wire rack before serving.
Fr. Conway was bobbing among the burning oil, debris,
chaos and voices of the 900 survivors. For three nights, he
swam to the aid of his shipmates, reassuring the increasingly dehydrated
and delirious men with prayers until he himself expired, the last
Catholic chaplin to die in WWII
 follow
up story:
the priest aboard the doomed
USS Indianapolis
By William Milhomme | Photography courtesy of the Diocese of Buffalo
and the U.S. Navy Archives
Lt. (Rev.) Thomas M. Conway, a 37-year-old
Navy Chaplain from Buffalo, New York, was sleeping soundly on July
31, 1945, on board the USS Indianapolis, a heavy cruiser. At
12:14 a.m. the first torpedo from the Japanese submarine, I-58,
blew away the bow of the ship. An instant later the second struck
near midship on the starboard side, the resulting explosion split
the ship to the keel, knocking out all electric power. Within 12
minutes the unescorted cruiser slipped beneath the surface of the
Philippine Sea, midway between Guam and Leyte Gulf.
Of 1,196 men on board, approximately 900 men made it into the
water. Few life rafts were released; the majority of the survivors
wore the standard kapok life jacket and life belts. The ship was
never missed, and by the time the survivors were spotted by accident
four days later, only 316 men were still alive.
Over the past 51 years there have been many books and articles
published about the greatest naval disaster after Pearl Harbor.
Among the survivors several men were awarded commendations for their
heroic actions. Among those lost at sea, a few tales of heroism
remain to be told.
 For
three nights Fr. Conway, a Catholic priest, swam to the aid of his
shipmates, reassuring the increasingly dehydrated and delirious
men with prayers until he himself expired, the last Catholic chaplain
to die in WWII. Like many stories of heroism, Fr. Conway was
commemorated in simple ways among his friends and shipmates. As
time moves on, and generations pass away, many stories of history
are lost, and sometimes they are rediscovered.
Conway was born on April 5, 1908, in Waterbury, Conn. He
was the oldest of three children born to Irish immigrants, Thomas
F. and Margaret (Meade). Fr. Conway attended Lasalette Junior Seminary,
in Hartford, Conn. In 1928, he enrolled at Niagara University (New
York) and received an A.B. degree in 1930. On June 8, 1931, Conway
enrolled in Our Lady of Angels Seminary, on the campus of Niagara
University. May 26, 1934, he was ordained to the priesthood for
the diocese of Buffalo, N.Y., in St. Michael’s Cathedral, Springfield,
Mass.
For the next eight years Fr. Conway served as a curate in the
parishes of St. Rose of Lima, All Saints, St. Teresa, St. Nicholas
and finally St. Brigid. Former parishioners recall that Fr.
Conway’s favorite pastime was to navigate Lake Erie in his
little sailboat, a common sight parked along side the rectory during
the week. He is remembered as a “man’s man” –
a priest in touch with and sympathetic to the blue-collar realities
of his parishioners living among the Erie Canal neighborhoods.
On Sept.17, 1942, Fr. Conway enlisted in U.S. Navy, commissioned
a chaplain. A few days before leaving on active duty, Fr. Conway
recorded a voice message on a 78 rpm recorder to a dear friend,
Mary Noe. He called her ‘mom.’ She had eight children,
one also a Buffalo priest. The Noe’s were family and home to
Fr. Conway.
The record, though scratched and distorted, preserves most of the
farewell message. He prefaces the message with these words: “Well,
Ma, your Sailor Boy is going to dedicate a very special number to
you, a very, very special mom. I’d like you to excuse the singing.
It’s not so hot. Remember, it is always the thought behind
it that counts ... ”
 Fr.
Conway sings two verses of the song I Threw a Kiss into the Ocean.
The song was written a few months earlier by Irving Berlin for the
U.S. Navy Relief; made popular by Benny Goodman accompanied by Peggy
Lee. He sings,
“I spoke last night to the ocean
spoke last night to the sea
And from the ocean a voice came back
‘Twas my Blue Jacket answering me
Ship Ahoy, ship ahoy
I can hear you, Sailor Boy
I spoke last night to the ocean
I spoke last night to the sea
And from the ocean a voice came back
‘Twas my soul love answering me” *
* The true words to the second verse should have repeated Blue Jacket,
but Conway inserts ‘soul love.'
Conway asks, “Well Ma, how’d you like it? I’ve wrote
that I’ve missed you when I’m gone and now I’m going
to miss you.” The rest of the record is difficult to transcribe,
but his message can be gleaned. Fr. Conway fondly talks about “
... All the Friday evenings after confession ... the many guests
and ... supper ... you were never concerned with that ... I liked
it ... It’s a great place to come into ... What have you got
to eat?” His last audible words: “So, don’t miss
me. I’ll be back. Remember me in your prayers and I’ll
remember you ... So goodbye mom.”
Fr. Conway served at Naval stations along the East Coast and
in 1943 was transferred to the Pacific. For several months he
served on the USS Medusa, and on Aug. 25, 1944, Fr. Conway was assigned
to the USS Indianapolis.
July 30, 1945, was a typical Sunday for Fr. Conway. He celebrated
the Catholic Mass and later conducted a Protestant service.
It was known that Fr. Conway could usually be found in the ship’s
library or his room for confession or just someone to talk to. A
few minutes past midnight Fr. Conway was bobbing among the burning
oil, debris, chaos and voices of the 900 survivors.
 Fr.
Conway's actions are vividly recalled by several of the survivors.
Frank J. Centazzo recently wrote, “Father Conway was in every
way a messenger of our Lord. He loved his work no matter what the
challenge. He was respected and loved by all his shipmates. I was
in the group with Father Conway. ... I saw him go from one small
group to another. Getting the shipmates to join in prayer and asking
them not to give up hope of being rescued. He kept working until
he was exhausted. I remember on the third day late in the afternoon
when he approached me and Paul McGiness. He was thrashing the water
and Paul and I held him so he could rest a few hours. Later, he
managed to get away from us and we never saw him again. Father Conway
was successful in his mission to provide spiritual strength to all
of us. He made us believe that we would be rescued. He gave us hope
and the will to endure. His work was exhausting and he finally succumbed
in the evening of the third day. He will be remembered by all of
the survivors for all of his work while on board the ‘Indy’
and especially three days in the ocean.”
Lewis L. Haynes, Captain, Medical Corps, USN, recalled in an
article for the Saturday Evening Post (Aug. 6, 1955), “ ...
All thoughts of rescue are gone, and our twisted reasoning has come
to accept this as our life until the end is reached. A life
with nothing but the sky, a shimmering horizon and endless wastes
of water. Beyond this we dare not imagine.
“But we have not lost everything. To the contrary, we
have found one comfort – a strong belief to which we cling.
God seems very close. Much of our feeling is strengthened by the
chaplain, who moves from one group to another to pray with the men.
The chaplain, a priest, is not a strong man physically, yet his
courage and goodness seem to have no limit. I wonder about him,
for the night is particularly difficult and most of us suffer from
chills, fever and delirium.
 “The
moon has been up for some time when I hear a cry for help. It
is Mac, the sailor who has given so much to so many. When I swim
to him, Mac is supporting the chaplain, who is delirious. ‘Doctor
– you’ll just have to relieve me for awhile!’ Mac
gasps. ‘I – I can’t hold him any longer!’ I
take the chaplain from him; thrust my arm through the chaplain’s
life jacket so that I may hold him securely through his wild thrashing.
Then I look around for Mac, for I know he needs help. He is completely
exhausted, his head forward, his nose in the water. Mac! Mac! I
call. There is no answer – and the last I see of Mac is his
head sinking lower and lower as he drifts away in the moonlight.
 “The
chaplain’s delirium mounts; his struggles almost too much for
me. He cries a strange gibberish – some of the words are
Latin – but in a little while he sinks into a coma. The only
sound is the slap of water against us as I wait for the end. When
it comes, the moon is high, golden overhead. I say a prayer and
let him drift away, along the path to follow Mac. ... ”
Fr. William F. Frawley, was a chaplain at Base Hospital #20, Peleliu
Island where the majority of survivors were taken for medical attention.
Though there was a government news blackout about the incident,
Fr. Frawley writes a letter to Archdiocese of Military Services,
dated August 5, one day after the rescue. He writes, “The true
facts concerning the death of Fr. Thomas Conway ... He along with
about eight hundred others, got off the ship into the water when
the explosions occurred. On the evening of the third day in the
water, completely exhausted, he drowned. All the survivors who were
brought to our Base Hospital have the highest praise for him. They
report that he had been aboard the cruiser for the past year; that
he had done much to improve the ship’s facilities; that he
treated the personnel indiscriminately, devoting as much attention
as possible to the non-Catholics; that on the Sunday preceding the
disaster two mess halls were needed to take care of the overflow
crowd at general services; that he spoke on the parable of the Pharisee
and publican, likening them to two sailors appearing before the
captain of the ship; that, while in the water he went about from
group to group organizing prayer groups ... Fr. Conway spent his
leave flying to the homes of nine boys who had been killed by a
suicide plane which struck the ship near Okinawa (that is the reason
the ship was on its way from the States. It had been reconditioned
and left the States on 16 July and was hit somewhere between Guam
and Leyte on 30 July at 0010.) ...”
Several books have been written about the sinking of the USS
Indianapolis, including In Harm’s Way (2001) by Doug Stanton
and Ordeal by Sea (1963) by Thomas Helms. Fr. Conway’s
presence as a priest on the ship and among the survivors in the
water is gleaned.
Stanton writes, “The boys usually confided in Father Conway.
During the battles of Iwo Jima and Okinawa, most of them had been
scared out of their wits. ... As the kamikazes dove at the ships,
the boys cried out from their battle stations for the kind priest.
... Fr. Conway, in his early thirties, was relentless and fearless
in his duty. Once, while saying Mass, battle stations had been called
suddenly, and the astute Father shouted out, ‘Bless us all,
boys! And give them hell!’ The boys loved him for this. He
was a priest, it was true, but he was a priest with grit. ... (Conway)
spent the bleak early morning hours swimming back and forth among
these terrified crew members, sometimes dragging loners back to
the growing mass ... the priest also never stopped swimming among
the boys, hearing their confessions and administering Last Rites.”
Helms writes, “Father Thomas Michael Conway swam from group
to group, never stopping to rest, praying with the men, encouraging
those who were frightened, trying to reason with the maddened.
His faith and his prayers gave solace to many ... Father Conway,
like Ensign Park, Seaman Rich and many others, burned himself out
keeping up a constant patrol among the men, ministering to the dying,
talking reason into others who had become momentarily deranged and
calming the frightened with prayers until all at once he reached
the limit of his endurance, and his life drained away.”
Fr. Thomas Michael Conway’s story is only one example of
the untold and unrecorded lives of compassion and heroism sewn into
the fabric of our nation’s collective memory. How many
more are there among our men and women serving then and now in our
armed forces?
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