Rev. Anthony Kuzniewski, S.J.

With commencement approaching in a few days, I have been thinking over the past academic year and the opportunities it afforded to re-connect with two former students and alumni–Michael W. Banach ‘84, and Mark K. Shriver ‘86.

After his graduation, Michael Banach went on to study for ordination in Rome. I attended his first Mass here in Worcester, followed by a wonderful gathering afterwards. I was aware that he undertook further studies in Rome and was active in the Vatican Diplomatic Corps. But I had not seen him for many years until this month. Word came that he was being raised to the rank of archbishop–the only one of my former students to achieve that rank! We exchanged greetings on that occasion, and then, several weeks ago, Fr. Lapomarda and I attended his Mass of Thanksgiving at his home parish, Our Lady of Czestochowa here in Worcester. Michael preached beautifully in English and in Polish. The occasion was enhanced by the presence of Archbishop Vigano, the papal nuncio in Washington. Father Lapomarda and I met him by chance on our way into the church.

Michael returned to campus yesterday to celebrate our community Mass. He stayed for dinner and a very pleasant post-prandial conversation. Once again, the preaching was eloquent and inspiring–a testimony and tribute to divine grace. Archbishop Banach’s coat of arms includes the angel’s wings of his patron, plus a gold star representing Mary as the morning star. At the top of the crest is the seal of the Society of Jesus, “recalling not only the Archbishop’s Jesuit education at the College of the Holy Cross in Worcester, Massachusetts, and at the Pontifical Gregorian University in Rome, but also his Ignatian spirituality.”

Mark Shriver visited campus last fall in connection with the publication of his excellent tribute to his father, A GOOD MAN. I got to know Mark and his classmate, Dick Burke, well when we traveled to the Soviet Union in 1985. After his graduation, I lost contact with Mark, following his career periodically from a distance. I reconnected with Mark in 2010 when he delivered the commencement address, and again early in 2011 when Fr. McFarland and I attended his father’s funeral. During this most recent campus visit, Mark was present at dinner with about fifteen students. Many of them were first-year students in my Heroes course; they had just read the book and were eager for the chance to get to connect with the author in person. Mark gave a fine talk that was based on the book but also touched upon some of his experiences while a student here on the hill.

This spring, I saw Mark on two more occasions. I sat next to him at the dinner of the Worcester Economic Club, and listened appreciatively to a briefer version of the talk. He spoke again last week in Boston, an annual lecture sponsored by the New England Jesuit Province. Given the audience, he stressed more the religious aspects of his father’s life–a profile of a sincere and deeply committed man of faith.

I’ve often said that the saddest day of the year for me is Commencement Day, a day when another group of wonderful young women and men–young persons who have engaged my energy and affection for four years–leave campus as students for the last time. But the other side of that coin in human experience is when our graduates return to campus with life stories that vindicate our enterprise of intellectual challenge, human values, respect for religious faith. Michael, Mark, and countless other graduates are a source of consolation to this old soul. And, of course, if they didn’t depart from us on commencement day, they couldn’t return afterwards with the stories they tell and the inspiration they bring.

When Father Phil Boroughs arrived at Holy Cross to assume the College presidency last January, it was a reunion for the two of us. We had lived together in a small community of twelve Jesuits in Chicago during the 1970s, while we were studying for ordination and the priesthood. Needless to say, I was impressed by his generosity in assuming this new responsibility, and delighted to be living in the same community again. The passing of years, I soon noted, has not deprived him of his gifts of wit and insight.

I presided at the Jesuits’ community Mass on January 9, the day he formally assumed office. In the homily, I borrowed an idea from the beautiful opening sentence of Thomas Merton’s autobiography, THE SEVEN STOREY MOUNTAIN: “On the ninth day of January 2012, on the day of the full Wolf moon, at a time of political division and economic uncertainty, when the Society of Jesus was approaching the bicentennial of its universal restoration and the campus of The College of the Holy Cross stood snowless in the 169th year since its founding, the torch of leadership was passed from Michael McFarland to Philip Boroughs.” Then I added, “Of course, Phil, that’s only the first sentence. You will have to write the rest of the book.”

The inauguration last month added a wonderful chapter to the “book.” For me the most impressive moments include the Inauguration Mass on September 14, the Feast of the Holy Cross, with a full church, wonderful music, and an inspiring homily from Fr. Paul Harman. our Vice-President for Mission and Identity. For the inauguration itself, all of us in the long academic procession were surprised and delighted by the hundreds of students, all in red inauguration T-shirts, cheering us as we moved up the hill from the staging area in the Hogan Center to the Hart Center for the ceremony. The old Hart Center was resplendent with a new, enormous purple banner with the College logo, hung behind the stage. The speeches, no doubt, will be re-printed and read. Students in my current seminar on the history of Holy Cross were particularly pleased that Fr. Boroughs used a quote from Andrew Delbanco’s new defense of liberal arts education–COLLEGE: WHAT IT WAS, IS, AND SHOULD BE. That book was the first assigned reading in the seminar, and they felt very au courant when the source of the quote was announced. We Jesuits were also pleased that our head cook, Ken McNickles, read the salutation to the new president on behalf of the College employees. We teased him afterwards that he did a better job than Mayor Petty and should consider running for mayor.

Festivities concluded with a wonderful dinner at Kimball Hall. The weather continuing fair and warm, the social hour was held outdoors in the courtyard. Dinner was a wonderful blend of specialties from the Pacific Northwest and New England, reflecting the origins and present progress of the new president.

When Holy Cross formally opened its doors on November 1, 1843, the Jesuits and Bishop Fenwick enjoyed dinner in the still unfinished Fenwick “and saluted the Founder with a good glass of wine.” The latter gesture was repeated at this dinner, too. The rest of the day was far more elaborate, reflecting the priorities enshrined on the Linden Lane Gate by architect Charles Maginnis–one pillar representing the state, one pillar representing the Church, and a decorative arch carrying the emblem of the Jesuits.

Well done, Commencement Planning Committee, well done.

During the semester just ending, I followed my custom of starting each class with a prayer and then a roll call. In History 204 (“Lincoln and His Legacy”), the process was unexceptional until the home stretch, when I lectured on Reconstruction following the Civil War. Among the chief players in that process was Representative Thaddeus Stevens of Pennsylvania, one of a group of radical Republicans who were adamant in their insistence on full equality for the men and women recently freed from slavery. After class that day, Thaddeus S. Logan IV ‘12 came up to tell me that he is named for Thaddeus Stevens–the fourth in his family line, starting with his great-grandfather. To complete the connection, his middle name is Sumner, after Charles Sumner the Massachusetts senator who was severely caned on the floor of the US Senate in 1856 after delivering a passionate denunciation of proslavery tactics in the Kansas Territory. I reflect with satisfaction on Thaddeus Sumner Logan’s connection with America’s antislavery past and its personal representation in the current senior class. At a time when the campus community has been celebrating the publication of Diane Brady’s FRATERNITY and the inspiring story she describes, it is gratifying to have had in class a gifted young man whose very name connects him with heroes of the past–men whose efforts reached a culmination of sorts on Mount Saint James in 1968 and the years that followed.

The month following the publication of Diane Brady’s Fraternity has been memorable here on the hill. Having pre-ordered the book from Amazon, I read it immediately and decided to use it as a text in my History 101 course, American Themes: Heroism. In the week that they read the book, the students will view the superb video on diversity at Holy Cross produced by Sadiqa Al-Salam ‘95 in a tutorial with me during her senior year. I discussed the book recently with two bright seniors who are taking a tutorial with me. They praised the book and individuals it profiles, at the same time finding the story a little incomplete. They would like to have seen more of the Jesuit spirit described, and they were curious about the postcollegiate experiences of the graduates, leading to the eminence they enjoy today. That’s a good thing: wishing the book were longer.

The degree ceremony for Thomas was highlighted by his response to the award, choking up at the end when he hoped he would always remember that one day, long ago, a lonely kid from Georgia who had no place to go, found a home at Holy Cross. I was also moved by his recollection of praying outside the chapel that, if God took hate out of his heart, he would never hate again–a prayer that was answered. And, he called Father Brooks a sine qua non of his life. It was a humble address of how Holy Cross helped to open up future options for a confused nineteen-year-old.

This is a proud moment for the College, for Father Brooks, for the black alumni profiled in Fraternity, and for us who are now more profoundly aware of the challenges that were (mostly) overcome to help make Holy Cross what it is today. To read the book is to be edified, but also to be challenged in the name of the integrity of our mission.

I flew to Milwaukee yesterday to use the first few days of the Columbus Day break to visit my 94-year-old mother in her nursing home. When I booked the tickets two months ago, I little expected that I’d be entering the world of excitement that Milwaukee became yesterday.

Even en route from the airport, on a warm day drivers had their windows open and were saluting the Bewers at stoplights, car to car. Then the game began, and the home team came from behind in the six-run fifth inning. I watched the last few innings of the game with some old friends at a sports pub/restaurant. We were at least a generation older than most of the other patrons; and it was fun to watch the elation of the young folks when the Brewers won the first game. Of course, many of them weren’t even alive in 1982, when the Brewers of the American League lost the World Series to the Cardinals. This year, that rivalry comes back in the NLCS.

To top the day off, the Packers came from behind to top Atlanta (the city that took the Braves from Milwaukee.) Those of with long memories slept last night with smiles on our faces.

Robert Frost reminds us that “Nothing Gold Can Stay.” Yesterday was a golden day for some of us: family-wise, my mom is doing better than she was during my last visit; and sports-wise, needless to say. A great day to be in Milwaukee!

The old apple tree is no more.

For about 160 years, it had graced the hillside as the library, Hogan Center, and Smith Hall grew up around it. A determined survivor of the orchard that was one of the components of the farm upon which the College was planted, it had become increasingly decrepit during the past decade. Heavy wires bound the main branches to each other, and a sturdy metal prop supported a projecting limb. Still, it bloomed every spring with an exquisite show of blossoms, and produced edible apples in September. It must have been one of the trees that occasioned the line “All they eat is applesauce” in the Boston College song that derided Holy Cross. [HC students retaliated with a song using the BC melody to deride "the high school on the hill....  where HC dumps its swill!]

The tree came down this week, sacrificed to the grand renovation that will enhance the space between Dinand, Smith, and Hogan. Already today, machines were removing large chunks of concrete from the area to make room for grass and a beautiful, bucolic space in the midst of our campus. But the Old Apple, the grand survivor of over a century and a half of winters, generous supplier of beauty in the spring and of apples in fall, wasn’t destined to last forever. She carried the signs of her mortality more clearly every year.

She will be missed.

Fortunately, our grounds people were able to take grafts, and we may look forward to her daughters gracing our campus in the future. That would be a great link with the past and a living connection, at one remove, with the memorable times of Fitton and Fenwick and Mulledy.

Today, one ancient apple tree remains, on the southeast lawn of Clark Hall. I visited it today; it is showing its age, serving as a reminder that we live in a world that is passing away. But, thank God, we have memories of beautiful things that are no more.

Our students are rushing around today to attend to the remaining odds and ends before departing for Spring Break. A few of them–my students who have studied Abraham Lincoln–received my email this morning reminding them that this is the 150th anniversary of the inauguration of Abraham Lincoln. The Library of Congress website has a rich and wonderful link through “Today in History” to the images and drama of that day.

Of course, we read history retrospectively; but those who witnessed the inauguration in 1861 or who read about it in the press, had to experience Lincoln’s presidency prospectively. None of them could have imagined the turmoil of the next four years, or the “new birth of freedom” that transformed the nation under Lincoln’s wise guidance.

Among those who couldn’t have imagined the immediate future was Fr. Anthony Ciampi. He was then in his second term as rector/president of Holy Cross–the president who, up to now, was longest in service in that office (eleven years) after Father Brooks. Fr. Ciampi had helped to salvage the future of the College after the fire of 1852;  in 1857 he returned to complete the restoration of the school. We owe a lot to him.

But we also owe him accuracy of memory. He was not an admirer of Lincoln–at least, not at first. Early in April of 1861, little more than a week before the attack on Fort Sumter, he wrote to his provincial that a late-season snowstorm was “as bad as Abe Lincoln to this country.” Whom did this transplanted Roman support in the Election of 1860? History is silent on that point. Did he come around to Lincoln’s point of view? I hope so, but I haven’t searched his documents for evidence.

What we do know is that Ciampi was succeeded in August of 1861 by Fr. James Clark, a West Point graduate and classmate of Robert E. Lee. Fr. Clark succeeded in gaining a charter for the College at last; and he had a well dug uphill from Fenwick Hall to provide water in case of another fire. Fr. Clark backed the Union in time of war; but on the night in April of 1865 while the students were celebrating victory on the front Fenwick lawn, Clark spent the evening alone, walking slow circles in the dark, behind the building. Why? My presumption is, that he was remembering, and praying for, former classmates and comrades who had perished in the great struggle. He would also, I think, have said a prayer for Robert E. Lee and his adjustment to the circumstances attending military defeat.

By the time Fr. Ciampi returned for his third term as rector/president (1867-73), the reputation of Lincoln was secure.

It is 6:30 a.m. at the airport in Charlotte, NC. All around me, prone on the floor, are members of our men’s basketball team and even our trainer. We’ve been in Charlotte since 1 a.m.

We departed Winston-Salem yesterday afternoon on schedule after a hard-fought game at Wake Forest. Snow was in the air and on the ground–a couple of inches of the sort of wet snow that clings to the bare branches of the trees and transforms surroundings into a true winter wonderland. We bussed to the airport at Raleigh-Durham in good time through the weather, but then the trouble started. The snow created a problem for our carrier, U.S. Airways.  Our short flight to Charlotte for a connecting flight to Providence couldn’t leave because the carrier had run out of de-icer. A comedy of errors ensued. We all got off the plane at one point, then re-boarded. Finally, we left four and a half hours late, arriving here at 1 a.m., hours after the flight to PVD had departed. So we have waited through the night.

When we arrived, Airport Security restricted us to the baggage claim area, redolent with the faint but pervasive smell of aviation fuel. The players and coaches took cabs for a while to an all-night restaurant. When they returned, there was general merriment over games of cards. The young men and their coaches stayed in good spirits.

Eventually, security re-opened the airport and here we are, upstairs again. I came up early, when security re-opened at 4, and was lucky to sleep for about an hour in this quiet and relatively dark section of Concourse C. I awoke to find myself in the midst of a basketball dormitory–space for some much needed rest for our Crusaders after their fifth consequitive road game, and an endlessly long night.

The concourse is springing to life now. Flights are beginning to arrive and depart. The newstands and food shops are opening. People hasten back and forth. Our weary student-athletes slumber on. Another night to remember, about Holy Cross, if not at it.

Advent, we always say, is a season of hope. We wait for the coming of the Lord. But early this morning, we also wait for Flight 1588 to Providence.  Three hours to go. In its own small way, this night to be remembered, is another lesson in hope. And patience.

Hard to believe that two months have passed since my last posting. They’ve been busy months–a trip to Wisconsin for my mother’s 93rd birthday, and teaching responsibilities since the end of August. With three courses and three preparations, plus a tutorial, the football chaplaincy, Mass rotation for the Chaplain’s Office, and the province archives, the days don’t seem to have enough hours.

Yesterday, however, came one of those welcome interruptions that I will remember for as long as I live. In conjunction with Homecoming, our men’s lacrosse team held a reunion to commemorate the 10th anniversary of the death of John Price and the founding of John’s Brothers as a living memorial to him. There was an alumni game in the morning (which I missed because of the football Team Mass), then a tailgate. After the football game, a tree was planted in his memory here on campus. We then had a memorial Mass in the upper church with about 75 people, followed by a buffet reception with about 175 people at a local restaurant.

As a student, John was a Religious Studies major with a strong sense of dedication to the poor. As a junior, he and his roommates were able to finagle a four-man room with only three occupants. The fourth bed, he said, was for the homeless. Shortly after being named captain-elect of lacrosse, he was struck by a train and suffered a major head injury. He lingered in the hospital for several days and then succombed. The College sent the entire team, together with Coach Mike McCaffrey and his wife Sharon, to Baltimore for the wake and funeral. Memories of those days remain vivid in our hearts and memories.

While John lingered between life and death, there were team meetings that included fervent prayers for John. There were nightly Masses for him in the Mary Chapel. And I remember being with John’s parents and siblings that last morning when the doctor came in to tell us that he was fading fast. If they were to harvest his organs (John was an organ donor), they would have to act immediately. “We’re going to roll him past this conference room, ” the doctor said. “Keep your heads down; he’s not a pretty sight.” So we bowed our heads in prayer as the cart rolled by. Later, the trip to Baltimore with John’s teammates concluded the most intense experience I have had with any of our teams. There was a buffet supper for us the first night at John’s high school–Loyola Blakefield. Frs. Brian Linnane (now president at Loyola Baltimore) and Michael Ford (now minister of the Jesuit community at BC) came down from Holy Cross for the funeral Mass. After the funeral, the Price family fed all of us at a reception at their home.

That summer, Mike McCaffrey came up with the idea of teaming with Big Brother/Big Sisters to set up a program in John’s memory. We met with HC alum Ben Ticho who heads BB/BS in central Mass., and the idea of John’s Brothers took off. Since then, every member of the team and their coaches have been paired with a boy at the Canterbury Street School. In that time, the blessing associated with remembering John has flowed both to the boys and to their “big brothers.”

Last night’s event brought so much of all this into focus. Coach Adam Pascal, who succeded Mike McCaffrey as head coach, made the evening a mandatory team event. In this way, student/athletes who never knew John Price had an opportunity to become familiar with the story and to meet persons associated with John and the origins of the program. John’s parents came up from Baltimore; his brothers Arthur and Sebastian were also present.

The formal program included remarks from the two coaches, from Marc Wilson who was John’s roommate at the time of his death, and from Ben Ticho. Arthur responded on behalf of the Price family.  Melanie Perrault from BB/BS served as MC.

There were tears in many of our eyes as Coach McCaffrey and Marc Wilson described those events of May, 2000. Ben Ticho stressed to impact of John’s Brothers on the work of BB/BS. Ten years ago there were something like 250 big brothers working in the program; today the number is something like 1200–a large number of whom are student/athletes at Holy Cross.

It was an evening, as I said, to remember. Another reason to fall in love with Holy Cross and what it represents.

I often remark that summer passes more swiftly than the other seasons; but, come to think, they all pass quickly except for the season of dirty snow in February and early March. This is true in my role as athletic chaplain. The wait seems endless for a team’s season to begin; then it seems to go by in a flash. It’s also true on the academic side: September moves at a stately pace; by November, we’re forging foward at full speed. With those thoughts as context, I find myself looking back gratefully and a little wistfully at this summer we’re still in. For us on the academic calendar, it’s about over. Passport students are already on campus; the football team returns in two days. So, while the memories are still strong, a few may be of interest to readers of this blog.

At first, summer was about talks, reunions, new connections. It was my privilege to host Mark Shriver ‘86 when he returned to accept an honorary degree and deliver the commencement address. In the summer of 1985, I traveled to Poland and the Soviet Union with Mark and his classmate Dick Burke; reminiscing with them about that trip was part of the fun. Graduation day was glorious, and Mark added to the occasion with a talk that captured the spirit and content of Jesuit education with inspiration and humor.

A few days later, it was my turn. Closing out nine years of membership on the board of trustees of Cheverus High School in Portland ME,  I was asked by their president (Bill Campbell, S.J. ‘87) to be the speaker. It was a grand occasion, downtown in the elegant Merrill Auditorium, with the 50-year graduates recognized at the beginning of the ceremony. Shortly thereafter, at the invitation of their planning committee, I offered Mass for the 25-year reunion Class of 1985. It was great to be with those alumni and former students in prayer, socializing, and table fellowship. At the mid-point of their professional careers, they remain stalwart Crusaders and a credit to alma mater. Finally, I subbed for Fr. McFarland in giving the address at the closing of Gateways on June 22. It’s a lot of fun to forumlate the traditions and patterns of Holy Cross and to pass them along to incoming students and their parents. Their enthusiasm for the project that lies before them is contagious.

And, of course, travel. There was a weekend in June at the country home in Maine of Joe O’Donnell ‘66 and his wife Jet. Highlights included some excellent meals and a trip to the Farnsworth Museum in Rockland. At the end of June, the senior Scouts and leaders from my old troop in Milwaukee spent two nights in Healy Hall. We had a campus tour, went for a swim at the Hart Center, and also spent the better part of a day visiting Old Ironsides and the Freedom Trail in Boston. En route to Wisconsin and a visit with my mother, I stopped in upstate New York for a few nights with old friends. Fishing was on the agenda, and the traditional concert with fireworks by the New York Philharmonic at Bethel Woods on July 3rd.

After a few days of visiting Ma and old friends in Milwaukee, it was all about fishing. We were a party of four. Tom L, who bought and still heads my dad’s business, had me as his best man just before I entered the Jesuits. Tom P, engineer at the Bradley Company, got married the Saturday after I was ordained and he and Judy had me preside at their wedding. Both their weddings, but in a different capacity…. Julio, our fourth, is another former Eagle Scout and a fantastic addition to our number. We drove through the night of July 9/10 from Milwaukee to Duluth to the border crossing at International Falls; thence it was three hours of driving in Canada along the beautiful east shores of The Lake of the Woods, to Dogtooth Lake, not far from Kenora.

For a number of years, we did fly-in weeks in that part of northwestern Ontario. That was a kick, especially taking off and landing on the water and then spending a week comparatively isolated from the modern world and its conveniences. However, it also got expensive, particularly when the US dollar lost much of its edge against the Canadian. So now we boat in to our cabin and revel in a) the modern conveniences of electricity and plumbing; and b) its relative inexpensiveness. We’d get up early to fish until nine or ten, then return to the cabin for a country breakfast of ham or sausage; blueberry pancakes or French toast with maple syrup; or Tom L’s awesome omelets. Then, back to the lake for more action. Fishing provided more than enough of a catch to dine on walleyed pike, wonderfully delicious freshwater fish that Tom P grilled with expertise. Tom L took care of the fish cleaning, for the most part. I did the vegetables and spuds; Julio took the initiative on dish detail. Add a glass of white wine with the meal, and voila! about as close as we get to paradise in this vale of tears. The cabin had a wonderful screened porch where we ate all our meals but one breakfast on a rainy day. And then there were the evenings on the water, with Canadian sunsets that provided me with computer wallpaper for the coming year. The luckiest day was Tuesday, when I was wearing the pink T-shirt from the breast cancer fundraiser of last year’s hockey team. It was a disease that took my sister’s life at a young age, and a cause close to me heart.  Anyway, the shirt brought luck, and we pulled in the walleyes between 25 and 29 inches that day. I should also mention that on my very last cast of the trip, Friday evening, I caught a walleye, ending the day with a smile on my face!

The sorrow of leaving on Saturday morning was compounded by the phone call with news that Dr. Walsh had passed away. Of him, more on another occasion. I will sorely miss his company on the football sidelines and basketball courtside, not to mention the bus rides and meals we shared for so many years.

Finally, last week, over 100 of us New England Jesuits made a common retreat at Fairfield University. It was a week of grace, great to be involved in prayer with so many of my brother Jesuits, reconnecting with them even in the midst of the silence that (mostly) characterized our atmosphere.

So the summer ends, and we turn towards preparing the new academic year. I see by the STAR system of student records that my freshman American Themes course is full; I’ll get that course ready first, then turn to the others. But I do so with warm and happy and grateful memories of a summer that passed all too quickly.