With all things new, there is an accompanying feel of excitement in the air; and yet, I can't help experiencing a profound sense of sadness this time around. Notre Dame does not feel the same to me this August because of some losses we suffered in the past year. As with any University, things are fluid. People come and people go, and yet the community of Notre Dame, the spirit of Notre Dame, somehow has kept a sort of steady identity. However, a massive void has been created as a result of the deaths of three individuals who WERE Notre Dame. Their absences are felt keenly on this campus by many, and my heart is heavy as we begin a new academic year without them. Perhaps it is true that nobody is indispensable--I am certain that qualified and competent people can step in and perform their jobs and tasks. However, each of them was, in their own way, irreplaceable. Even though two of these individuals had recently retired, they were still as much a part of the spirit and mystique of Notre Dame as Touchdown Jesus or the Golden Dome.
I am fortunate in that I have had the honor and pleasure of knowing all three personally, and working with one of them.
Last August, just after the start of a new semester, we lost Jim Phillips. Jim was, for 34 years, the Associate Director of Bands. Before that, Jim was a "double domer", meaning that he received two degrees from the University of Notre Dame. To use a cliche, if you cut Jim, he would bleed blue and gold. Jim was dedicated to this place. I don't think I was ever in his presence when we didn't enter into a conversation about Notre Dame (usually discussing what needed to be changed--much to the chagrin of those around us.) Years back, when I was in charge of Breen Phillips Hall, quite a number of my young female charges were members of the marching band. Anyone who has spent any time around members of the marching band understand their uniqueness. They sort of form a culture of their own, in which they tend to have a lot of fun, but their activities and conversations are often times beyond the understanding of those of us who are "outsiders." Regardless, I can attest to the fact that, across the board, each and every one of these band students adored Jim Phillips, as Associate Director. They liked and admired him over and above the Director at the time. Suffice to say, he was universally beloved by all of the students he taught. At Jim's funeral, at the Basilica on campus, I ran into a surprising number of people who had, years back, been students and members of the band under Jim's direction. Their presence there was a testament to the positive influence that he had upon them. Clearly, they still held great affection and admiration for him.
Students, alums and fans live to see the band. It is difficult to describe accurately just how important the band is to the culture and lore of this University, but I can tell you that, when they march through campus on a Friday afternoon, preceeding a home football weekend, people will trample you in their attempt to get a good look as they file past, playing the Notre Dame Fight Song. To be associated with the band is to be an integral part of those intangible things that make up the Notre Dame spirit. Although Jim had recently retired, it was clear that Notre Dame, and his position with the band were intrinsic and significant to who he was as a person. His positive presence and influence are still very much a part of the Notre Dame Marching Band, and, whenever I watch them take the field prior to a game, I cannot help but think, quite sadly, of Jim.
On January 29th, one day after the Feast of St. Thomas Aquinas, we lost Dr. Ralph McInerny. Upon Ralph's death, a multitude of eulogies, obituaries and tributes were published and, as I admired him perhaps more than any other person I have ever met, I think I read every single one of them. I could not do justice to Ralph as many of these people have though. But I was fortunate enough to come to know him personally, and the times he spent talking to me are memories that I will treasure forever.
Dr. McInerny was one of the most eminent Thomist philosophers of our time. In fact, he once wrote an introductory book on Aquinas which he subtitled "A Handbook for the Peeping Thomist." He had a thing for bad puns. Notre Dame had the great honor of being able to retain Ralph as a professor here since 1955 and it would be impossible to count the staggering number of young lives who were positively affected by his unbelievable intelligence, his charming wit, his graciousness, his unwavering and courageous commitment to orthodox Catholicism, his willingness to act as a guide and mentor and, most of all, his genuine and sincere kindness.
What made Ralph special, in my mind, was his constancy in defending all things Catholic, often within this very university that claims to be just that. And, because he was a powerhouse in academia, he was never one to be taken lightly, much less ignored. I had a few occasions to talk to him about this, and would state, categorically, that his vision of what Notre Dame should be and what he hoped it would be someday again is a vision I share.
I arrived early for his funeral, thinking, quite rightly, that the Basilica would be packed. Somewhere in the midst of it all, I began sobbing uncontrollably, because I found myself feeling unsure as to whether we will see his like again here on this campus. There was a reception afterwards, and it was almost a joyful event. It was a veritable "who's who" of great Catholic scholars and eminent academics, many of whom stood up to tell stories of this giant of a man. I found myself sitting at table with Jude Dougherty, and related to him that the thing I loved most about Ralph was that, despite his fame and renown, he was still humble enough to be friends with the likes of me. I was somewhat flattered when Jude stood up, went to the microphone, and stole my line (getting a laugh in the process).
I stated in an earlier blog post that, when I used to leave my office, I would, from time to time, encounter Ralph in and around the library. I began to eagerly anticipate seeing him, and felt happily rewarded on those few fortunate occasions. True to his nature, he always had time to stop and chat, and sometimes offer up a really bad pun. I often thought, when speaking with him, that he was the sort of Catholic I really wanted to emulate. I still think that, now more than ever. I am certain that he was happily rewarded for the life he lived on this earth and yet I feel ineffably sad that this new generation of Notre Dame students will not ever have the opportunity to encounter him in the classroom and be personally touched by this amazing man.
In February of this year, Dr. Gail Walton, Director of Music at Sacred Heart Basilica, succumbed to cancer. Again, Gail was one of those people that was part and parcel of "Notre Dame". Years back, I worked in the Office of Campus Ministry and therefore, for a brief period, was able to call Gail a colleague. While I never had the fortunate opportunity to be a member of one of the many choirs which she directed, I was impressed with Gail on so many levels. As a musician and director, she was nothing short of brilliant. The music at Sacred Heart Basilica on this campus is some of the best you will hear anywhere in the land. As a teacher and mentor, she was beloved, again, by the countless numbers who progressed through this university. Many of those who sang in her choirs went on to have professional careers in music, inspired by her guidance and tutoring. Countless others today, work in church music as a direct result of their contact with Gail. Some even confessed to having converted to Catholicism because of their experiences singing sacred music with Gail's choir.
From the opening of the school year Mass to the graduation Baccaulaureate Mass, and with a multitude of Masses and liturgical events in between, one could always look forward to experiencing the most beautiful and expertly performed sacred music ever. When members of the Notre Dame community reflect upon the poignant moments of our time here on this campus, inevitably, we have to conclude that listening to the Liturgical Choir or one of Gail's other choirs at some very special event trumps just about any other memory or experience.
St. Augustine said in his Confessions: "What tears were shed, as I felt myself embracing the heart of the sweet melody of the hymns and canticles that re-echo in Thy Church! What psalm-melodies entered my ears, and truth poured itself into my heart and stirred up the flame of affection, and I wept with consolation." Sacred music allows us to transcend, and draws us ever closer to our Creator in the context of the liturgy. Gail Walton was truly one of the great masters, and it was her life's work to provide the music that aided us in that magnificent experience of transcendence.
Life goes on for those of us who are left behind. Notre Dame goes on, but it will never be quite the same.
To Jim Phillips, Ralph McInerny and Gail Walton: Resquiat in pacem.
No comments:
Post a Comment