More Pix from the Peripatetic Padre

Down this lane next to my trailer, you can see the lagoon. No beach right here, just rocks - but a five-minute walk to the right takes you to a lovely beach. The sign in the window says "Rhino Crossing."


There was a Lucille Ball movie, "The Long, Long Trailer." Here is my version. They have planted coconut tree along the side so that in twenty years it will be harder to see. (Which means they think this trailler will still be here in 20 years!)


Here is the back yard of my "new" (1962 vintage) trailer, with my infamous hammock, assorted seating for guests and a covered porch so I can smoke my cigars when it rains.

There is no way to look good when emerging from snorkeling - we call this one Father Fish.



Different views of life - here I am with one of the Prayer Leaders from Third Island, where I go to say Mass in Marshallese each Sunday. There is a wonderful musical called "Robert and ELizabeth" - this is John and ELizabeth.





And then there is sailing on a large tri-maran. Actually, someone else is sailing - I am sitting in "The Father's Chair" and supervising.

Tough work, but someone has to do it.




Here is one end of my narrow and not all that long living room. Decorated for Christmas - ie, stuff stuck everywhere. No decoration should NOT be put out, so once the tree is full, they get put on tables, hidden in lampshades. If you look at the Nativity scene carefully in another picture, you'll see four kings - one is a Santa ornament I couldn't find room for.


I still get a real kick out of being able to have a "real" Christmas tree ("Live" doesn't quite seem accurate.) Pine needles everywhere but the smell is so nice, the look of it - I spend hours between Christmas and New Year's just enjoying the tree and I do NOT take it down until January 6th (at the earliest - this year, January 9th). This is the other end of the living room.

Fr. John's Christmas Letter 2005

THE CHRISTMAS LETTER OF FATHER JOHN
2005

Greetings from the beautiful island of Kwajalein! A slightly delayed Merry Christmas, and wishes for a new year that are good for 365 days, whenever you read or receive them.

Christmas letters can start from the present and go backwards, or start from last year and move forward. For this world wanderer, December was a heck of a month. The overriding event was the plane crash in Nigeria in which 60 students from Loyola Jesuit College died. 60 of the best and brightest young Nigerian students lost their lives because of the greed and carelessness of the airline operators and the government officials who are supposed to supervise the industry. I knew many of the students from my visits to the school. Part of me wishes I were back there – and part is glad I am not, because I don’t know how you respond to a calamity of that size. 45 families lost children, so some suffered multiple deaths, including one family who lost all three of the children on that plane.

The school is taking this tragedy and is going to build a much-needed multi-purpose hall for the school, called Memorial Hal, with a special place for remembering those who died. The parents and the Jesuits have also vowed to make this the beginning of a nationwide campaign for improved safety and transportation. The parents have been amazing – thinking of others in the middle of their own pain. One of the girls from the school was sent to the US for a special operation to remove a brain tumor. Surgeons donated their services, but the costs of the trip were paid for with contributions from other students and families – many who helped raise the money were on that ill-fated plane. In the midst of the aftermath, one of the mothers wanted to be sure that the girl in the US had enough money. (The operation was done in Cleveland, and was a great success.)

So – although my pitch for contributions usually comes at the end of my letters, this one is right at the front. You can send money to the Jesuits in New York, and indicate that it is for Memorial Hall in Abuja. Contributions should be sent to

Fr Ray Salomone, SJ
39 E 83rd Street
New York, NY 10028

Make the checks to New York Province, Society of Jesus. It’s not just for building a hall, or remembering a group of 60 children. It’s much more about supporting a school designed to change Nigeria, about encouraging people who are determined to use their pain to make the world a better place, to confront the government and the bureaucracy and the corruption. It’s some of the best money you can spend, so if at any point during the next year you get a little ahead – win a lottery, find extra money in a sofa, decide you can live without that whatever – please remember Memorial Hall at Loyola Jesuit College in Abuja. If you forget the details, I will be glad to refresh your memory.

This has been a month of pain for me – certainly the pain from the news from Nigeria. But at the very end of November I was suffering abdominal pains and after several days of increasing discomfort, I worried that it might be the appendix, so I went in to the hospital to have it checked. They x-rayed and sonogrammed and drew blood and eventually the doctors said they could not rule out the appendix. (I think the language was crafted by a lawyer – notice they did not say that it was the appendix, merely that they could not rule it out, leaving me to make the decision about whether I wanted to wait and see if it ruptured or if they should go in and check it out. Since I did not want a rupture (and especially not when I was on some outer island, a boat and plane ride away from medical facilities) I opted for the surgery.

We have a couple of surgeons on staff and a small hospital. Good people – but you have to walk into the operating theatre. (I didn’t have to walk back – I woke up back in my room. I did have a room with an ocean view, which was very nice – although I had to keep discouraging the nurses from lowering the bed.) I was in the hospital for three days, nothing but water and ice chips – and I gained five pounds! Scarcely seems fair. Toward the end they did give me jello – and stool softener pills. Don’t laugh – you didn’t see the jello.

Well, almost a month later, I’ve had more pain from the post-op, in quality and quantity than ever I had before. The doctors keep assuring me that this is normal – and to be honest, I have to admit I have probably not been the perfect patient. In the weeks before Christmas, I have given two concerts, pretty much maintained my schedule of Masses, and led the Casual Christmas Choir in several performances, including caroling at the Tour of Homes and caroling through the streets. I was released from the hospital on Friday morning, and on Saturday I was at the Community Tree Lighting to offer the benediction, and then led the choir at the festival on the plaza afterwards, at which I also sang several songs myself. Extreme pain – but the show must go on, and on it went. So the slow healing may be (partly) my fault. Now that Christmas has passed, I am spending more time really and truly sitting, or using my hammock, and trying not to be too active. I know, this does not sound like me – but I am really tired of hurting, I would like to be able to get back to golf and riding and just sitting down without it hurting. If it continues – back to the doctors.

The concerts I mentioned were in honor of my birthday. Father Jon’s Birthday Bash took place here on Kwaj on the 12th of December. I sang – I surprised the audience with the Casual Christmas Choir, and Neil Dye, a well-known DJ here sang with me in the second act, and a very talented high school senior played piano for some of the songs. We did an audience participation 12 days of Christmas, and a multi-lingual Silent Night. (You’ve never lived until you’ve heard the audience version of Silent Night in pig Latin.) Great stuff – but by the end of the concert, I had no energy left. I don’t work as hard at singing as I should but I had such an amazing teacher – anyone who knows me has heard me talk about Mr. Reading – that I can almost always pull out a decent performance even when I probably don’t deserve it.

A week later I repeated much of the concert on Roi, the other island about a 25-minute plane ride away. Neil wasn’t able to come because of a mission that was scheduled, but the piano player and I did about an hour that was very well received. God bless’em, they not only applauded nicely but they bought every CD I had brought up with me. Smaller group but one that was a good audience, because on Roi, they are an independent breed and won’t be polite if you don’t deserve it.

Visitors
One day I got a phone call from a very good friend of mine in the UK – she and her husband were thinking about coming out to visit. I had visited their home in the southern part of England when I was on my way out of Nigeria, and I had said at that point that I looked forward to being able to reciprocate. Of course, when I said that, I wasn’t expecting to be in any one place for long for at least a year; I was still thinking I would be having a sabbatical. (See what happens when you say these things? People take you up on them – in this case, thank heaven.) Both Kemi and Mark have British passports, so no US visa is needed, so the security clearance was easy. And out they came, for just over a week – long way to travel but they stopped in the US on the way out (playing in New York, where they also got me some Zabar’s coffee as a present) and on the way back (when they visited Kemi’s brother in Texas). Mark is a diver – twelve years in the British Navy all over the world – so we went fishing and snorkeling and diving and up to Roi, visited the Marshallese on Ennubir where I go to say Mass – and everywhere they went they made friends and met people, even appeared on the local radio show the morning they left. Great fun. In Nigeria, I only had guests once, just before I left. Here – less than a year. It’s a fair distance away – six hours beyond Hawaii. Ah but once you get here, those who have come say it’s worth it. Mark and Kemi are talking about their next trip.

Moving
Those who have kept up with life and adventure on Kwajalein remember that last year the company tore down the trailer and made me move. I went into a nice hard housing unit, settled in, learned to enjoy neighbors. This past year, I got a note from my supervisor, warning me that I was going to have to be moving soon. The company line was that I didn’t have to move right that moment (why would I have to move at all? Policy. And although I questioned it, there was no chance I could go back to the same place I had left. I had left a two-bedroom trailer which was replaced with a two-bedroom dome house. But apparently the policy is I am not eligible for a dome. Sideline – there is a tremendous amount of empty housing, and the company policy is to hire unaccompanied over people with families. I’m waiting to see which company bigwig gets that location.) The reason they were “suggesting” it was that there was a nice trailer available. But if a moment came when I had to move, I would have to take whatever housing was available, and there would be no guarantee anything as good would be ready as this trailer.

Now I don’t have a lot of experience with corporate whatsis – although I have to say, if the Apprentice is a sampling of the best the United States has to offer, we are in serious trouble. Most of those folks wouldn’t last very long in the real world I know. But I do know that this is not the kind of situation one guy (that would be me) is going to win. So I made the best of a lousy situation and packed and moved and unpacked. How much lost time and energy was spent that could have been better focused is beyond calculation.

So I’m settled. As trailers go, it’s not bad. There is an extension on the front of the trailer, which gives me an extra room although it is not as large as the extension that was on the original trailer. No view, but empty lots on either side, so I am not intimately adjacent to a neighbor. There is a covered porch, which is nice. Not much storage – it feels a little like living in a space capsule. (There are pictures at the blog site, in case you are reading this other than on the blog – if you are, take a look around, the pix are here somewhere.) It is teaching me to clean up something as soon as I use it, especially in the kitchen, because there is NO room for things sitting around waiting to be dealt with. These trailers were originally brought in to be “temporary housing”; in mine, there is a schematic in the closet in the guest room, worn and faded but you can make out the date on the drawings – 1962.

Now, those of you who worry about me being lonely, I suppose I should tell you that I am not living alone. I saw a factoid a couple of weeks ago that said that for every human being on the earth, there are one million ants. Well, I have mine – and they’re all right here with me. Everywhere I go, I kill ants. I kill a couple of hundred ants a day – and trust me, I am not exaggerating. I have poison traps out – I have laid down lines of poison (which the ants simply walk around) – if you leave food out for five minutes you have created a convention. I continue to be grateful I am not a Buddhist – I do enjoy killing things.

I also have something in my walls. Could be lizards, could be crabs – could be ghosts. My bet, however, is rats and I have asked for traps to be set around and under the trailer.

Snakes in the Garden
Many of you, when you have heard about where I am and what doing, have talked about how perfect it all sounds. And it can. At the same time, it is my first experience dealing with a major corporation, and according to many people who have been here for a long time, the current company that has the contract to run this place is running it straight into the ground. Certainly morale is at a disastrous low. The company lived for a while off the inventory the prior company left, and is simply not spending money on maintenance or replacing stores. Across the board, the story is the same no matter whom I talk to – attention is not being paid. Technicians spend a whole day literally in the dump, trying to scavenge material to keep large radar units running. Fire suppression systems are not having the materials replaced to keep them active. All departments have been warned that when their vehicles are no longer able to be repaired, they will not be replaced; there have been days the fire department cannot send out men to do inspections because there are no vehicles. When I was discharged from the hospital, the doctor wrote a note that said (quite accurately) that I could not ride a bike or walk more than six blocks. The theory is that I should be provided with a golf cart until my wound healed. Good theory – but the official policy was that there were no carts available. Eight days after I was discharged I got an official note from one of the USAKA staff approving the letter, but saying that I should not apply to them for a vehicle, and when I got one (where did they think I was going to get one) I did not have permission to park it overnight at my trailer. I can’t walk – but I can’t put the vehicle near where I live. Fortunately the Protestant Pastor did some juggling and “traded” our chapel van to someone who has access to a golf cart and so I used his cart for four days (not the ten the doctors had indicated) while he used our van. After four days I went back to the bike- little choice there.

The list goes on and on. The radio station is being held together with spit and prayers, the tv system is disintegrating before our eyes, the weather radar was out for almost a month for “maintenance,” and now it has been down for over a week without anyone even trying to come up with a reason. A new public internet system crashed before it was fully operational, and a recent note said that they would no longer sell or service tv antennas until they solve the problem of maintenance. Now these are the antenna that are optional but if you buy one (for $180) you can’t sell it, and if you move, you can’t take it with you to the next house. Yes, even if you move on the island. So if you bought one, they won’t do the maintenance on it and you still can’t sell it. Sigh.

There is a local “newspaper,” more a small magazine, that is published twice a week. Technically it is a function of the military but historically it has served the role of a community newspaper, and featured local stories and cartoons about life on the island. Shortly after I came they appointed a new editor, who has killed the cartoons, and filled the pages with canned articles from military sources that have little or no bearing. All is policy and less and less concerns people on the island. They refuse to call me “Father” – I am “Rev. John Sheehan, Roman Catholic priest.” Even when a photo caption refers to me, same formula. The last four articles or letters I submitted were not published, so I have rather written them off. When I was advertising my last concert (Father John’s Birthday Bash) someone asked me if I had sent a notice in to the Hourglass (the local journal). I said no – they would probably feel they had to advertise as Rev. John’s (Roman Catholic Priest) Birthday Bash, and that would just be confusing. At one point I made a suggestion about something in the paper, and one of the management wrote me to say that the newspaper was an organ of the military, who paid for it, and if anyone wanted freedom of the press, they were welcome to go back to the mainland where they could find it. Love it or leave it was an earlier formula I remember from my younger days, but it says something about corporate arrogance.

The really depressing thing is that there are people here who are good people who want to do a good job – and the “corporate policy” is hard at work discouraging them. Someone said it is as though there is someone whose job is to find ways to make it more and more difficult for the rest of us to do our jobs – and he (or she) should get a bonus, ‘cause he (or she) is doing a great job. Latest moment – the parent company has put together a special task force to find out why the retention rate is so low. People who have been here for ten and fifteen years are leaving, because the standard of living, the reasons they came and stayed, are disappearing. The company has even refused to sponsor the Boy Scouts and Cub Scouts. The troops in the field (civilian as well as official military) could answer that question without a task force – but the company has consistently indicated they don’t want to hear the answer, so we are all fairly sure that the task force will come up a politically correct, corporately acceptable reason why people are not staying. A reason that will bear little resemblance to the situation actually on the ground.

Now in fairness, it may be that there is a directive from the government, or from some higher corporate authority, directing those in charge to start the process of closing it down, dismantling the services and community that have made this a special place for the last number of years. That is certainly what is going on – if it is part of a plan, I think most people would at least like to be dealt with honestly. The place is beautiful, the people are good – but certainly in the sixteen months I have been here I have seen morale plummet, and not in any one level of employment or any department – it is across the board. People who have been here for many years say it is the worst they have ever seen – and as I write this I know of at least six people in good jobs who are packing it in and leaving. They love their work, they love the location – but they have decided that it is simply not worth putting up with the company.

It’s a toss-up. It’s like America – but we have no access to a lot of the computer world. In Lagos I could listen to the Metropolitan Opera – can’t do it here. We have the limitations of a military base and few of the perks. The stores sell things at high mark-ups – shirts that here are $37 you can buy at Wal-Mart for $7.89. But because we are an APO, there are some things that cannot be shipped. High security items like a pepper mill or a golf ball retriever. They don’t sell them here – but if you try to order one on-line, you discover companies won’t ship these items. The company has an ordering system so if I want to buy something for the chapel, like new altar linens, I can order it through the company and it comes out of my budget. But it takes six months and longer for it to arrive. (One altar cloth I ordered last March has yet to appear.) The paschal calendar had better be ordered in October and last year it only made it by two weeks. If I need it sooner – like materials for catechism classes – I have to pay for it out of the collection money, so there is less that goes to the Outer Island Fund for the work of the Jesuits. One suspects the company doesn’t work very hard at getting things on schedule, because they then save the money. Or am I being cynical?

Music
As you know I sang the two concerts in December, and created and conducted the Casual Christmas Choir. I sang for the 4th of July gathering on the beach, and a couple of songs for the post Christmas tree lighting. During the summer I had a weekly informal singing group, the Summer Singing Session. And of course last May I had my first concert on Kwaj, cleverly titled The First Kwaj Concert of Father John.

Just last week I finally got out the violin and have started to get more disciplined about going back to the piano. Over the recent years the field of rep-recorded accompaniment has blossomed and there are thousands of tapes and cd’s. Some call it karaoke, but the result is that here is a huge repertoire of music one can sing and play with.

Miscellaneous Stuff

Weight Loss – There is less of me to love since I arrived on this little island. In fact, since I came I have lost 45 pounds. Since the surgery I have been able to do practically nothing in the area of exercise – but I made it through the Christmas season without adding anything. Holding the line is a pretty good accomplishment. Once we figure out what’s going on I can get back to golf several times a week and work on the remaining 30 pounds I would like to leave along the way.

Santa for the Marshallese Christmas party – One of the things I did do during the Christmas season was to be Santa for the Marshallese Christmas party. I did this year, and I said at the time the reason they had asked me was that their Santa suit didn’t have a beard. This year I knew it was coming, so at Halloween I had stashed away a couple of cans of white hair coloring, so my grey and white would be the Santa white. The event has a jepta (chapter) from Ebeye over to dance and sing as is the Marshallese tradition. And the local USAKA jepta also performs – and at the end of the evening Santa comes in to help throw candy. This year the gym was packed, and the jepta from Ebeye was around 65 people, all dancing hard and singing. The air conditioning in the gym doesn’t work well at its best and with all those people – it was getting really hot. Any time anyone complained, I sort of thought to myself, “Hmmph – you ought to be inside a Santa Suit.” Complete with pillow padding and white wig and hat and carrying a heavy bag full of candy canes. And the pain from the surgery still with me. It’s a fun event, and the Marshallese kids who know me are completely able to simultaneously know that I am Father John and at the same time accept me as Santa. (Maybe they think Santa is my part-time job?)

Third Island and the arrival of the MSC priests. Jesuits have been in Micronesia since the war, from the Marshall Islands through to Yap. At the moment, not counting me (since Kwajalein is technically under the jurisdiction of the Military Vicariate rather than the local prelate, like a bishop) there are only two Jesuits in the Marshalls – the Apostolic Prefect (like a bishop) and the pastor of the church on Majuro. There is also a brother, who is usually at the Majuro church, but he’s away at the moment doing his tertianship. The New York Province has said they can’t provide any more men, and requests for help from other Provinces, like Indonesia and the Philippines, did not produce any help either. There are no indigenous Marshallese priests, either diocesan or Jesuit or any other order. Obviously we need more men.

So the MSC (Missionaires des Sacres Coeurs – Missionaries of the Sacred Heart) have expressed an interest in moving into the Marshall Islands – but at the same time, they have also made it clear that they do not want to work with the Jesuits. (No, I don’t know why.) So what has happened is that three priests from the MSC have come to Ebeye. They will learn the language and start to work with the people for a period of around 18 months, at which point Rome will review the situation and see what the way forward looks like.

Now Jesuits, while we believe in community, are ready and willing to go out as single missionaries when needed. We go where the need is greatest. Here I am – and the others are doing their things as singles as well. The MSC don’t – so the three priests insist on remaining as a community. It’s good for their mutual support, but it does limit their apostolic effectiveness. We went over as a parish the week after they arrived, and had a celebration to welcome them here. Two of them are from the Philippines and one from Indonesia. One of them did go to Santo (Third Island, also known as Ennubir) for the Christmas celebration – but while I am spared the Sunday evening Mass on Ebeye (which, while it was certainly extra work, I did enjoy) I still go and say Marshallese Mass.

The Marshallese are torn. They are certainly glad to have the new priests – and they hope that in time they will branch out and be more active in the community. Their first job, of course, is to learn the language. But the Marshallese also hope the Jesuits will stay. We are willing to do whatever is best for the church. We are concerned about funding – certainly the parishes and schools are not self-sufficient, and our guys have had a long history of bringing money in to the region from a variety of sources, but mostly based in the US. Will the new priests be able to provide that kind of money? We also worry about schools – education has been the primary thrust of the work of the Jesuits and we hope the new priests will have the same interest and dedication to the work of education. Too early to tell – but the situation made the front page of the Marshall Island News, the major newspaper in Majuro.

Meanwhile, the Parish Council of our community has decided that they would like to help the church by renovating (re-building in reality) the church. We’re in the process of trying to get a stronger sense from the community of what they want (Ah, Father, whatever you decide will be good. Very flattering but doesn’t seem to involve the community very much.) Then we need to coordinate with the MSC priests, and raise money, and go through the logistics and red tape of actually getting the material here and then building. It won’t be an easy or quick process, but hopefully at the end of it there will be a new church with a living space for a priest and maybe a couple of classroom or meeting rooms as part of the building or compound. Brick rather than wood, since the salt and wind here take out wood pretty quickly. There are some pictures of the chapel on the blog site, some focusing on why the renovation is needed. Warps in the roof, soft wood underfoot, old and decaying wood throughout. One more little projectfor those odd moments.

Western Africa Province creation. One year to the day from when I left Nigeria, the Nigeria-Ghana Region became an independent Province in the Society of Jesus, the Northwest African Province. I was invited to come for the erection of the new Province, but between finance and schedule that wasn’t possible. They are on their way – what so many people have worked for for so many years is now in place.

COMING TO AN END
Not me, hopefully, but this letter. Reading back on it, it’s not all peaches and cream, sunshine and flowers, tickety and boo. I am in the second year of a two-year assignment here, so at some point during the year I will have to make a recommendation to my superiors as to whether I should stay or move on for that overdue sabbatical and an eventual assignment somewhere else. It is sometimes interesting – and sometimes I wonder if I am doing any good. It is sometimes frustrating and challenging, rewarding and whatever the opposite of rewarding is. I wonder at what point I stop being silent about corporate injustice and start preaching on the larger issues of justice on our own island and within our own system and how the company (and the Army) treat the Marshallese population. From a purely selfish point of view, I would like to stay longer – there are things I would like to do, both personally and apostolically, that are still in the to do pile, and a nagging suspicion that I have not yet learned all that I am here to learn.

I can receive mail through the regular US postal system – at PO Box 1711, APO AP 96555. I have a Yahoo email (johnrsheehan@Yahoo.com) which is reliable. Email to john.sheehan2@us.army.mil goes straight to my desk – when I am at my desk. We have a phone link to the U.S. via California (805 355-2116 at the office, 805 355-4535 at my trailer. There are answering machines in both places.) If I call you, your caller ID will tell you that someone is calling from Huntsville, Alabama, because that’s where our tie-line to the U.S. goes through outbound.

And if you got this in print, or as an email message, there is also a blog site – www.frjohnsj.blogspot.com. You’ll find this there, and pictures and who knows what other wonders and bits of life out here in the middle of the Pacific.

One of the items for this year is to get my diving certification – but only once the internal problems have been diagnosed and solved. And cut some significant strokes off the golf game. And continue with the weight loss. To take some serious time off, a real vacation. Write more, play more, do more serious singing. And relax more, enjoying people and this place.

Not a bad set of resolutions. We’ll see how well I do. I’d like to get serious about learning more Marshallese, but I suspect time will work against that one.

You and your loved ones are regularly in my prayers and Masses.

Suffering Missionary

For those who have not seen the face in person lately, here are two recent views.

One was taken out on the ocean, driving a boat while some friends went fishing, and I am sure you can see the suffering on my face.

The other was taken at a chili cookoff on an adjoining island, as we were raising money for a Christmas party for children from one of the poor outer islands that is held every year. I thought this might make an interesting vocation poster - Join the Jesuits and see the world!

WELCOME to the Massive Missives

Welcome to my latest adventure with 21st century technology. A cousin of mine was traveling through India - a very young cousin - well, by my standards, young - and he was keeping a blog, which his mother encouraged me to read. Now I had been in Nigeria for this development, and I confess, I wasn't completely sure what a BLOG was. Sounds nasty.

But it seems an easy way for the computer literate to share information. And so, I thought I would put together the collection of Massive Missives, for those who missed them, or wanted to re-read them.

A couple of technical notes:

1 - They're not complete. I found I don't have in my computer or on a disk things I remember having written. I have, for instance, no record of the assassination I found myself in the middle of. I have no record of my trip to Belfast, where I witnessed the attack of the World Trade Towers, or recording my first CD's, or the trip to the US for my mother's funeral or my chieftaincy installation ceremony or the death and funeral of our two young Novices. I KNOW I wrote things to people - so if anyone has any of that stuff, please feel free to share it with me.

And in different texts I refer to drawings or maps or illustration. When I was simply printing and xeroxing, that was easy. Now I have to find a way to scan the item (I am saving my pennies to buy a scanner) and then figure out how I can upload it. You can, apparently, not only import text to this Blog site you can actually include it in with your text - a mystery I have yet to solve.

2 - For reasons I do not understand, I seem unable to be able to keep a list of the different postings so you can see all of them. If you go into archives you get the whole long set - not easy to wade through or access but I'm blessed if I can find a way to organize them better.

3 - I am filled with hope that I can also add more pictures - but the process seems unduly complicated, and I have had the experience of going through a complex process of getting the photo uploaded to the Blog site and then being told by the program that the URL address is too long. It's THEIR address! I'm still working on that.

But having said all that - welcome to the Massive Missives of Father John. I have resisted the temptation to edit, update and re-cast some of my early opinions in the light of things I learned later. The frustrations, prejudices and mistakes are all there, just as they were when they were first written. It may seem in some of the early letters I did not like Nigeria - that was never true, but I certainly was frustrated. If I said anything in any of these letters that offends, please accept my apology, and remember it was probably a long time ago.

I suspect that future Missives will be posted here and a discreet email sent informing you of the event. Let me know how this system works for you - could you find and read and (if desired) save the material easily? Are there better sites? Does anybody care? (That's a line from a Broadway Show - any trivia buffs want to take a shot at which one?)

As always - love and hugs and prayers and stuff like that.

Micronesian Meandering #3

22 July 2005

As I write this, it is exactly one year to the day from my departure from Lagos. And on this day, over in Nigeria, the Nigeria-Ghana Region will officially and formally become the West African Province, no longer dependent on the New York Province but in charge of their own affairs as an independent Province in the Society of Jesus. It is a great day for them – a little scary, for the ones who fully understand what that means – but yet another sign of the growth of the Church in Africa and especially in the English-speaking western area. The new Province will include five countries – Nigeria and Ghana, obviously but also Sierra Leone, the Gambia, and Liberia.

And I am still out here in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. And doing well. Let me get one technical note out of the way right at the beginning. I have been writing missives to my friends since January of 1993, recounting my adventures as I arrived in Nigeria and wandered in and out of different jobs and assorted adventures. There have been many of them – initially on paper, with friends in the US making copies and mailing things around, and more recently electronically.

A cousin of mine sent me an email a couple of weeks ago, saying that her son was wandering around India, and was recounting his travels on a Blog, and I should go and check it out. Now I confess, much of this 21st century technology came into being while I was in Africa, and I was still not completely sure what a Blog was. So I followed the address, and lo and behold, there is a site where people can leave their stories for pretty much anyone to read.

This sounded like a good idea – so I started to accumulate the assorted Massive Missives and thought I would put them all in one place, so anyone who might have missed one or wanted to go back and read one or more, could. I made two discoveries –

1) Not all the missives were in my computer or on a disk, and so I have spent hours typing away, turning hard copy into electronic whatsis, so it could be uploaded.

2) Even with that – I seem to have left or lost a whole lot of writing. There are gaps in the record, and I have no evidence that I ever wrote letters about the assassination I found myself in the middle of (where the man’s brains and bloods were on my trousers) or recording my first albums or the trip to the US for my mother’s death or final vows or the death of the two young Novices or watching the towers come down from Belfast – and yet I am sure I did. Now I have been guilty of thinking of letters in my head and then never writing them – but I cannot believe I would let events of such magnitude go un-remarked. Never an unpublished thought, as was said about one of our more prolific Jesuits.

So I have posted what I have – about twenty odd missives – here at Blogspot and you are welcome to peruse and comment. If any of you have any of the material I mentioned, either in print or in a computer somewhere, I’d love to receive a copy. Or if I ever sent you anything you think worthwhile that’s not at the Blog – send it on. I might even use the space to post other things for comment or reaction..

Now there are some technical notes. I am new to all this, and not always as competent as I would like to hope, so while there are missives starting with #1, I can’t seem to find a way to get all the list available at once. The items are all there – postings, they call them – and I have tried to keep them in some kind of order - but you have to go into the archive section to find them and they’re not broken up by posting and it’s not as neat and easy as I would like it to be, or as I think it probably could be, were someone with more skill to be dealing with it.

So here I am, one year later. And the latest Micronesian meandering posted takes us all up to before Christmas, including the added note about my Open House and birthday celebration here on the island, in the midst of a mission and a storm and other stuff. (It’s the other stuff’ll kill ya, if you’re not careful.)

Sooo – let’s do a quick catch up from January, so we’re all more or less at the same place.

It is hard for me to express how much I enjoyed my Christmas tree. In Lagos we decorated the swamp plant in the living room for several years, and eventually we got artificial trees, and before I left we had a tree for the living room and a tree for the lobby of the office and a small tree for the waiting area and I had a small tree in my office and we put lights on the hedge and other stuff all around. Catherine, our secretary (I think they call her an office manager now – whatever her title, she ran a large portion of our lives) came to be in charge of the decorating and devoted one whole day to that every year. And was also in charge of putting away.) But it was an artificial tree that went into a box and while it was pretty – well, you know.

This year – real tree. There is a barge that comes full of trees and wreaths and the Boy Scouts sell the wreaths and the high school sells the trees. We bought a large (mahungous – my spell checker doesn’t think this word exists, but we know better, right?) tree for the chapel, which the Catholic community decorated (brilliantly, I might add – the Protestant community decorated the rest of the large chapel. We help each other out.) and I bought a regular tree for the house. My house. My living room. Cut off the end, let is stand overnight in sugar and water and aspirin, set it up on a small table (so I would not have to crawl on my belly like a snake to keep putting water in it – some things you never forget). I had been buying Christmas ornaments and decorations since I arrived – the previous occupant either took all his Christmas things with him or he didn’t have any – but there was nothing when I moved in. I put large candy canes all around the front yard, and set up an artificial treet outside the front window, with lights, and had a plastic (lit from inside) Jesus and Mary and Joseph grouping and a large plastic star hanging above them. (Sounds tacky, I know – it was. It was all I could afford. And in the daylight it somehow peripherally made you think of plastic flamingos, only not so classy. But at night, when the light went on inside the plastic bits, it actually was really rather nice. I don’t care if you don’t believe me, I have pictures.) In the upstairs windows I had three illuminated stars, one in each of the windows.

But the tree – and the wreath. I didn’t do anything with the wreath but hang it up. It had some holly and berries but was mostly a lovely evergreen wreath. I just hung it – one at home and one in the office (where I had another small artificial tree next to my desk and a small crystal nativity scene on the desk). The tree. That wonderful smelly aromatic made it a joy to come downstairs in the morning tree. I wasn’t sure about decorations and lights, but I had done well in my ordering (except for tinsel, which today seems to be so flimsy and light it is practically unusable. I have a lot of unused tinsel.) and the tree looked good without being too crowded. I heard my mother’s voice as I was putting up the lights (put the lights deep inside the tree, John) and when I was hanging the reflecting balls (put them where they will catch the light) – and it was all very nostalgic. Left over ornaments and odd bits I put all around in odd places – my mother used to have a touch of Easter egg hunt in our Christmases, as ornaments that wouldn’t hang and extra pieces got put on the stairs, on top of lamp shades – all through the Christmas season you kept finding little Christmas bits tucked away. And just like Easter, she could never keep track of them, so inevitably you’d be finding little Christmas bits all the way into February. Which is kind of fun, actually.

Every day in the evening I would turn off the living room lights and just sit and look at my tree. Music playing in the background. I’d open the blinds so I could see the tree when I came up from the outside – I could sit outside at night by the glow of my plastic statues and smoke a cigar – but the real joy was sitting and watching my tree at night, and coming in from the outside or downstairs from the upstairs to the smell of the pine. Or fir. Or whatever it was. It was lovely.

However – fast forwarding – it was also a major pain in the hoohoo getting out. Despite my best efforts at watering and murmuring tender words of encouragement, by January 6th (which is when all sensible and caring and tradition minded people keep their trees until – I won’t even BEGIN to talk about the heathens whose Christmas trees were on the curb on December 27th. Pagans.) When I was a boy… (When you find yourself starting a sentence with that particular phrase – or in the case of women, appropriately modified – stop talking and go and have a drink.) But in our house for years and years, we only put the tree up (into the stand and into the living room) on Christmas Eve. It was not decorated – Santa did the decorating. I am sure that my parents each got into heaven on the merits of their lives. But I am equally sure they got better seats because of this gift to their children. Christmas morning, not only did we have presents, we had the marvel of the decorated tree! It might have meant sleepless nights and panicky mornings but it was worth it.

I wander. Taking down the tree. Needles everywhere. As late as July, sweeping and cleaning, I would find needles in strange places. And I even had a plastic bag which I had put the tree in before I stuck it in the stand. I was thinking ahead. But the theory and the practice diverged somewhere along the way, and January 7 – a Friday, hence my day off and a logical day for the taking down and cleaning out of a tree thereunto – was a long and nasty event. The undecorating part was ok, a little sad but ok, and even the taking off of the lights was fairly orderly. (Again – as children, we never participated in the taking down of the tree. One day we would come back from school and without announcement, it would all be gone. Our mother did it while we were away. Again, magic. A little depressing, but magic nonetheless.)

But even with the needles and spilling water and the nuisance of it all – the tree was a balm to my soul, and I loved it. I haven’t totally decided if I am going to do it again next year or devolve to artificial and a can of spray. And scented candles. July is not the best time to make those kind of decisions.

Even though the tree is down, I can’t leave Christmas without a couple of other notes. The things we do on Kwaj. I don’t remember – did I talk about the underwater pumpkin carving for Halloween? Or the underwater turkey hunt for Thanksgiving? Well, we have a variety of Santa’s for Christmas. There is a big community tree lighting ceremony early in December, and closer to Christmas, Scuba Santa comes ashore with his helpers (all with their scuba tanks – yes they appear in the Lagoon at night, with lights and lots of accompanying festivity.) The Marshallese community had a special night, with dancers and singers and special activities and at the end of the evening, Santa came and threw candy to the crowd. Guess who was Santa? Yup, and I am sure they asked me because the Santa suit didn’t have a beard – and I did. Very full and doused with talcum powder. I have a picture, if I can ever figure out the technology.

One of my several innovations this year was a Nativity chapel. Early in the season I had suggested making a large nativity scene at the rear of the Catholic chapel. Because the main chapel is non-sectarian, we aren’t allowed to leave any Christian symbols in the place when we finish a service. In the chapel, however, I can do what I want. I got some folks interested, made some suggestions – and one Sunday, while I was up on Roi, they came in and did a magnificent job, much better than anything I had imagined. The Protestants were delighted and people kept dropping in throughout the season. I took pictures (there’s that technical thing again).

We had a children’s pageant on Christmas eve as part of the Mass, and then I went over to the Vet’s Hall, to bless the table for the Christmas Eve party, and then back to the church to get ready for the ceremony of carols and Midnight Mass. Not as large a group as I would have hoped, but a very nice ceremony. Folks on Kwaj are good people, but very oriented to their comfort and convenience. Christmas morning we had a small Mass (since it wasn’t a Sunday, some folks felt they didn’t need to go to church. Sigh.) and then I went over to Ebeye. Jim Gould, the Apostolic Prefect (a Jesuit – sort of like a bishop) had come to be with the people and say the Christmas Masses, so I visited with him for a little and then joined a Marshallese group from Kwaj for the traditional Christmas routine. Which is…

On Christmas, each of the churches entertain one another with singing and dancing. Groups go out and visit other churches – and in a reversal of what you might think, the group that visits brings candy and treats and throws them to the crowd at the end of the performance. Of course, each group is in the audience and collects candy themselves from the group that comes before them. Great fun to see the various performances. They had made me a shirt of the same pattern as everyone else in the group was wearing – I didn’t dance, but I did sing occasionally. And had great fun. Around 5 in the afternoon I went home for a quiet night.

Of course the next day was Sunday, so I had the usual schedule of Masses here and on Roi and on Santo. The week after Christmas is perhaps my favorite time of the year, lots of quiet time and smoking of good cigars and enjoying my Christmas tree (I’ve already said that, huh). New Year’s Eve I went over to Ebeye to say Mass for them, and when I got back to my house in the evening, I was simply too calm and quiet to go out and join the New Year’s Eve festivities. And thus endeth the year in which I left Nigeria and came to this small spot of land and humanity in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

January had the usual parties – recovering from Christmas. I joined with the Protestant Minister and the island psychologist and we did a presentation on stress, identifying it and dealing with it, for the IT department, the computer folks who get hazzled every time something goes wrong. (Hazzled – a combination of hassled and frazzled, and worse than either.) And the parish softball team started practicing, including – guess who? Yup, that guy again who keeps asking where his brains are. In an effort to encourage people to join up and play, I said I would play. Now – the last time I had a baseball bat in my hand for athletic purposes (rather than, say self-defense) was before some of my teammates were born. The things I do for community. Actually it was fun, and I got no more injured than guys younger than I. I spent most of the season playing catcher – my arthritis in the back made it hard to throw with any power, and since you can’t steal in softball, I didn’t have to worry about the throw to second. We had a couple of numbers in the win column, but honesty makes me add they were all forfeits. We didn’t actually “win” a game but we did have a lot of fun. Did Mass in Latin one weekend – Latin, English, Marshallese – one is nothing if not flexible. Said the blessing at a Kemem – the one year party were the whole community comes together to celebrate. It is a major (MAJOR!) event – can cost up to $10,000 and people bring food and gifts from many other islands. Neat kind of a coming together, and I prayed in both English and Marshallese.

In February the first part of the shipment of my personal effects arrived, 17 boxes of books and music. Had three kids who received their First Communion before Lent started, and Ash Wednesday with distributing ashes throughout the day and a good penitential service in the evening. During Lent I hosted Lunch with the Father – each Wednesday people brought their sandwiches, and I provided soup, and we had conversation about any topic people wanted to explore. Not only did a create some WONDERFUL soups- and I did – but suddenly people were showing up for lunch who had never said boo in church. Bertold Brecht was right – first feed the face, and then talk right from wrong.

Another innovation from the peripatetic Padre – we had a Mardi Gras party – Death By Chocolate. We had a good DJ, lots of costume pieces and masks and decorations, we used the Country Club – and admission was free except that people had to bring something chocolate for the table of Chocolate (or the table of death, depending on how you looked at it). I made rice krispy squares with cocoa krispies, and a chocolate marshmallow candy that was extraordinary. It was a great evening. And because of the time zone and time change, we got to watch the Superbowl before the whole thing started.

I also got a letter from Princeton Day School, saying they wanted to give me the Alumni Service Award. (For those not intimately involved with my life before high school, I went to a private boys’ school called Princeton Country Day. They merged with a girls’ school called Miss Fines, and the new school is Princeton Day School. It is a terrific school, and I have been a fan and supporter of theirs for years – even before they gave me an award.) It took a little while to get the permissions and work out the schedule with my employer (I’m still getting used to the fact that I have an employer and a contract and a salary and stuff like that – just like a real person!) So in May I went back to receive the award. They had said if I couldn’t make it, they would award it to me next year but hey – they might change their mind.

Other events? Helped to dedicate a new catamaran – holds about 180. Although we are an army base, we have a fleet about around 30 boats. We had an emergency call one night – an Air Marshall Island plane was coming in and couldn’t get the landing gears down. All the emergency services were called out, including the chaplains. The pilot flew around for a while, used up fuel and made a beautiful landing right in the middle of the runway.

I made an impression on St Patrick’s Day – green glittery shoes with pointy toes, green lei, shamrock pin that lit, and a bag of pins to give away. I was on the morning radio show for two hours, and had a most interesting rest of the day. I bought a piano, and on the Monday after Palm Sunday, another innovation – we had the way of the Cross in the community. I had had a large cross made, and we had prayers at a number of places around the island – at the airport we prayed for those without the freedom to travel, at the police station for those unjustly imprisoned, at the library for those who cannot read and are denied education, at the bank for those suffering economic oppression, and so forth. It was a great success and a number of people came out to participate. I also got the shipment of the rest of my personal belongings.

April – Frank Perdue, the chicken guy died. So did the Pope, but we knew Frank, Terry had worked at Perdue’s for a number of years and she and Frank were on first name terms. There was a large fire on Ebeye – about six houses destroyed, which means about fourteen families dispossessed. The Kwaj folks rallied around, and we loaded three containers with the donated items plus about $10,000 in cash. One of the annual events here is the Spring Break Music Festival. It actually started out as a beer festival, with music – a fair number of folks here are into brewing their own beer and their own wine. Now it is a music festival with a fair amount of beer. I was asked to sing, and although most of the acts were bands, I took the stage all by myself, with pre-recorded accompaniment. In all humility – they had never seen nor heard anything quite like me. (Modest, ain’t I? Just reporting the facts, m‘am, just the facts.) Did Fiddler on the Roof, Slow Boat to China, the Largo al Factotum (Ah bravo Figaro!) Bring Him Home, New York New York (with sexy dancing in the middle) and Ole Man Rover to Close. People came from blocks away to see what was going on. I was – what’s the word? – a hit.

I’m selling my CD’s and one of the reasons I agreed to do the singing was that I had announced a concert in May, and I figured I needed all the publicity I could get. And beer – did I mention there was beer? For much of my life, weight (as in having too much of it and trying to lose it) has been a major pre-occupation. Part of the problem, of course, was motivation. I am not a fan of exercise for its own sake. But beer is a great motivation. I order to drink a beer, I know I have to do a certain amount of exercise, just to keep things in balance. If I know an event is coming up, I can do a little exercise ahead – like storing up electricity in a battery. So – in order to lose weight – drink beer.

I know, it needs a little work, but I think it’s a system that could gain a certain degree of public support. I can imagine a poster…

We did a special Mass here for the Pope, and had a number of non-Catholics in attendance. Certainly the media coverage was extraordinary. Our television is AFN – Armed Forces Network – which means we get a fair sampling of US television, reflecting US tastes. So there is a lot of sports, and when the Tony Awards came along, they were not aired, since the feeling at the highest levels (and I know this, because I had lengthy email correspondence with the AFN hoorah’s) was that this was not an event of interest to most of the viewership. I agreed, but my argument was that the minority occasionally needed a crumb thrown in our direction. Once a year an opera or a ballet, a classical music event, a Tony Awards ceremony. It was not an argument I won. But we did persuade them to show the Live 8 concert.

We also took the congregation over to Ebeye one Sunday morning for a joint Mass with the Queen of Peace Marshallese congregation. I was the celebrant – Mass was in Marshallese, but the homily was in English. We had about 80 people who made the trip, and it was a great success. Many people were talking about the next time even before we got to the boat for the trip back. The congregation prepared a huge buffet for everyone afterwards – of course, they got to keep the collection, so it was a (warning – badly over-used cliché about to appear) win-win situation. (Sorry.)

I won’t bore you with all the parish things that go on – wedding vow renewals and First Communion and special Masses, and thank you parties at the end of the year and Parish Council activities (another of my innovations – I started a parish council) I am going to do a first year review in another couple of weeks, and I will post that on the Blog – and shortly I will be announcing a web site that folks can access who aren’t KRS affiliated. We’ve had a web site for some time, but at the moment, it can only be reached by people who have privileges for the local net (which excludes a bunch of folk on-island, which is why I do a weekly electronic version of our parish bulletin – which also goes to folks who ask for it, and right now we have more people off-island who are receiving it than folks here. Mostly former residents, some families of residents, and a couple of people who have come through and asked to be included.)

The two major events in May were my first Kwaj concert and the trip to the US to receive the Humanitarian Service Award. I keep saying what an easy life someone like Pavarotti has – when he sings a concert, all he has to do it show up. Someone else has printed the program and handled the advertising and decorated the set and set and focused the lights and arranged the chairs and set up the sound system and like that – I pretty much did all that myself. Some folks did volunteer to help, and they were a great help – but I could have used six more just like them and starting about three weeks earlier. About ten days before the concert, USAKA (the government) announced IT was sponsoring a performance of some local stick dancers. On the same night. In the same facility, just next door. Now the stick dancers are very good and they’re nice people – but they come about once a year. And their whole performance lasts about 45 minutes. BUT – they have the panache of being exotic, and they were raising money to fund a trip to perform somewhere or other, and people around here don’t even think in terms of going to one event and then going to another, so the competition didn’t help my attendance. Not bad – but definitely under 100, which for an island of 2,000 population, is not breath-taking.

I did have someone tape the concert – a good videographer but with a camera with which she was not familiar and a tripod that did not move easily, so while we have an historic record of the event, it fits right in the mold of the Nigerian Video tapes. One of the big hits of the evening was “Kwajalot” – a song about life on Kwajalein sung to the tune of “Camelot.” I have since done it on the radio (and they taped it, so the could play it in the future without my having to get out bed) and I did it again on the 4th of July. I’ve been giving away copies of the words, so it may become an island classic. That, or one of the pieces of evidence in my deportation hearing. Certainly those who did come were most enthusiastic, and they had never seen anything like it here. There is already a lot of interest for my announced concert in December – Father John’s Birthday Bash. I’ll keep you posted.

Two days after the concert I took off for the US. Flying from here is always something of an adventure. You have to come down to the airport and check your bags in around 2. These days the overbooking has become something of a problem (Continental Airlines – bah, humbug) so people are showing up sometimes as early as 12:30. The airport is right across from the chapel, so I can look out the window and see how the line is forming – I went over a little after one. Lots of folk I knew were on the plane, so there was a lot of visiting back and forth. Checked in easily – now you go away and wait and come back between 4 and 5. Okey-dokey. The first leg of the flight is a 45 minute jump to Majuro, where those who are actually going to Majuro and all those sitting on the left side of the plane get off. Yup – with all your carry on. Nice stretch of the legs, except that after only 45 minutes you don’t need a whole lot of stretching. Then you have the long go to Honolulu. You leave here around 6:30 in the evening and get into Hono at around 2:30 in the morning. The airport is closed – about the only thing open is the luggage a carousel. I had arranged to stay with the Jesuits, so I took a cab and off we went. About twenty feet. The driver stopped and asked if the people where I was going were home. (This after I had handed him a piece of paper on which the directions were printed out.) I pointed this out to him, we read through the directions together, and off we went. Again. Found the campus of the University (not a major accomplishment, it is several hundred acres) and we found the campus of the high school, and after a little wandering about we even found the Jesuit house. I paid off my driver, found the note directing me to my room, and quietly collapsed. Strange sound rather like running water, but I couldn’t identify it.

In the morning, I discovered that the strange sound was running water. The Jesuit house is built right next to a stream, and it is a lovely residence. Several rooms downstairs (where I was) and several more upstairs, along with a gorgeous small chapel. I made myself some breakfast, ran into one of the members of the community, checked email and went for a walk. I thought I would catch the midday Mass at the university chapel but was informed the Mass had been moved to 5 PM. So off I went to see Honolulu by foot. Had a wonderful walkabout, full of mini-adventures and exotic people – and got home around 3:30. Yes, a three and a half hour walk. Had a shower, watched a little of the video of me performing (shameless, I am shameless. Well, I was curious.) and then went off to catch the 5 pm Mass. Visited with the chaplain afterwards (who is also the superior of the local community where I was staying) then back up to the house for dinner and to catch the shuttle I had ordered to take me to the airport.

Dinner was breath-taking. They have a cook who is a marvel. And good thing I had given in to this particular temptation, because when I got through the formalities and what-nots at the airport and settled into the plane, I made a discovery. Plane leaves at 9 PM arrives at Newark at 1 in the afternoon. Ten hours roughly of flying. When you leave Honolulu, they give you a bag of nuts and a drink and a piece of cheese that a rodent would consider a light snack. That’s it. About an hour before arriving, they give you a cup of coffee and a croissant (the French should sue – make them use some other term to describe the soggy bread thingy they call a croissant) with some egg in between. That’s it. I guess they figure since they have made the seats so much smaller, they will now work on making US smaller so we can fit in them. Grumble, fratsis, snort.

My seatmate ate the nuts and drank the soft drink and went promptly and efficiently to sleep. I was impressed. I stayed up to read and watch a movie. (I have no idea what movie.) About seven hours later my seatmate stirred, and while he went to the rest room, I walked about. When I came back to the seat, he had opened the bag he had brought on board, in which was a take-out meal and he was happily munching a chicken dinner, complete with rice and a salad. Aha, sez I to meself sez I, THIS guy has taken this flight before. Note to self: if circumstances are such that we find ourselves again on Continental – and since it is the only airline that flies out of Kwajalein – and if we are not in Business (which is not in the realm of gonna happen soon), check out the take out options before going through security. Maybe before going to the airport. Plan ahead.

Got my bags and took the bus from Newark to Grand Central, walked over two blocks and figured it shouldn’t be too hard to get a cab. The pilot of the plane (yes, the same plane on which I arrived) had the same thought, and so we shared a cab going uptown. Turns out he is a Boston College grad, ole Jesuit alum, and so he ended up paying for the cab for the poor missionary priest (that would be me, for those who were not paying attention, or who do not tend to think of me in that particular light.) Got into the Jesuit residence, found my room, made a few phone calls, unwrapped the rental cell phone I had ordered for my time, and went off to meet a friend of mine who works in theatre and was in town for a meeting of theatre folk.

She is a Tony voter – one of the select who cast ballots and decide who wins the Awards. Which means that once the nominations are out, she has to see every nominated show (assuming it has not already closed). We met at one of the mid-town hotels and went to a party for these out of town theatre folk thrown by Spamalot. Free drinks and food, I saw some people from the business that I knew from my time before, we got a sample of the show, and then we went off to get some dinner and saw Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. Walked back to the hotel, visited a little more and I went up to the Jesuit residence and collapsed. My first day back on the mainland.

Don’t worry – you’re not going to get a day by day of every day on the mainland, fascinating though those days were and scintillating as my telling about them might be. I went up to the Bronx and visited some Jesuits who were in residence at the infirmary there, and got the keys for the mission car, collected my bags at midtown and drove town to Princeton. The joy of driving. Grass and flowers and a chill in the air – none of these do we really have on our island paradise. Princeton, of course, is where I grew up, and so I drove around a little when I got there. (OK – I confess – I tried to take a short cut and got lost in the Jersey back country, and ended up at Old Tenent Church, where we used to have picnics when we went to the dentist. That’s the place where Molly Pitcher made history, fighting for the colonial army.) I bought a pair of sandals at the same shoe store where we bought shoes fifty years ago – and the same family is running it. Nice. Went out to the friends where I was staying ,visited for a while and changed clothes for the cocktail party that night at the school that was giving me the award. (Does that mean the drinks were free? It does indeed.) Met old friends, made new ones and had a lovely time. Back to the house for more visiting and relaxing and enjoying. My body never learned about jet lag (and don’t you DARE tell it!) so I seem to be able to move in and out of time zones without a major shifting of biological gears.

Next day – a lovely ceremony, a bunch of guys form my class showed up – Randy Hobler had been in touch with some of them, and Peter Morse and his wife were in town and came (the same Peter Morse I ran into in Lagos,Nigeria) and Bob Leventhal, who had been one of my best friends in school, and Lee Smith, whom I hadn’t seen for more years than either of us wanted to remember. Great fun. The folks running this bash had said they had reserved a table for me and my family – and I had a flash of sitting all by myself in solitary splendor. Another alum won the Achievement Award – she had been a columnist at the Washington Post but had died recently. Several teachers were also honored for years of service at the school. And (again) I won the award for traveling the farthest to attend the reunion – this time from the opposite end of the globe.

I don’t mean to sound like someone’s grandfather, but as I grow older, I do appreciate and understand more the things I was taught in school, and treasure the teachers and experiences I had. We knew our school was very good (and very hard – and that the teachers were really cruel) and there was a certain pride in that, rather like the recruits who boast that they had the toughest sergeant in the Army. As the years have gone by, the value of the experience has become more apparent to me, and I have treasured the opportunity to go back and say thank you to those teachers still alive, and encourage and applaud the young teachers who have taken up that same work.

That evening there was a small dinner with guys fro our class and their wives. Regan Kearney came, and Wes McLoughlin, who was one of our teachers, and Ward Kuser who was another of my closest friends in school and who has remained a close friend through the years. He’s an architect and an intellectual and one of those renaissance men who keeps curiosity alive and has a tremendous giving heart and is one of the deeply best people I know.

The next day I went to St. Paul’s Church in Princeton to concelebrate one of the morning Masses. I had emailed from Kwajalein, offering to give one of the priests a break, but they said come ahead and concelebrate. Another item in the small world category – I sent off the email, and a couple of days later got a response from the web master (web mistress?) of the parish web page. Turned out it was a woman I had been in high school with, with whom I had run a small business at one point, me doing photography and her drawing pastel portraits form my pictures. I confess – there was a time I thought she was the ultimate, you know, climb oceans, swim mountains, bring the moon on a silver platter, that sort of thing. There she was – unfortunately, we only had a chance for a short visit after Mass. Also unfortunately – the celebrant was a delight, and the church is great but one of the married deacons preached, and in all humility, I have to say, I could have ad-libbed a better homily on the spot. I’m sure he’s a lovely human being, but – sigh. Less time in purgatory.

Visited with some other friends in the afternoon, and one of Rob French’s sons is doing a project about his father, one of my best friends in the world, and so he did an on-camera interview about Rob.

Monday morning – off into the wilderness, beautiful day, gorgeous drive through the New Jersey and Pennsylvania countryside, to a place called the Bavarian Inn. The location was chosen because it was near John and Judy Rosenbaum, and mid-point where another old friend of mine from Indiana and I crossed paths. She was on her way to New York to collect her daughter, and I was heading the other way, so we had a chance to visit, have dinner and enjoy the most gorgeous view of the Shenandoah River. Great place, great dinner, great time. The next morning she went on to New York and I had lunch with John and Judy and from there had a gentle drive through back roads to Joel Garreau’s house.

Aside – one of the great dimension of life in an internet age has to be MapQuest. You type in address a), you type in address b), you push a button and bingo – you have a printout of explicit and clear driving directions going from a) to b). And when you get to b), you throw away the directions with a clear conscience.

b) was wonderful. Les Garreaux are great friends – he had just finished his latest book, RADICAL EVOLUTION. (Go right out and buy a copy. It is truly wonderful – full of fascinating stuff and just plain fun to read.) Had a chance to visit and meet new people and went for a walk and loved being in the country. The next day I moved on to my next stop, a visit with a couple I knew from Lagos – and they invited other people I knew from Lagos, so it was a Lagos remembering festival. (I also register a firm vote of approval for friends who not only have spare rooms for visiting and wandering missionary types, but who actually have whole separate mini-apartment arrangements. Bravi Maurice and Connie!!!)Next morning off for lunch with a godchild, who has just started working in DC, and from there, on to stay with another friend who lives in downtown DC. She and I and her boyfriend went over to the apartment of another old friend from college, and THAT evening was a college theatre remembering night with singing and story-telling and nostalgia about knee-high.

Aside – I have said it before and I will say it again, I have no greater treasure, no greater gift in my life than the friends I have made and kept through the years. Going house to house is perhaps not the most relaxing way to spend a very short period of time but getting to spend time with old friends was infinitely rewarding.

From there I went to spend a couple of days with my sister, with a stop at the Annapolis Bridge boatyard to visit with some friends who have a boat moored there. The weather was seriously nasty, so we didn’t go out on the water, we just stayed in and enjoyed NOT being out (except for when Robert went to the restaurant at the end of the dock and brought back some of the most delicious clam chowder I have wrapped my taste buds around in a long time. A truly noble being, someone who will go out in a gale to bring back clam chowder. An extra star in his crown in heaven)

I stayed at the rectory (priests’ residence, for those not up on Catholic jargon and terminology, or crossword puzzle addicts) because it is quiet, beautifully laid out, and my cousin and her husband and their small son were visiting at Terry’s. I had never met the husband and their son – so I got to get to know new family members. Terry and I had a chance to go through some family things, and I celebrated Mass on Sunday, and the night before we all went out to dinner at a Mexican Restaurant on the Eastern Shore of Maryland (the center of the crab world) run by a Lebanese. I had steak. Smothered in crab sauce. Thought I had died and gone to heaven. (My appetizer? Crocodile, of course – or was it ostrich? One or the other – I always get those confused.)

I keep getting reminded about detachment – being detached – not getting a-ttached to things. Stuff. When I went off to Africa, I left a bunch of stuff in the basement in Maryland. In one trunk there was my Irish greatcoat with the cape (I LOVED that coat!) and several good sweaters, and memorabilia from college and high school, including yearbooks and some photos of shows I was in, and my ice skates. When I was in South Bend, I got seriously interested in skating, and at one point, someone stole my skates. So I got angry, and I went out and bought blades – spent about $400 for the blades, and then more for the boots, and had the blades fitted to my feet, all very professional. Figured these were skates I could keep until I got old – and skating is something you can do until you’re old, so I thought I was in business.

Except for floods. At one point, my globe-trotting sister was off somewhere (Thailand, Korea, Egypt, who can keep track?) and while she was away, there was a flood. In the basement. Where no one would see it. By the time she got back, the things that were not above the two-foot level (like my trunk) were soaked, soggy and a right mess. As she described it, they didn’t even try to see about salvaging anything, they just shoveled out the basement. Sigh. Even if the boots were ruined, the blades…. Obviously this is a sign from God that I am not going to be one of those graceful old men gliding elegantly around the ice in their 80’s. Or at least, not on their own personally fitted blades.

And back to New York. (I checked my diary – turns out the appetizer was alligator. See above. I was close.) Found a place to hide the car, changed clothes (into one of my dress outfits from Nigeria) and met Pam Heilman, an old friend from Buffalo, who was in New York. Her husband was in China, so it was just the two of us. She took me to dinner at the River Café, just under the Brooklyn Bridge – a place with a very strict dress code about having a jacket and necktie – except for people in Nigerian dress outfits and bright red caps. Pam is very personable and outgoing, so between the two of us, we got to know the histories of everyone within hailing distance. Our waiter is an artist, who has worked at the place since its beginning. The scenery is breath-taking, the service is amazing – and the food beats everything else. Except maybe the music. All during dinner there was a background piano that sang. So when we finished, we strolled over to the bar area (where else would you put a piano?) and got a table near the guy who was making the piano sing. Turns out he is from Brazil, and has been playing there since the place opened. He played and we talked. Then I played. Then he played and I sang, and then he played some more – we spent some time there and judging from the requests, people seemed to enjoy it. Quite a night.

Monday I spent taking the car back to the Bronx and visiting Jesuits, and last minute shopping. I had been out or visiting pretty much every night, so it was nice to stay at home, have dinner with the Jesuit community, and make some phone calls. And do laundry. And pack. Which included packing four boxes which I mailed the next morning before the van came to take me to the airport. Newark Airport. Continental Airlines. Full body search at security. Bah, humbug. The guy who was sitting in front of me used to live on Kwaj, and he recognized the shell cross I was wearing as being of Marshallese design. Not only did we have a nice chat, when lunch came around, turned out he had eaten at the airport so I got his hamburger. And there was no one sitting next to me, so although I didn’t have a great seat, it was nice enough. The bag came off easily, and I headed for the infamous Airport Motel – a five minute walk from the airport, but since I waited for the free courtesy van, a 35 minute trip. Had a swim and a beer, some folks from Kwaj had talked about getting together for dinner, but I couldn’t find them so just stayed in and went to bed early.

Since we had to be at the airport around 5:00 AM. Coffee and Danish and off to Kwaj. I had been talking to a professor, and the woman at the counter recognized him, so she gave him one of the exit aisle seats – and since I was talking to him, I got one too. Next best thing to Business Class (which I may never see again!). Room to type, and rooms for the legs (mine) and a whole different feeling. It was nice to hit Kwaj, dropped my bags off at the house, and was back in the office for the afternoon and evening Mass and without a pause, the routine of daily life on a small island had re-asserted itself.

So here I am back on Kwajalein. I’ve had one short trip to Majuro (back to the world atlas – I’ll give you a hint, only a 45-minute flight from here), sung for the 4th of July, prayed for the Baccalaureate and a change of command ceremony, had some visiting Jesuit Volunteers spend a couple of days, learned that a visiting Jesuit was going to be covering the Masses on Ebeye until the end of July, had a pancake breakfast, hosted a very elegant dinner party for the Parish Council, spent some serious time in my hammock and spent a whole day sailing on a tri-maran. Took a 4-day course on a new computer program, got a new laptop computer thanks to the generosity of some friends, prayed in Marshallese at the opening of a new branch of the Bank of the Marshall Islands – if it ain’t one thing, something else is right in line behind it.

So now it’s time to get this up and out and see if the new procedures work. Some will get this letter – others will get a note that it is waiting at the blog site to be copied or read or downloaded.

Now you’re caught up. If I haven’t seen or talked with or written to you in a while, the blank spaces have been filled in. If I have, you might have found yourself on these pages. If not, I was trying to condense and keep things simple.

In the next missive I will spend more time talking about the Marshallese, life in the Marshalls (as opposed to life on this little slice of the U.S.) and the work of the Church and the Jesuits out in this part of the world.

You can make comments on the blog site, but you can also send me emails and my address is

johnrsheehan(at)yahoo.com

I have a U.S. military address but I try to keep personal email off that one. Love to all of you, and your families and friends (whether I know them or not).

Finished – July 31, 2005. Feast of St Ignatius of Loyola, founder of the Jesuits and the guy who said you should strive to find God in all things. Now, if you can't find God in the beauty of being on a small island in the middle of the South Pacific, you need to get yourself a really high-powered spiritual director and I mean NOW!

I'm going to go out and talk to a palm tree.

Assorted Pictures

One of the joys of my life has been Rotary. I am a 3rd generation Rotarian, and first joined Rotary in around 1976, in South Bend, Indiana. I have been a Rotarian whenever I could, and the option of being able to visit other Rotary clubs around the world when traveling is one of the great dimensions of this fellowship.

In Lagos, we made native outfits out of a special cloth that had been designed during the year when the Rotary International President was a Nigerian. I knew him - he is from the northern part of the country. Here I am at the last Rotary meeting I attended before leaving Nigeria.









Before the long retrea, I gave in to my base curiosity and shaved my head. Nigerians thought it was terrific. I thought it looked pretty good myself, although I did have friends in the US who made comments about "World Wrestling Federation." I used the long retreat in Wales to re-grow my hair (have to do something whern you're not praying) but this is what I looked like as I started the retreat.

Wouldn't want to meet HIM in a dark alley late at night.







Here is a more elegant look - this is the picture that prompted the World Wrestling Federation comment. It also appears on the cover of "The Several Sides of Father John".

Women used to come over and rub the top of my head.

I miss that.

Fr. John On Sale

FATHER JOHN ON SALE!!!

It occurs to me that not everyone who may drop in to visit this place already had my three (3!) CD’s. So this is to let you know that you can buy me and take me home. (As my sister said when I sent her the first albums, “How wonderful! Now I can turn you off.”)

If you want a preview, go to

Annball.com

which is a wonderful site anyway, run by a terrific and prolific author – and she has a section on me, and you can sample two or three of the songs from Sacred Songs. Buy one of her books while you’re there.

The three CD’s are:

Father John Sings Sacred Songs

The Several Sides of Father John

Father John LIVE in Concert

Each is $10 (including shipping) and can be ordered directly from me or from the Jesuit Office in New York Money goes to support the work of the Jesuits in Nigeria and Ghana. (Through me is probably easier, since I know I have copies of all three disks – I’m not sure New York does anymore.)

The first is the most popular – everyone likes the standards. Listed below are the selections on each disk:

FATHER JOHN SINGS SACRED SONGS
Amazing Grace
How Great Thou Art
Panis Angelicus (Franck)
Agnus Dei (Bizet)
Ave Maria (Schubert)
Ingemisco (Verdi)
Lord’s Prayer (Malotte)
Bless This House
I’ll Walk with God
O Holy Night
Sim Shalom (Janowski)
Amazing Grace (Yes, twice – my mother’s name was Grace)
The Impossible Dream
I Will Sing New Songs (Dvorak)
Whistle Down the Wind
The Holy City

THE SEVERAL SIDES OF FATHER JOHN
(This is my show-off disk, and each song is in the original key)
Wheree’er You Walk (Handel)
Bring Him Home (Les Miserables)
Maria (West Side Story)
Ole Man River (Showboat)
Largo al factotum (Il Barbiere di Siviglia)
Love Changes Everything (Aspects of Love, Andrew Lloyd Webber)
Mama (Italian folk song)
Core ngrato
La Fleur que tu M’avais Jetee (Carmen)
Vesti la giubba (Pagliacci)
Nessun Dorma (Turandot)
Sim Shalom (Jewish prayer for peace)
Tit Willow (The Mikado)
The Nightmare Song (Iolanthe)
Captain of the Pinafore (H.M.S. Pinafore)
Could we Start Again, Please? (Jesus Christ Superstar)
You’ll Never Walk Alone (Carousel)
Cruiskeen Lawn (Irish traditional song)
Rose of Tralee (Irish traditional – the song my father sang to my mother on their wedding day)
Parting Glass (Irish pub song)

FATHER JOHN LIVE IN CONCERT
(Live moments from live concerts around Nigeria – 8 different languages)

No Business Like Go-Slow Business
(A parody of life in Lagos)
If I Were A Rich Man
New York, New York
Pollution
Musica Proibita
Luna d’Estate
Ore Meta
6 National Anthems
(Austria – Ireland – France – Africa – USA – Nigeria)
Vainement, Ma Bien Aimee
Volga Boatman
Dark Eyes
Moscow Nights
Yehali na Troika
A Well-Known Fact
O Sole Mio
Non Ti Scordar di Me

So – buy away!

Contact me at:

PO Box 1711

APO AP 96555

or

johnrsheehan@Yahoo.com

Happy Birthday To Me

13 December 2004
Kwajalein - Republic of the Marshall Islands

Boy, did >>I<< have a birthday!!

Not having the brains God gave little green apples, I somehow thought it would be fun to have an Open House, and invite people to come and see where I live. The idea had originally come tome when I lived in the north end, and had a huge yard and a gorgeous view and the bulk of the party would have been outside. Somehow when I moved, I kept the idea and forgot the details – like size. And the fact that when you have an Open House, you never know how many people are coming, rather a critical detail when you start to buy food and drink.

So – blithely, with the joy of the truly ignorant – I wrote invitations, included the notice in the weekly parish bulletin and worked much too hard to get people to know about the event. I picked my birthday because it was a day off (our weekend here is Sunday and Monday) and that way I didn’t have to worry about what would I do on my birthday. Remember several years ago I gave a concert? Same idea. About a week in advance I suddenly realized I probably should start preparing so I made lists of food and went to the grocery and spend vast amounts of money, found a local lady who does catering and booked some Philippine food (which was wonderful, but as it turned out, yet another layer of superfluous).

Usually the day before a major party is the primary day of preparation, but that was Sunday, which (if you have read my latest missive) is usually a long and busy day for me – five Masses on four islands. However because of the cyclone/typhoon/tropical storm weather this past week (that was exciting) the mission that was supposed to happen earlier had been postponed. A mission is a test of something, usually missile tracking or missile interception of some kind. That’s what we do and why we’re here. Because of the mission, flights to Roi were cancelled, so I could not go to the Mass there or on Third Island. That gave me a whole free afternoon to do more work. And as I was working, with the tv on in the background, I saw a scrolling announcement that there was a small craft alert.

Now when I go over to Ebeye for the evening Mass, it is on a small boat. A very small boat. And even if the marine supervisor was willing to let this boat come in, I wasn’t sure I was willing to go forth. So I made a few phone calls and alerted the church on Ebeye that God had cancelled Mass this day. Which gave me the evening.

Up at 5:30 on my birthday. Well, I was first up at 1 and 1:20 and 2 am. Catherine, my secretary from Lagos, was calling to wish me a Happy Birthday. Calls from Africa tend to cut off, which is what had happened on the earlier rings. And she thought it was 2 in the afternoon. So she was the very first one to wish me a happy day. Anyway, intentionally up at 5:30 and working away – cooking and cleaning and worrying. But after several days of truly extraordinary bad weather, we had clear skies and sunshine. The community band was giving its Christmas concert in the morning and it looked at though the mission might actually get off today. A little after 8 I heard a noise from outside my window, and it was one of my neighbors with a weed whacker, going after the long grass in my yard and the yard next door where no one is living. I went out to say thank you, and found another woman, a friend and parishioner, who was working in my back yard, re-arranging the furniture and cleaning.

When guardian angels appear in your life, don’t interfere. I went down to the local shop to get a couple of last minute missing items, and listen to a few minutes of the music – and when I got back, my miracle ladies had moved inside, and were sweeping and mopping. (Note to John – stay out of the way and keep your mouth shut. WHATEVER they want to do is just fine. Wonderful, even.)

And they did. I continued with cooking and preparation (I cleaned the bathroom – there is only so much one can expect of guardian angels.) And by 2, the place looked great, the pine scented candles were trying to make up for the absence of a live tree, food was in the freezer ready for cooking, and some out, and other dishes in the fridge ready to be served. The catering lady came around 2:30 with the first of two loads of lumpia (think egg roll, but longer and thinner and much tastier, especially with the sauce) and chicken lollipops (take the wing, take out the small bone, and push all the meat down to one end. Bread with crumbs made from rice flour and cook – yum) and a steamed dumpling with sweet dough and pork inside whose name I have forgotten – wonderful.

The Open House went from 2 until 7, and food came in with guests (there is a great island tradition here of bringing food when you come to a party, which means there are a lot more parties!) and I cooked and served – we had chicken livers (which I had marinated) wrapped in bacon, and hot olive baked in cheddar cheese dough, and a hot sausage and cheese dip which is to die for, and the usual nuts and chips and veggies and dips (at least four different kinds that I can remember) and desserts beyond counting. There were four large coolers outside – one with beer and wine, one with soft drinks, one with water and a huge one that simply stored the twelve large bags of ice. Since it was an Open House, I had another cooler and more food upstairs – and it turned out that that was where the kids went to be by themselves – adults were inside and outside in the back yard, where a neighbor had donated table and chairs and someone else brought a tablecloth and Christmas decorations so the whole back yard (which usually looks like a front yard somewhere in Appalachia) was very festive and attractive and where the smokers congregated. Some came with presents too - we have one channel that is called the Roller, and it is devoted to Community announcements and they list birthdays. I don't know how my name got there, but I was the only one with a birthday on the December 13th, so it was really obvious.

Around 6, I was called into the living room. People came and went and one of the things that several people commented on was the interesting mix –people were meeting people they didn’t know, which on a small island I consider something of a triumph. There were a group of Marshallese who had brought a large keyboard and – traditions must be honored – everyone sang a special birthday song (to me) and danced and gave me presents (including cash) – I got a lovely hand-made wall hanging, and a shell necklace with a gorgeous small conch as the centerpiece and a carved crab which is simultaneously beautiful and a little bit scary. We sang and danced for about 40 minutes and it was much more fun than the recorded Christmas stuff.

People wandered off into the night by 8, and my guardian angels stayed to help clean up. I kept saying they should go home but they insisted and who am I to contradict angels? By 8:30 the house was clean, the food had been put away (I have enough food to keep me going for weeks. Which is good, since I don’t think I can afford to buy anything until February.) I sat quietly and opened the presents that had been accumulating, and reveled in the memories. During the day a dear friend from Nigeria had called, and the phone rang at about 9:15, another friend from Lagos.

So now I am one away from sixty, and next year I might well do a concert in celebration. Certainly easier than having another Open House.

Micronesian Meandering #2

Micronesian Missive #2

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!

Greetings from the Pacific Island of Kwajalein. This is a Christmas card, an update letter, and my attempt to keep in touch with friends I don’t get to see in person nearly often enough. For some of you it has been years (and in some cases, years and years). To be read at your leisure - it seems I am going to be in one place - actually THIS place - for at least the next two years. And at the very end there is a fund raising appeal to help a Marshallese Catholic Church on Ebeye. (You knew I was going to be asking for help for someone, right?)

Contact information:

US mail - PO Box 1711 Mail from Nigeria - c/o 39 E 83rd St
AP APO 96555 New York, NY 10028

Email: johnrsheehan@Yahoo.com
Or
John.sheehan@kls.usaka.smdc.army.mil

Phone: 805 355-2116 (office)
805 355-4535 (home)
805 355-8408 (FAX)

BUT REMEMBER THE TIME ZONE AND DAY DIFFERENCE

When it is 3 PM on Monday afternoon in Kwajalein, it is11 pm on Sunday evening in New York, 8 pm on Sunday night in California, and 5 pm on Sunday in Lagos or London. I’ll try to remember to include a little chart at the end of a sampling of times. If the office is open, there is a secretary who can take a message if I am away; if the office is closed there is a voice mail option. At home I do have an answering machine and I don’t always turn it on.

(If you received the last missive from Micronesia - which was also the first missive from Micronesia - you can skip ahead to the second set of stars. The section in the stars is going to be a catching up section and will all be stuff you’ve already read.)

* * * * * * * * * * *

In case there is anyone who missed the transition, I left Nigeria in July of 04. I had been there for almost twelve years, and for almost all of that I had been in the office of the Regional Superior. The Region is moving towards becoming a Province and there is a real need to develop some young men to take over positions in administration. No one becomes a priest in order to be an administrator - a Treasurer or an archivist or a development director or assistant to the Regional Superior. These are all jobs I have done - and a couple of others along the way. There was a new Regional Superior coming in and a new assistant, and it seemed it might be the right time to make the move into something new.

The New York Provincial said that I should take a sabbatical. That means a year off. Usually guys spend that kind of time taking courses, to refresh themselves and expand their horizons within their field of work. I was leaving that field of work, and I wasn’t sure what that might mean. My first response was that I didn’t think I’d know what to do with a whole year, that six months would probably suffice, time I would spend catching up with friends and relaxing and doing some serious vacation (golf and hunting and deep sea fishing and horseback riding) and get back into something remotely resembling some shape other than an egg. The summer before I went to theology I had toured Micronesia, and I remembered that the chaplaincy at Kwajalein seemed a fun and relaxing spot. I offered to substitute for the man who was there for his vacation time. I thought it might be a good way to begin my re-introduction to the U.S. My image was that it would be a sort of halfway house - not quite the U.S. but with a lot of those elements.

I started to sketch out a plan of travel from then, and was in the process of contacting friends and trying to get invited to stay places. And then I got an email from the Provincial. The man on Kwajalein was not going to be returning after his vacation. He had developed a medical problem, and was going to have to stay in New York and go through some serious medical testing. He asked if I would be willing to stay on Kwajalein until Thanksgiving, to give him time to try and find a replacement. He also mentioned that if I were interested in taking that assignment, he would be most open to it. (That’s a polite way of saying since we have no idea what we’re going to do with you, this could be a possibility.) I thought about it for a day or two, and replied that it would make more sense for me to stay through Christmas. It’s awkward for a parish to have priests dropping in and out, and after Christmas is a more logical time for a man to leave some place and start at a new one. I also said that I didn’t think I would be interested in this as a permanent assignment. My sense was that Kwajalein was a nice job for a (much) older man, sort of a semi-retirement posting, light work. No thank you.

If you did NOT receive the first letter from Micronesia for some reason, including the reviews from my farewell concert in Lagos, let me know and I will send it to you. No point in cluttering this up any more than necessary.)

In the proverbial nutshell, I got to Kwajalein on August 12th, and almost immediately people here began campaigning for my staying. After two months of living on the island and some serious prayer and reflection, I asked the Provincial - assuming he did not have any particular assignment in mind for me or greater need - that I be assigned here as a regular assignment.

* * * * * * * * * * *
I’m writing this on Thanksgiving weekend. Had a Mass at 10 this morning, and the usual turkey and what-not. Made some phone calls - now THERE is a strange feeling, being able to make a phone call - and I am watching the Macy’s Parade on television. I hear myself sometimes sounding like a crochety old man, but by God, I remember a day when you turned on the tv and watched the parade. NOW - you watch promo short bits for Broadway shows, interviews with actors I have never heard of from series I have never heard of - the parade has been on for 55 minutes as I pen these immortal words, and I don’t think we have had five minutes of actual parade. (It is also pouring rain out, which adds a nice intimacy to the afternoon - I have just brewed a fresh pot of coffee, so the smell of Colombian ground coffee is in the air, and there is a piece of mince pie in the oven - and the Rockettes are doing a dance routine to music from a newly-released movie. Sigh.) I may break one of my own house rules and both smoke a cigar inside the house and have a drink by myself.

Back to the narrative. After I had been here for a couple of months, I did a couple of days of prayer and reflection, and put it to the Provincial that while I remained available for anything - and certainly open for whatever he might decide - all things being equal, I thought it might be a good thing for me to be here for a couple of years. It wasn’t an easy decision, and one reason was because it seemed so good. Beautiful locale, real need, wonderful people - we are supposed to go where the need is greatest, and I had to ask seriously if this were the greatest need.

At the same time, it is the primary responsibility of the Provincial or Superior to determine that need, and I certainly didn’t have any strong options to offer. I did ask that if I were to be assigned here that the offer of a sabbatical remain for whenever I might finish THIS assignment. There were negatives. I would be going back into work without much of a break, rest or vacation. There are a lot of good friends (that would be you who are reading this) whom I have not seen in a long time. And I would be in a situation where I would be the only Jesuit. You can’t talk of being “alone” in the middle of a community of 2,300 - but alone in the sense of not being in a community of Jesuits.

The Provincial, after consulting with the Regional Superior, who had been here for a visit, said yes. Plan on staying for two years, and we’ll evaluate it then. The usual Jesuit assignment is for six years, unless you stay longer. Or less. I was in Nigeria for just under 12. So who knows.

So I am here. Let me see if I can add to a sense of life on my little island since I sent out the last missive. One of the major changes was in where I am living. I had described my trailer and the truly spectacular view I had in my front yard. Well, shortly after I sent off the last missive, I was informed that I would have to move. Nothing personal - they were going to tear down or move out all the trailers in the North end, and replace them with dome units. They gave me a list of trailers to look at, so I could decide which one I liked. I looked and wrote the powers that be that I really didn’t “like” any of them. I pointed out the needs of a chaplain for some degree of privacy, and noted that we had added a whole extra room onto the original trailer. So between the added room and the front yard, I was going to be looking at a significant reduction in space. Someone intervened, and I found myself on the list for hard housing - and I am now in a 2-bedroom, two story unit, one of 4 in a unit. Concrete block construction, three air conditioners (one in each bedroom and one for the downstairs) - nice kitchen, and a whole lot closer to the office than the other location. Now there isn’t much a view -pretty much the street and other peoples’ houses. But the inside living is better. When the dome is built will they give that site back for the Catholic chaplain? Who knows. It’s a toss - goods and bads in each choice. Moving was a pain - but setting up a whole new place has been fun. I’ve gone broke getting reading for Christmas - the former chaplain didn’t leave a single ornament. So I have been stocking up on ornaments and lights and what nots. They bring live trees in on a barge, and fresh wreaths. It’s been twelve years since I’ve had a real Christmas tree. I am looking forward to it. I’m having an open house here on the 13th. I was hoping the trees would be in, so it could be a tree-trimming party (a sneaky way to get other people to do the work for you) but the trees arrive on the 16th.

I done a couple of baptisms, prayed at the Veteran’s Day ceremonies for the Army and led a discussion on Angels and Demons. I have been the guest preacher at the Protestant Service, and one of the judges of the poster contest at the high school Turkey Bowl. We’ve had memorial services, and I sold my CD’s at the local art guild bazaar, where I also sang. I have my boat license for sailing and one more test for my power boat license, I am a member of the Yacht club and I have my locker and tag at the golf course. The pro even said I had a pretty good swing!! I’ve started a Parish Council and a Finance Committee, we have a committee working on re-designing the Catholic chapel, and another working with me to design the web site. I send out an electronic bulletin each week in addition to a printed bulletin at Mass. I’ve turned down invitations to sing with the community chorus and to do a lead role in the Christmas musical.

On Sunday I am saying Mass five times on four different islands, in addition to the anticipated Mass on Saturday afternoon. There is a 7:00 am and a 9:15 am here on Kwajalein, (which means I have to be in the office by 6 which means the old alarm goes off around 5) and then I get on a plane and fly about twenty-five minutes north to Roi Namur. I ride my bike (yes, I have a bike up there as well as one here) from the airport to the chapel, say Mass, and then on to the dock, where a water taxi (ie a SMALL boat) is waiting to take me on a ten-minute ride over to Ennibur (also known as Third Island, also known as Santos) where I say Mass in Marshallese. Well, I say Mass mostly in English, a little bit in Marshallese, and the community answers in Marshallese. Bit by bit I am expanding my Marshallese. Back on the boat to Roi, a bit of a layover where I have time to smoke a cigar and meditate or read - and then I fly back to Kwajalein. I ride my bike to the security dock, where another small boat awaits, a 15 minute ride over to Ebeye, and I head confessions for about a half an hour and then say Mass at 7 PM. There is an 8:30 ferry - about a 25 minute ride in the dark - so I am back on Kwaj around 9 pm. A good friend who is a fireman usually has a Sunday evening barbecue, so I stop by his place on the way home for a beer and leftovers if there are any and a cigar. He is a serious collector and afficionado and always has something new for me to try. Sunday - day of rest. Not.

One of the dimensions of being here is to be of some service to the Marshallese community, both on Kwajalein but also on Ebeye and Ennibur and other islands (one is called Goojeegoo - and one of the things about Marshallese is that since it has existed for so many years as a spoken language, there is no set spelling for words. You spell it as it sounds to you - my teacher will spell the same word two or three different way in the same lesson. One of the things about learning the language is abandoning some of your hard-learned precepts about spelling.). Most can understand some English - not all can speak it. I can say a few things - but I find it very hard to “hear” the language yet. Many of the elements and social structure are very similar to their Nigerian counterparts - some Marshallese are surprised at how quickly I have learned about their culture. Not so new.

Halloween was great fun. In addition to the on-island, they let something like 150 kids from Ebeye come over, so there were lots of customers. Most people sit outside so I joined the golf pro who lives across the street and we talked and smoked and passed out candy to the assorted munchkins. Lots of great costumes and a night harkening back to a Norman Rockwell sort of world. For those in Lagos, it’s not unlike living at Chevron, except maybe more so. And you never have to leave the compound to go outside. Mayberry lives. People don’t lock doors, everyone knows everyone, the kids at the high school consistently score significantly higher on the SAT than the national average, and we have almost all the amenities - movies several times a week at our indoor and outdoor theatres, meals available at the dining hall and a snack bar with a huge menu, a bowling alley, tennis courts, basketball, baseball, two gyms, a very well equipped exercise hall, a golf course, swimming and sailing and boating and fishing and snorkeling and kayaks and diving. There is a running club and a bike club and the yacht club and a women’s club a video rental shop and a beauty parlor, a grocery store and the equivalent of a 7-11, two retail stores, post office, a very good library, our own radio station, in addition to radio and tv being brought in from the outside. Armed Forces network gives us 8 channels for tv. And another channel with the local radar tracking, so we can keep track of weather coming in. Good hospital, full dental clinic - four doctors and two dentists live on island, and other doctors (orthodontist, optometrist, etc) come on regularly. Vet too for the animals. We even had a guy here this last week from Waterford Crystal, to do personalized engraving on any piece of crystal. Not necessarily one you bought - if you had it, he would engrave. There are several clubs - the American Legion has a bar and meeting hall, there is a snack bar and bar bar on the coast, the Yukwe Yuk Club is the most polished, and they have special events regularly, including an open mike night where anyone can get up and perform. No, I haven’t succumbed to the temptation.

We have several beaches, which are the venue of choice for farewell and anniversary parties and parties for which you don’t really have a reason. We also get bands through the Armed Forces Entertainment Services. One of the benefits is that the housing is supplied, so when there is a problem with the hot water heater or something goes wrong - I call someone to come and fix it. There is a self-help unit, which provides all sorts of stuff to maintain the place, like lawn mowers, weed whackers, garbage bags and all sorts of tools.

Now one of the things you have to deal with is shipping and getting things onto the island. If you are buying for yourself, you are at the mercy of the post office and shipping gods, and mail can be weeks or days. No way of knowing. If you are ordering officially - ie through the company - you figure a lead time of at least three months. I ordered the Easter Paschal candle in mid-November. Magazine subscriptions routinely expire before the renewal order gets processed and sent through. The received wisdom is “It’s on the next barge.” There are even t-shirts.

It’s not all beer and skittles. The reason we have the ability to leave doors unlocked and run a small community on a large scale is that we an Army base and we have rules and regulations and a fairly high degree of supervision. It’s a trade-off, and one I don’t find particularly irksome. But pretty much everything is done a la Noah’s Ark - two by two. You can’t swim alone, you can’t sail alone - pretty much everything has to be in pairs.

And there are the small town syndromes. There is a very active gossip grapevine, and a whole host of small town sensibilities and prejudices. I ran afoul of one woman who took a simple moment and blew it up, sent emails to my religious superior, to the president of the company
and to the commanding colonel. Now all sorts of people rallied to my support, and apparently she has a reputation in the community - but she is nasty and vindictive (trust me, I am being charitable) and in the past, people didn’t fight back. I did - in public - and got the full support from the company and the commanding officer and eventually from the Jesuit regional superior (who was far away and trying to figure out what was happening long distance) and I have now signed on as a regular full-time permanent employee. But there were a couple of weeks when it was a little like being a politician in the middle of an accusation of something that turns out not to be true. Hopefully it will, in the longer run, be a cause of bringing the community closer together. And realizing that we have to work together.

I get two days off a week - some of that time goes for the basics like laundry and shopping and ironing (I had forgotten how much I really HATE ironing!!!) But I also go to the gym regularly and do long bike rides, occasional golf and more regular visits to the driving range. I’ve dropped 15 pounds since coming here - more to go, more to go. I’m not eligible for a vacation until the end of 2005 - which means it will be some time in 2006 before I get a real vacation. So those of you with guest rooms don’t have to worry for a while yet about a bearded visitor. Except, perhaps, for Santa Claus, of course.

FINANCIAL PITCH

Ebeye is the adjoining island (see above) and the level of poverty is - while not as great as parts of Lagos - fairly awful. Jesuits have been there for many years, and we have built a school and a very active parish. The school is doing well - although there are more children on the streets because they are unable to get seats in schools than there are children in school. The parish is involved in many parts of life on the island, and has helped many get jobs and training and is a strong positive force in the community. The church and other buildings on the compound are badly in need of renovation - it has been many years since the original construction, and the constant ocean climate is not helpful to keeping things in the best of shape.

So - the parish is planning a major renovation. Hoping. Part of the problem is that many are living very simply and on the edge of existence - there is very little “spare” cash. They do very well in supporting the ongoing activities of the parish, but for something like a renovation, they find it very difficult. They have started taking up separate collections, and over the space of a month, they have raised approximately $1,300. Considering their circumstances that’s a tremendous symbol of community support. I don’t know exactly what the projection is - how much they hope to raise. As was the case in Nigeria, they will end up doing much of the work themselves - but they will still need the materials with which to do the work. Some renovation is for the church, but more is for the classrooms and community rooms which serve all the people.

So - anything you would care to donate to the project will be greatly appreciated. Make the check out to Blessed Sacrament Parish and send it to me directly. We have a different situation here and so we don’t need to go through the New York Province. It is still tax-deductible. Blessed Sacrament (the parish here) is a recognized parish by the US government. (I can provide the necessary tax data if needed, but usually the cancelled check to a parish is enough.) Obviously, for this tax year, you’ve got to date the check before December 31. But your gift will be welcome at any time. I’m even contributing. I have a salary!! (for the first time in 25 years!) Around half of it goes to the Jesuits of Micronesia, to support their work here. Collections at the parish here go to support the world of the local church throughout Micronesia, through the Prefect’s office (functions like a Bishop but does not have the full office). And the parish does a special series of collections during Lent specifically for the work of the Prefecture in the Outer Islands, the smallest and poorest and most distant in the chain.

See? I have managed to land in a place where there are still lots of needs. And you thought your checkbook was safe!!!

So there we are. I hope your holidays are joy-filled. It will be a busy time for me but I hope I may be able to actually talk to you by phone at some point during the season. Hug anyone who should be hugged - if I don’t know them, hug them anyway. I will see some of you when I finally do get a vacation - and if you come out here before that, well, there you will be. Thank you for your prayers, your support and your friendship over the years.