Fred Syburg was a professor at the University of Notre Dame
from the early 1950’s until his retirement some five decades later. He directed
the first university play I was in at Notre Dame (I had done two plays for the
“underground” theatre, Impersonal Productions earlier), Brecht and Weill’s
Threepenny Opera. At one rehearsal, he had the whole cast and tech crew sit out
in the audience, and from the stage he read us the entire play, song lyrics,
stage directions and all. He felt we weren’t capturing the tone of the piece,
and so he wanted to share with us what he thought it might sound like.
Fred taught oral interpretation and the literature of
theatre, which is plays and history, and he was a great lover of poetry. (And
music. And baseball. And a list of other things piqued his curiosity. He was a
reader, an actor, a director, a teacher – an inspirer. He was a quiet man with
a great heart, and in his last years he enjoyed following friends and
grandchildren on Facebook, and his observations were always something we looked
forward to. He won the Arthur Harvey Award from the University of Notre Dame is
recognition of his dedication to “young thespians and the University theatre.”
Fr. Don Dilg, CSC is an old friend and classmate from those
days and he sent me an email suggesting I might come out for the funeral and
concelebrate with him. He had been a good friend of Fred and Jane’s (Jane was
his wife, who died in 2006) and was Pastor for several years at Little Flower
Church where they were parishioners, and where the funeral Mass was going to be
celebrated. (Fred’s remains had been cremated, and the funeral was scheduled
for Easter Monday to allow more people to be present.) Funerals are always
important, and when it involves people who were important in your own life, you
make the extra effort to attend.
So on Good Friday I found myself on the 3:45 pm Lake Shore
Limited, pulling out of Penn Station, heading for South Bend Indiana Indiana doesn’t do daylight
savings so at this point it’s on the same time as New York .)
I was in a reserved coach section – doesn’t mean I have a
reserved seat, like on a plane, but it guarantees that I have a seat. The seats
are wide, they recline significantly (unlike the airline 3 inch recline), there
is a foot rest and a leg rest and curtains for the windows. The sleeper cars
have individual rooms that look lovely – ah to be rich – but there was a dining
car (linen table cloths) and a café car. And they pass out small pillows when
they turn the car lights down. There are plugs at every seat – and given the
number of laptops, notebooks and other electronic devices, that is a strong
selling point. I was struck by how many people have laptops with sizable
screens and how many are being used to play videos. I hadn’t thought of that
for this trip but it is like having the entertainment center on a plane, except
that you control it.
I managed some sleep – got into South
Bend with an announcement that there had been a derailment between South Bend and Chicago ,
and they did not know how long the train would be held up. The cab driver was
friendly, and since my destination was in a single zone, the meter didn’t apply
so he drove me around on the way to show me a LOT of the new construction that
had been going on. Several times, in a town where I had spent almost 8 years, I
knew intellectually where I was but my eyes found no recognizable landmarks. It
was a little disorienting – things like that make me feel old much more than
the odd pain in my back or my shoulder.
Got into Corby Hall, the priests’ residence, found my room
and unpacked. I had a living room with a tv and a desk and a couple of
armchairs, and a separate bedroom with a spacious closet, a chest of drawers,
built in bookcase and a bathroom. Different style than the Jesuit community.
Went down to get a snack and met some of the community. Don Dilg came by and we
chatted and started to coordinate schedules. I took a nap – skipped dinner –
and concelebrated the Easter Vigil at the Basilica. One of the newly baptized
took the name Ignatius of Loyola for his confirmation name, so I went up and
introduced myself afterwards and told him that the Jesuits were watching him. A
very nice party afterwards and a late bed.
Easter Sunday was a quiet day, featuring a good cigar on the
front porch, enjoying the weather and the rocking chair and families walking
by. And Monday was the funeral.
Since Don had been Pastor at the church, it was old home
week, and reunion all wrapped up. Reg Bain was a colleague of Fred’s, and a
teacher of mine and Don’s and his daughter was in charge of the music and led
the singing. Gorgeous voice – she has three sons – and Don and I remember the
night she was born. We were in rehearsal for a summer production of Rhinoceros
when the word came.
The Syburg family was present, and
the service was lovely. Don’s homily was spot on (and is reprinted at the end
of this rambling. It will give you the words, but you miss the delivery. I once
again find myself wondering why people don’t video funerals. Often there are
people who can’t come – and often there are wonderful moments when people share
stories or feelings or observations and I cannot but think it would be a
comfort to be able to re-play those in later days and share them with those not
able to come. I would love to know what I said at my father’s funeral, or to
have some of the comments people made at my mother’s. Fred’s funeral had moment
like that too.). The music was lovely throughout – and after Communion, Reg
Bain shared some of his thoughts about his friendship with Fred and how Fred
and Jane (and he was right when he said you really couldn’t take about Fred
without also talking about Jane) had been so important when Reg and his wife
Georgia had first come to South Bend, and when Georgia was in the final stages
of battling her cancer. Ellen, one of Fred’s daughters, spoke about what it was
like growing up with Fred and the things she had learned – including that one
did not go to an artistic event to eat. True also in Fred’s mind for ball
games.
There was a short service at the
cemetery, where I led everyone in singing the Alma Mater, and then we adjourned
to O’Rourkes, a pub in the new Eddy
Street complex, called the Village I believe – an
assortment of stores and shops handily adjacent to campus. Not good news for
downtown South Bend ,
but good news for Notre Dame students and faculty and staff. More stories were
told, toasts raised, I even sang the Parting Glass. (Well, it IS a pub song.)
It was a grand sendoff and Fred
would have enjoyed it. On the back of the order of worship (and Fred had had an
active hand in deciding what music and readings and poetry would be part of his
funeral) was a quote from Ulysses, by Alfred Lord Tennyson:
Though much is taken, much abides;
though
We are not now the strength which
in the old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which
we are, we are,
One equal-temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but
strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and
not to yield.
And I’m sure Fr. Dilg will forgive
me putting his homily in immediate juxtaposition to Tennyson.
Homily for the funeral Mass for Fred
Syburg -- April 1, 2013
So
many images converge on us in this celebration today – images personal,
cultural, liturgical. Such is true in
every liturgy, of course, but is perhaps especially obvious in celebrating the
funeral of a man who was both a master and a servant of images. The over-arching image, the controlling
image, the one which encompasses all the rest on this Easter Monday, of course,
is Resurrection.
Resurrection
is an image that explodes possibilities.
It is an image which proclaims that human life is a bigger, a far bigger reality than anything we can
possibly imagine. Such is the Word that
comes to us in the second reading the family has chosen for this Mass.
In
other words, the reading says, “You’ve already died. You are now living, right here, in the
resurrection. That is something you can’t even begin to wrap your minds around.
Just let it lead you into fuller life – for there will always be more.”
Easter
calls us to feast on resurrection. “Feast” is another image this day. In the first reading the family chose for a
memorial Mass back in Wisconsin
Although
it sounds hokey, I can’t help thinking that Fred had something to do with
arranging that the day of his funeral would fall on April 1, April Fool’s
Day! For Fred was one who helped me
appreciate the true meaning of the Fool.
The Fool was an official appointment in the court of a king. The Fool
was not someone the king kept around for laughs, the Fool was actually a
trusted advisor. The task of the Fool
was to see with an outsider’s eyes, to turn prevailing wisdom on its head. Whenever a strategy, or policy, or proposal
to wage war was put forward, it was the business of the Fool to use parody and
rhyme and riddle present an alternative view, to suggest, sometimes mockingly,
that there was a whole other way to perceive the situation. Some Fools were so good at their profession
that they eventually were beheaded for treason!
But it takes a Fool to see the truth of Resurrection – and invite others
to come to the Feast of Fools!
This
image of the Fool hints at what I believe is, in broadest terms, the purpose of
all art. That purpose, I would propose,
is to illuminate the possibilities of human existence. I remember quite well Fred hammering home the
definition of the art of the Drama:
“Drama is an image of human action in the form of human action.” Thus, drama plays a particular role in
helping us to see, to face, or to confront the conscious and unconscious
assumptions which lie behind our ways of doing things. This is not always a pleasant or welcome
task. And to present this art form with
integrity demands at least three qualities, which I believe Fred exhibited
abundantly.
The
first is courage. Once, after the
closing of a good but tepidly received production, I remember him quoting with
conviction the saying, “if you’ve pleased everyone, you know you’ve done
nothing.” A second necessary quality for
a great dramatic artist, I believe, is a playful imagination. All of us, I’m sure, could put forward
hundreds of examples of this in regard to Fred; but one of the best was given
me just last Saturday by Michael. Two
days before he died, Fred said to Michael, “This is going to be a great
day. It is Ash Wednesday. It’s also the day pitchers and catchers
report to Spring Training!”
Finally, and perhaps controversially, it seems to me
that a great dramatic artist needs to be a person of faith, that is, a person
who is convinced, at some deep level of his or her being (maybe not even a
conscious level), that there is meaning in life, and that it is good, and that
illuminating the possibilities of human existence, even when they are very
dark, or painful, or ugly, is a humanizing process that can, in some ultimate
sense point others to the source of life.
For
Fred this meant to point to the One who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life,
the One whose work of art we all are; that is, One who calls us to be metaphor,
to let everything in our lives point to a bigger reality. Another quote of Fred, before going on the
vent a second time, related by Michael: “I know I love Jesus, and I know Jesus
loves me. I love my family, and I know
my family loves me. And that’s about all
there is.”
So,
as we gather on this Easter Monday, on this mountain of the Feast of Fools, we
pray for Fred, who we trust is preparing a place at the feast for us. And we give thanks to God for calling us to
the vocation of the Fool; and for one who invited us, and helped train us, to
be the best fools we can be.
If Reg’s or Ellen’s remarks are
ever shared, I will – with their permission of course – share them. They were
very personal but very wonderful, each unique and each sharing another
dimension of Professor Fred Syburg.
It was a great gathering of friends and fans, of family and colleagues
and students, and we discovered again how much we each owed this man for his
influence in our lives, and, not coincidentally I suspect, how much we really
like each other. For me, it was more than worth every minute of the 18 hour
train trip out and the 19 hours back.
Yet once again, I find myself saying “Thank you” to Fred
Syburg.
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