THE PRIEST HAS LEFT THE BUILDING

THE PRIEST HAS LEFT THE BUILDING
(For those of you who perhaps have not had much experience reading my wandering prose, a couple of hints. I respect parentheses and dashes - they are interjections, and I will almost always pick up the train of thought after the parenthesis or dash that I had interrupted. If you lose the train of thought, try reading out loud - sometimes hearing it helps to follow the train. If that doesn’t help, there may not be a train to follow.

Since my writings tend to go to many places, I usually avoid naming names. Those of you who know “the company” don’t need to be told. Those who don’t know, don’t need to, since what I have to say remains true whether you know the corporate name or the names of individuals. The lawyers tell me it dampens the likelihood of legal action. Of course, I have two friends who are lawyers who are chomping at the bit to institute legal action, so maybe I shouldn’t trust them completely.

And finally, I’m not trying to write history or psychology or social commentary. These are my missives - ramblings - and I write them for me and the enjoyment of my friends. If you don’t find them enjoyable, there is a button on your computer marked “Delete” and a receptacle near your desk into which printed copies can be put. Go for it.)

My sainted grandfather (of whom I have only the vaguest memory, since he died in 1948. I do have a couple of memories of him but not much) apparently used to say, when something very good had happened, “Ah, sure and you’ve landed with your ass in a tub of butter.” He did it with an Irish accent, for effect. He did not normally speak with an Irish accent. He was Episcopalian.

He would have loved today.

My first full day off of Kwaj - and because of the international date line, it was the same day on which I left Kwaj. My flight left Kwajalein on November 21st, Tuesday morning, we flew for six hours, and landed around 6 pm on Monday night, November 20th. And the butter started even before I left.

I had gone on line the night before I left, and found that there was an open seat in an exit row which I promptly assigned to myself. When I went to check my bags the next morning - well, first of all they did not weigh my bag. Thank you, God. There is supposed to be a weight limit of 50 pounds per bag. My golf clubs were around 42 - the other bag? I had no idea but I knew it was more than 50 - the next day I would find out it was closer to 73 but at that point, ignorance was truly bliss. Anyway, when I got to the counter, the ladies there warned me that the seat I had selected, while in the exit row, did not recline, and they suggested perhaps I would be happier in a bulkhead seat, which had extra foot room and which did recline. It was a window seat, so I got to watch Kwajalein as we rose into the sky and headed off and I got to see the most amazing sunset over the clouds as we came into Honolulu. The sunset was over the clouds, and we were over the clouds, so it was clouds and color and sky and color and even beat the admittedly spectacular lagoon sunsets on Kwaj.

The movies on the flight were a loss - one was not something I would have ever watched, and the other I had seen. So I read. And listened to their music, and when that started to recycle, tried out my new mp3 player, and I have to say - I who tend not to like things that everyone else likes simply because everyone else is using them, and I know that’s not always the brightest possible response but there I am - this is a good thing. I have a Toshiba - since everyone else seems to be buying iPod, you KNOW I’m not going to buy THAT - and it does pictures and video and radio stations in addition to playing music, and it probably makes coffee but I haven’t gotten to that section in the manual yet. I really only care about the music and it does that VERY well. I napped a little and I even could use my computer (!) Imagine having a seat on the plane where you can use a computer. (!) There were several children on the flight and none of them were anywhere near me (I think they were drugged, ‘cause I really never heard anything from them at all). So the first part of leaving Kwaj was really very nice.

We landed at Hono, and got through Immigration quickly, and the bags came, and the shuttle bus came. The hotel where I usually stay has been going through renovations, and I would not have recognized the lobby, it is gorgeous. I got a room on the 16th floor, with an ocean view, and a balcony that was almost as large as the room. Overlooking the swimming pool 12 floors below. Two lounge chairs and two deck chairs and enough room for a dance. This is living I could get used to. High speed internet connection in the room. More butter.

I unpacked the necessaries, logged onto Continental and printed out the boarding passes for the next step in the adventure, and went out for a walk in the Honolulu night. First impression? If you’re going to spend any serious time in Hono, knowing a little Japanese is not a bad thing. I don’t remember the Japanese so outnumbering everyone on my previous visits. I do not know from whales or spotted owls or fingered newts but trust me, the Japanese tourist is definitely NOT an endangered species. They are great fun to watch, however, and they come in an amazing range of shapes and sizes and protective coloring. (Hair coloring is obviously a booming business in Japan - colors God never thought of when He was doing hair.)

I ended up back at the hotel, grabbed a sandwich and a cold drink from the ABC store in the lobby (I had considered giving myself a fancy dinner at the wonderful restaurant in the lobby, but between the price and the calories - this IS Thanksgiving week, after all, and some ritual overeating is on the agenda for Thursday and probably Friday as well - I decided to go for simple life style. Besides, I thought to myself, self, you will be in the Business Class lounge (which is called the President’s Lounge) and in that kind of place there is free food and free drink. (And I was right - but more of that in a minute.)

And thus endeth the first day. Or the last day, depending on how you want to tell the story.

Of course, there were moments in the leaving that weren’t butter. (Maybe I’ll call those the margarine moments. I’m not a great fan of margarine. When I graduated from college, I shared a house with a guy who was working as a magazine editor - those familiar with earlier editions of these missives know that I speak of Joel Garreau, author and editor and raconteur extraordinaire, and makes a fairly good cook in a pinch, although definitely comes in second to his lady wife Adrienne - but I wander) I had a series of planned moments in my “last days” that never came to pass. I had arranged to go up to Roi Namur and go diving “for the last time.” The guy I was going to dive with called a couple of days ahead of time and told me that there was going to be a fishing tournament and all the boats were booked, so no diving. Sigh. Had a great time anyway, but no last dive. I was going to get my suits dry cleaned, since I cannot remember the last time I wore a suit - and the dry cleaning equipment on Kwaj was down (again!) so no dry cleaning. I went to play golf, and there were hordes of people, groups of five with booked tee times, all going out, so I practiced putting and worked on the chipping green, packed up my clubs and took them home.

On the last day, a plan had been hatched to have a bunch of people all come to the airport to say goodbye. The concept was both to say goodbye but also a little stick in the eye to the administration. (A lot of people were very upset at my leaving.) On that morning? Rain. It actually stopped for the period of time I was outside the terminal saying goodbye, but it was discouraging for people who might have been thinking about coming over.

One of my last Kwaj moments was truly extraordinary. As I mentioned, and as many of you know, my leaving was NOT my idea. The company had told me they were not going to renew my contract. They were not firing me, they were quick to point out (several times), they were simply not renewing my contract. No reason given, thank you very much, go away.

Both Catholics and non-Catholics had the same response. How and why? That a company could get rid of the spiritual leader of a major congregation without any consultation with the congregation seemed extraordinary to many (and does to me as well). There had been no complaints previous to this, certainly no abuse of the pulpit (I had not, despite severe temptation, preached against the injustice this company continues to perpetrate against not only the Marshallese who are there but against members of their own company.) and I was not guilty of any high crimes and misdemeanors. Several people had notions about why I might have been let go - and I’ll go through those in a bit. Some are quite entertaining, and some are so appallingly discriminatory you can understand why they might resist making them explicit. Many feel that those are precisely the most likely.

I had heard a rumor that the contract might not be renewed, and so I confronted the head of my department, who referred me to her boss, who finally - after some delay, and making sure that he had two witnesses with him when he met with me - confirmed that they were not going to renew the contract. He also steadfastly refused to say why, and when I pushed him, the only thing he would say was “We feel it is time for a change.” (Remember those words, they will come back again.) This from a man who has been on the island less than six months, and who has never been at one of my services. Whether he has ever been at one of the Protestant services I cannot say.

I wonder, if I had not brought the issue to a head, when they might have told me. There was a case several weeks before I left, where they told a man they were not going to renew his contract and gave him and his family five days to leave the island. They were not able to schedule a pack out - neighbors and friends had to handle the packout for them. The company in my case had not told my religious superiors, and had made no previsions for finding a replacement. Apparently - strictly my own interpretation in the absence of any evidence to the contrary - it was more important to get rid of me than to take care of the Catholic community. Priests not growing on trees these days.

There is, in some circles on Kwajalein, a strong anti-Catholic bias. I know it exists and anyone honest and aware and at all perceptive knows it exists. When I preached at a Protestant service early in my time (Pastor Rick Funk was away at the funeral of his father) I was warned that some might walk out when they learned who I was. To what extent that prejudice exists within the administration I do not know. Not knowing the reason my contract was not renewed means that a simple bias against the Catholic Church cannot be ruled out, since I was very active in creating and promoting events that brought the practice of the faith into the community. We had a Stations of the Cross in the community on the Monday after Easter, where a large cross was carried to different places on the island and prayers were offered. We had a Seder dinner last Holy Thursday, which ended with a procession carrying the Blessed Sacrament back to the chapel for much of the length of the island. Our events have always been publicized on the local tv channel, and the Catholic priest (that would be me) has been very active in a number of community events and groups, including the Art Guild, the Vets Hall (the local American Legion) and working with the Marshallese. It may have been that simply the public presence of a Catholic priest was offensive to some.

Anyway - and I will have more discussion of my leaving later, but before I started wandering down THAT road, I was talking about a margarine moment as I was leaving. Picture in your mind a group of people standing outside the terminal, taking pictures, hugging (there was a LOT of hugging) - at one point I said I felt like a cardboard cutout, since people were coming up individually to have their pictures taken with me. Many of these aren’t Catholics, and that was something I was proud of, that the numbers of those upset at my leaving were not along religious or congregational lines - the Catholics were joined by the Protestants, the non-church goers and even the outright pagans (come on, every community has pagans, whether you acknowledge them or not).

So there I am, getting ready to go in the terminal building, and the president of the company comes up. Now everyone knows that at the least, my leaving had to be approved by this guy, and most felt that it was in all likelihood initiated by this guy. At the Town Hall meeting earlier in the week he had refused to answer questions about my leaving - not questions about why I was being sent out but if “it was time for a change,” some asked what changes the company was looking for. In his remarks earlier at that same meeting the Colonel who runs the base had stressed that the holidays were always difficult for people away from families and familiar surroundings and that we should all be careful to take care of and be aware of one another. (In a letter to the local newspaper, one woman wonders, if this is the case, why the company picked this time to get rid of the priest. Her letter is reproduced in this missive somewhere. Keep reading.)

So this guy - the president - comes up to me in the parking lot, sticks out his hand and says something about being grateful for my work and he hopes I have a good trip, or a good future, or something of that ilk. I confess, I was biting my tongue so hard it was probably interfering with my hearing. Then he reaches into his pocket and gives me a coin.

Now in the military there is a Commander’s coin, a specially produced coin that symbolizes a gesture of respect and appreciation from the Commander and is given when someone does something worthy of special merit. This company has created a coin of its own in the same tradition. And this is what he is giving to me in the parking lot on my way out.

I was very well-behaved. I didn’t say anything - although I had a number of alternately witty and caustic responses right on the tip of the tongue. I used to do night club, and I can slice and dice with the best of them. But as soon as he had gone off, I handed the coin to someone who was standing there and asked if he would do me the favor of drilling a hole in it and hammering into a place of particular symbolic value. (I told him where to put it, but since people from Kwaj will be reading this, I don’t want to spread the word as to where it has been nailed. Those who will enjoy it will know - the grapevine is very efficient. I also, sad to say, don’t want to mention any names, because on Kwaj right now, the fear of retribution from management is strong - and realistic. If I mentioned who had drilled the hole and hammered the rusty nail, they might find themselves on an outward bound plane because it was “time for a change.”)

It was a truly bizarre moment, and the word most often used by those standing there and to whom I have told the story since has been “hypocrite” or some form thereof. A margarine moment.

Or maybe butter - because it, and everything that took place in the weeks leading up to my departure, re-enforced the sense that I had done well, I had touched lives, and whatever the reason management had, it had nothing to do with my work as chaplain, my availability to people, my counseling and supporting and working with people. I say that because, let’s be honest, when the company says they don’t want you, you start to ask yourself what you’ve done. Or not done. How have I failed? People who aren’t there will ask the same questions. Rather like the Book of Job - you must have done something or this would not be happening. And if what I had done as a chaplain, as a Roman Catholic priest, WAS the reason for my leaving, then so be it. Having the job is not as important as doing the job - and if the truth is that this company doesn’t want the job done, then they (and everyone else) is in far worse trouble than any of us can begin to imagine.

Many people in the weeks before I left stopped me to express their outrage, their sympathy, their confusion. People wanted to sign a petition. I told them I didn’t think it would do any good, that the people who signed could be endangering their positions, and I said that, unfortunately, in the current climate, if there were enough of a public outcry that management felt they had to back down and I did stay, the managers would begin looking for a reason to fire me. From that point on, everything I did and everything the Catholic parish did would be subject to extraordinary scrutiny. That’s not how we should live. When I said that, most agreed. One man got so upset he burst into the president’s office, interrupting a meeting, to demand how he could “fire the priest.” (At this point the company would step in to stress that I was not being “fired,” but that my contract was simply not being renewed. I can hear the lawyers murmuring softly in the background.) He was suspended without pay for two weeks, and his future at the company is extremely tenuous.

A group got together and wrote a letter (reproduced below), specifically designed to be entirely positive, no criticisms or negative shots. They felt that if there were anything negative, people would be afraid to sign it. It was hard to get it around for signatures, since they did not want to alert management in advance, so a low profile was necessary, but when I left there were over 300 signatures. Many Marshallese signed as well, and some who were off island and had heard sent emails asking to have their names added. I was/am very proud of that letter, both in what it says and that so many people were willing to publicly add their names.

I have a framed copy of that letter that I was given at a dinner party before I left. It is truly a butter moment for me. And again (forgive me for repeating myself, but at least I know that I am doing it) it is a list with Catholic and non-Catholic signatures, people who are active in each of the congregations and those who don’t go to church. The chaplain (I believe) needs to go out into the community, to be where the people are, where the need is greatest (and that may not always be inside the chapel) and that was what I tried to do. And for which I make no apology. If some felt that the image of a priest who smokes a cigar and who has a drink (that would be me, in both cases) is unacceptable, that’s not my problem. Any number of people, when that notion was mentioned, point out that Jesus was certainly known to attend parties. (And the Protestant chaplain actually makes beer and wine.)

So this may be a good time to talk about the suggestions - the guesses, really - as to why my contract was not renewed. The leading suggestion was that I was “too outspoken.” (In reviewing my time on Kwaj, one of my observations would probably be that I don’t think I was outspoken enough. Jesuits have a reputation for working for social justice, and I think there are some real questions about justice in how the company is running Kwaj and treating its employees, questions that I did not raise from the pulpit and perhaps should have.) In fact, I was very conscious of not abusing the pulpit and while my homilies were, I hope challenging, I tended to preach from the gospels and feasts of the church more than from the events of the day.

Now, as those of you who know me know, I am not shy. I did write a letter in the local newsletter about a survey the company was conducting. I was in favor of the survey and worked actively to encourage people to take it seriously, to spend time with it, to answer the questions both honestly and fully. I questioned its timing - and many people questioned the decision to number each survey. (When that was finally made public, by the way, the company’s answer was that the numbers were to prevent someone stuffing the box, as it were. In other words, the company didn’t trust the employees so they numbered the forms. The employees, of course, worried that the numbers would enable management to trace responses back to individual employees. I encouraged people to simply switch forms, so management would know that could not be an option.)

So if my being “outspoken”’ was not related to anything I said at or in church, then - if this guess is correct - I was being sent off because I had dared to express a private opinion. Sadly, in the climate of the moment, that is a notion that many on Kwaj would say reflects the present reality.

Another notion, mentioned above, was the question of image, that since the president and the head of community services (in which department the chaplaincy finds itself) are both fairly fundamental in their religious beliefs, having a priest who smokes and drinks in public goes against the grain. (For the record, the Protestant chaplain has for the past two years conducted a discussion group during Lent called “Theology on Tap,” which met the first year in the bar at the Yokwe Yuk Club and the second year in the bar at the Vets Hall.) Is the priest being held to a different standard than the Protestant chaplain? We’ll never know, of course.

Or is it a case of anti-Catholic bias, as mentioned above?

One of the pet projects of the Protestant chaplain is to hire a youth minister, under a program sponsored by the military. He had talked with me about it, and I had checked with the Military Archdiocese in Washington to see what the response had been to this program in other Catholic facilities. It got mixed reviews. I had expressed some concerns to our parish council about the program, and the expectation that the Catholic community would participate in and help to fund this. There is in some circles an approach to ecumenism that is based on “All religions are pretty much the same and we should all just come together and ignore out differences.”

This is not a point of view which Catholics can easily accept. We’re not talking about a better or worse conversation, but our beliefs are certainly different and, with absolute respect to other beliefs, these are differences we feel are crucial. There is a Youth Fellowship on Kwaj right now, to which the Catholic youth are regularly invited, and it comes out of this approach. It is, by the way, run by the president of the company. There have been times when this group goes out for an event, like visiting one of the outer islands, and it is announced that these gifts are being brought by or this presentation is sponsored by the Protestant chapel. If Catholic kids are there it makes things awkward for them, and several parents have expressed their concern to me. Was my reluctance to support a program that weakens the sense of Catholic identity for the young people the reason I became expendable? Again, we’ll never know.

Was it my beard? The new commander is himself a Baptist minister, was his input part of my departure? I had been a counselor for several people the company seemed to want to get rid of - accusing one man of being an alcoholic, a charge unsupported by repeated blood tests. In order to help preserve his position, he came to see me for counseling on a regular basis, as did a couple of others with other “problems,” at least in the eyes of the company. Was my participation in this the reason I am about to go on a sabbatical? Again, we’ll never know.

My own feeling is that the reason is probably something the company does not want to try to defend in a public arena, and that in itself says a lot about how the company deals with its employees. The rate of people leaving Kwaj is off the charts. In any operation like this, there is a turnover rate - but for the last year or more, the rate of people leaving, not finishing their contracts, doing something for which their contracts are not being renewed are off the chart. Many do not want to leave, but the rising expenses and decreasing benefits, the unwillingness of the company to support the work, the shrinking work force and the increasing demands for more work (with no corresponding increase in pay), the drastic changes in basic quality of life issues - all contribute to the growing realization for many that while they love the place, they love the work, they love the community - bottom line, it’s just not worth it. And away they go.

Wow - this has gotten heavy, hasn’t it? For those from or on Kwaj who are reading this, I’m repeating what you know. For those who aren’t there - in all honesty, you probably don’t care and may already have skimmed on to another section. So let’s go back to butter moments.

Recap - before Father John started wandering down this road of corporate injustice - last shot, I promise - we had left our bearded priest fast asleep in a bed on the 16th floor of a hotel in Waikiki, overlooking the ocean. As light dawns, we see his fuzzy face peeking out from underneath covers, wondering what time it is, realizing with a slight “Drat” that he really needs to get up - and we are now beginning the first full day of not being on Kwaj.

Any day that is going to qualify for being a day with butter (as in, landed with your ass in a tub of...) is going to start with coffee. And it did. This hotel has a free continental breakfast, served on a lovely open area on the 16th floor, overlooking downtown Waikiki. 16th floor, you say? That rings a bell. Where did we read about the 16th floor?

Aha! The clever and observant among you know that Father is actually staying on the 16th floor (well, I did put it in the previous paragraph, not exactly an SAT question - degree of difficulty squat). So I dug out my coffee cup from the suitcase (the thermal cup with the screw on top) and paddled down the hall to get my coffee and juice and toast and Danish and donut holes, and to greet the woman who runs the operation. Who remembered me from my last visit. I took my munchies back to my room, because I had a much better view from my own balcony and welcomed the day while wallowing in scenery. There was - wait for it - even a rainbow. Well, part of a rainbow, peeking out from behind another of the beachfront hotels. The day was starting out as definite gift. Butter.

One of my minor fantasies (those with children do not need to worry, we will NOT be going into my major fantasies) was swimming in fresh water. Oceans are all well and good, and very good for things like fishing and sailing and diving. But swimming? Plain old swimming? Sorry, the idea of a salt water pool is rather in the same category as tofu turkey. Technically, it can be done, and it serves many of the same purposes as the real thing - but to this hoary head, swimming in a pool is and always shall be a fresh water concept. And there, just outside my balcony (well, twelve floors below just outside my balcony) was a pool. Not a huge pool, not even an especially glamorous pool, as pools in Hawaii and hotels go. But a pool. And since the major news story was President Bush at Hickham Air Force Bass on his way back from Thailand - he had stopped on Kwaj to refuel but that was a secret - there was nothing to miss on tv. Butter days often include fulfilling minor fantasies.

And a shower and packing the suitcase and checking the room to see what I had left and off for new adventures. I had arranged for an early pick up to go out to the airport, but I had three hours to kill, so I put all my bags in the check room and went out to walk around Honolulu. Do I go right and head downtown? Do I walk over to the canal and maybe go by the golf course? For reasons I do not know, I went out and headed in the general direction of the Hilton. I had never been to the Hilton, and since it seemed likely that I will NEVER be at the Hilton Hawaiian Village, I thought I might see how the even more other half lived. I was walking along the sidewalk, enjoying the odd and unusual people I was seeing (and I am sure that they were equally enjoying me) and suddenly (pause for dramatic effect) there, on the other side of the six or eight lane road, walking determinedly along, was Helen! I called over to her, and when she had picked up her jaw from the sidewalk, she crossed over so we could visit.

Interlude - a word about Helen, which may or may not be her real name - she’s a woman who has gone through a variety of difficult times, which she has shared with me - and who has recently been away getting some medical help and who has experienced something of a breakthrough while away. We’ve kept in touch by email (every now and then, those of us old enough need to remind ourselves and anyone else who will listen how email has changed how we communicate, and equally as important, how we think about communicating. That’s a long and complicated reflection I will not lay upon this missive, but it bears exploring at some point.) and she was very disappointed that, as our schedules worked themselves out, she would not be able to see me before I left. (I like to think that was an expression of affection rather than dependency.) And so - another butter moment - there she was!

We had a chance to visit and catch up, and it was truly wonderful (well, for me) because all the change and energy and enthusiasm that I had been reading in her emails was there in person - in the flesh, as it were - and the change from when I had last seen her only a few weeks before was wonderfully remarkable. I could NOT have thought of a nicer way to highlight my last moments in tropical climes. She was on her way to meet someone for lunch, so we walked over to where they were supposed to meet, and - TARA! - I ran into several other people from Kwaj on their way back. Two had been bumped from the space available flight and I never did hear when the other one was heading back. Honolulu may seem to be a large city, but given the frequency with which Kwaj people run into one another, it scarcely seems to hold water.

As I write that, I realize that when I use the expression “Kwaj people,” I can no longer include myself. Hmmmm.

After I left that mini-reunion, I headed over to the Hilton (remember that?) and wandered through stores and down paths, paused in front of waterfalls and walked around swimming pools, enjoying (and occasionally being appalled at) the people who seem to have successfully lost all sense of being self-conscious. The people who wear the strangest bathing outfits in public. I’m no Arnold Schwarzenegger (of course, neither is he any more) but really and truly - you would think an occasional glance in a mirror might cause you to reconsider.

At one point I found a little oriental pool and garden, two ducks and a bunch of fish, and, most important, a bench. Spent some time in prayer - the noise from the surroundings formed a little cocoon which somehow protected the silence, and I found myself focusing ever more tightly - first on the garden, as opposed to the whole space, then on the pond, then on a Japanese (?) piece in the pond, then on the figures on the piece, then on the top of the piece. The sunlight bits coming through the shade, the noise bits coming through the silence, the God bits coming through all of it - it was a lovely time. A woman was doing a hula for some people in one of the dining rooms and instead of being distracting, it simply strengthened everything else that was going on.

I walked along the ocean and thought about the difference between Emon Beach (at its MOST crowded) and the human sardines I saw there. Given my reaction to the beaches of Honolulu, the streets of New York are sure to prove stimulating to reflection. I visited an occasional store - although when you walk into a store knowing that you’re not going to buy anything because there is no way you can squeeze ANYTHING into a suitcase is rather a downer - and spent some time on a bench watching the ocean and the surfers and the people watching the oceans and the surfers.

And before I knew it, it was time to wander back to the hotel. I had a cold drink (everywhere you go in Hono there are ABC stores - I assume someone knows how many there are but it’s rather like orders of Franciscans, there always seems to be another one around the corner.) The van was early - I was the only person - check in was easy (although my suitcase somehow seemed to weigh 73 pounds, and since the limit was 70, the guy asked very apologetically if I could move something into the golf bag - which I did.) Sailed through security - the woman guard was so fascinated by the shell necklace that Hemikko had given me as I was leaving that she forgot about anything else and all my bags got through before I did - and after buying a NY Times and a box of mints, rang the bell and entered the President’s Lounge.

The President’s Lounge. Sounds very grand, doesn’t it? It’s nice - fairly comfortable chairs, open bar, snacks. Compared to some, not terribly exciting - no net links for computer, although there are two desks with phone lines you can hook into. No cots to lie down on, no windows with a view - and the snack and non-alcoholic drink selections are decidedly limited. But for me, the most wonderful part of the President’s Lounge was Jean.

Jean was sitting behind the desk when I entered, I gave her my boarding pass, and she asked “How are you today?” I responded, “I’m about to get a whole lot better.”

Significant pause. Then she said, Oh I’m afraid not.

This is not good. Even before knowing what she’s talking about, I know that this is not good. She told me that my 7:30 flight has been delayed. To ten pm. Which means that the connecting flight in Houston at 7:50 ain’t gonna happen. And the next available connecting flight in Houston is three hours later and doesn’t have a Business Class. Hmmm. I asked if there were anything earlier that might get me there - since I had arrived some four hours before flight time - and it turns out there is a seat available on the direct flight to Newark. I do not express high enthusiasm, and explain that with all the luggage I am schlepping about - I further explain that I am a missionary priest returning to the US (hey, if you’ve got the cards, play them) and transport from Newark to Manhattan with all these bags on the day before Thanksgiving... next thing I know, I am booked on the Newark flight, and thanks to Jean - who has called all sorts of people and worked odd bits of magic with her computer - I am being given a voucher for a cab ride to Manhattan from Newark. Now I have to stay in the President’s Lounge until 10 - so I will have been in the lounge for ten hours before I even get on the plane for the 11 hour flight. BUT I will, even after the long cab ride, get to my Manhattan destination earlier than I would have on the original schedule. And I won’t have to have changed planes in Houston. And my bags will definitely arrive on the same plane I will.

This is all good.

I also got to meet and spend some time with Fr. John Keenan, a Blessed Sacrament priest (and since the chapel on Kwajalein is Blessed Sacrament chapel, I have to think this is a sign of some kind) who works in Honolulu. He’s at Star of the Sea Parish and is a clinical psychologist with an office downtown. Educated by the Jesuits, he knows a bunch of guys I do and I encouraged him to see if he knew anyone who might be a good priest to go to Kwaj. You never know.... I actually know a GREAT priest for Kwaj, but they just got rid of him...

OK - I promised, no more shots.

So this butter day ends with me at 37,000 feet, and my ass not in a tub but rather tucked into a Business Class seat, with a Business Class drink on a Business Class tray, while I browse through the Business Class media center and munch on a Business Class snack. (Hey, indulge me. Overkill is my middle name, and how often do I get to be in a Business Class anything?)

I have no idea what comes next, but so far, this is a pretty good beginning. Or a pretty good ending, depending on how you tell the story.

(Some days later but picking up the thread of the story while still on said plane.)

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again - the real joy of Business Class is the seat. The food is decidedly better (in the case of the non-stop to Hawaii, the difference between steerage and Business is that there IS food. Experienced travelers on this flight show up with take-out meals in styrofoam containers, cause Continental gives you a packet of pretzels and a soft drink. Finish. ), and the choice of things to watch on your personal tv set is better and there are even audio channels that steerage doesn’t seem to have (which seems silly, since providing an audio channel is simple and doesn’t cost anything. Ah well.) But I’d give up the food, not use the blankie or the pillow (and the pillow in Business is about twice the depth and softness of the oversized dab they call a pillow in steerage), I wouldn’t even watch the tv set - if they’d just put me in THE SEAT.

So I read and prayed and got a little sleep and had a fairly gentle trip. Got into Newark - got the bags, and out to use my voucher at the cab stand. Well, nothing should be without some difficulty - seems the folks in Hawaii had not put the destination on the voucher (They had asked me and I had given them the address) so the cab lady wouldn’t accept the voucher. Back into the terminal, found some very nice Continental people, who made it work and gave me a new voucher - back to the cab line, got a great driver who was creative and fast and got me to 83rd Street very quickly - and as I started to unload, an old friend was just coming in, so he opened the door and I was as close to home as I have.

There will be more adventures, reflections and observations. But this seems a logical place to take a rest - and give loyal readers a rest. I’m attaching the letter from the Hourglass and the letter that went around for people to sign at the end of this piece.

I am, all things considered, feeling good. I did my best at Kwaj, and (in all humility - yes, I can do humility) I think I did well. Perfectly? Nope, lots of mistakes, lots of areas where I could improve - and I had lots of plans for things I wanted to do. But - my final tally is, I think, more good than bad, more help than harm, and whatever the reason for my leaving - I got a raw deal.

I am content - I leave in peace and I am starting to look forward to whatever’s next. I will miss the people - although I suspect many of them will be moving on themselves in the near future. I met some truly wonderful folks - generous and caring and enthusiastic and a couple of WONDERFUL huggers. The world is getting ever smaller and I know I will keep in touch with many of them.

It’s all good.



From: Select Members of the Kwajalein Community

To: Fr. Provincial, G. Chojnacki, S.J.
cc: John Pickler
Steve Beuby
Col. Stevenson Reed
LTC Justin Hirniak

Date: 4 November 2006

RE: Father John Sheehan S.J.


We, the undersigned would like to commend Father John Sheehan for his outstanding job performance during his tenure on Kwajalein.

Two years ago Father John Sheehan S.J. arrived on Kwajalein to begin his duties as the new Catholic priest on Kwajalein and Roi-Namur. He brought with him significant experiences from remote locations such as his 12 years of service in Nigeria.

When the people of the Kwajalein community first began to know Father Sheehan, there was a general feeling that we had someone special among us. The ease with which he endeared himself to the people of all nationalities and faiths is testament to his commitment to his vocation and his benevolence.

Getting to know Father John or “Padre” as he is affectionately known, was accompanied by a warm feeling that we had a great spiritual leader as well as a good friend. This was not only a priest. This was a man who made Kwajalein a more unique and special place. He not only preached, he lived with us. As a good friend he enriched many lives with his humor and musical shows. When there was a celebration, Father John was likely to be there with his incredible voice and stories. He opened his home to the general population even when he wasn’t there. By his example Father John taught us that our lives are truly gifts. We could see in our new friend that our enjoyment of our precious lives was an act of celebration and reverence. He was an example of genuine joy and generosity.

In his official capacity Father John proved to be a wise and caring counselor. Residents of various backgrounds and faiths benefited from his ready ear and compassionate advice. We knew that here was a HUMAN priest who UNDERSTOOD. Everyone knew that Father John’s caring was more than lip service. He was frequently a spokesman for the residents and a catalyst for community improvement.

Besides fulfilling his assigned duties as the resident priest on Kwajalein, he fostered a strong relationship between the Marshallese and the residents of Kwajalein and Roi-Namur. He provided church services to the Marshallese for a period of one year (October 2004 – October 2005) when they had no other religious leadership. During this time, on every Sunday, Father John would celebrate the 7:00 AM and 9:15 AM masses on Kwajalein, fly to Roi on the 10:30 AM flight and celebrate the 11:30 AM mass. He would then take a water taxi to Ennubirr, say the 1:30 PM mass, and then take a water taxi back to Roi. After this, he would take the 5:15 plane back to Kwajalein, and then a water taxi to Ebeye where he would celebrate the 7:00 PM mass. Finally, he would return to Kwajalein on the 8:30 PM LCM. He created a religious exchange whereby the Catholic communities of Kwajalein and Ebeye host each other at mass several times per year. Father John took the initiative to learn the Marshallese language and to promote the understanding of their culture even to the point of saying the mass in Marshallese. He has also organized a number of charity events such as the sending of bibles to the outer islands. John Sheehan was an outstanding example of understanding and respect between the Kwajalein community and our host nation.

Father John can always be counted on in time of need; he never fails to administer spiritual guidance to those in need. Indeed hospital personnel have spoken admiringly of his exceptionally dedicated service to hospital patients bringing comfort to the sick and dying and their loved ones. He was available when he was needed and never complained about the lateness of the hour. It should be noted that his performance and dedication was described as exceptional.

As we contemplate the loss of our priest and dear friend, we mourn his loss in pain and confusion. We also celebrate our good fortune for having him among us for these two years. Our lives have been greatly enriched. We know that we are better for his time among us. We commend him and request that this outstanding priest and man be officially commended.


(This was submitted with over 300 signatures. I cannot, at the moment, find a copy of the other letter I mentioned - when I do I will add it to the blog site.