Showing 2 results

Born: 17 March 1930, Glasnevin, Dublin, County Dublin
Entered: 08 October 1947, St Mary's, Emo, County Laois
Ordained: 31 July 1961, Milltown Park, Dublin
Died: 11 November 2020, Sydney, New South Wales, Australia

Left Society of Jesus: 10 December 1976

by 1954 at Berchmanskolleg, Pullach, Germany (GER S) studying
by 1963 at Sentmaringer Münster, Germany (GER I) making Tertianship
by 1966 at St Louis MO, USA (MAR) teaching
by 1974 at Regis Toronto, Canada (CAN S) sabbatical

https://lonergan.org.au/wp-content/uploads/2020/12/Shane-Hogan-Conn-ODonovan-Eulogy.pdf

A eulogy for Cornelius Patrick O’Donovan (17 March 1930 - 11 November 2020)
Shane Hogan, former Headmaster, St.Ignatius College, Riverview
21 November 2020

We are here to celebrate the precious life of Cornelius Patrick O’Donovan’s, or ‘Conn’ as he was more affectionally known.

Conn was an immensely special person to a great number of people from vast walks of life. From a young Irish lad in a big catholic family to a dynamic Jesuit, his adventurous and influential life in Australia is one worth remembering and celebrating. I pray these words are befitting of Conn and the extraordinary legacy that lives on in his family and friends.

In 2003 I was given a book by Daven Day SJ when he was Provincial. Its title was Heroic Leadership. It was an attempt by the author, an ex-Jesuit, to explain why the Jesuits had survived for the past 450 years while empires and successful corporations have fallen by the way side in that time. He put it down to 4 characteristics that he believes have served the Jesuits over that time: self-awareness, heroic deeds, ingenuity, and love.

Does each of these principals not sum up and epitomise this beautiful man’s character and personality and explain how he had such an impact on each person’s life that he touched.

Conn was born on 17 March 1930 in Dublin. The keen-eyed among you will have noticed the significance of this date – it is surprising he was not called Patrick Cornelius! As the second born male, Irish tradition states that he would be named after his paternal
grandfather and father.

His father was the Land Commissioner Inspector at this time but was famously behind the barricades at the Dublin General Post Office, shoulder to shoulder with Collins, Clarke, Connelly and McDermott, in the Easter Rising of 1916. Conn was very proud of this fact.

Conn had his Secondary education at Roscrea College, Tipperary for one year, and spent the remainder at Colaiste Mhuire, Dublin – an Irish-speaking Christian Brothers School. He entered the Society of Jesus on 8 October 1947, joining the Jesuit Novitiate at Emo, near Portarlington, where he spent two years of spiritual formation. In the Novitiate he was encouraged to read widely and to develop an interest in music and the arts, a passion he maintained throughout his life.

Following his time in the Jesuit Novitiate he travelled to Rathfarnham Castle where he studied for four years at the University College Dublin. An exemplary student, Conn pursued a demanding course, taking four subjects in Science and Mathematics. While he certainly could have obtained an impressive degree in Science, Conn’s heart remained in the realm of the humanities, and at the end of his first year, he switched to a degree in Latin and Irish. He would, of course, obtain First Class Honours. From here, Conn travelled to Germany to study Philosophy and upon commencement, greatly impressed the demanding German Jesuit professors, who promptly marked him as someone set to become a specialist in Philosophy.

Conn spent the next two years teaching and perfecting his craft at Belvedere College, Dublin, where his interest and ability in sports came to the fore. He was an excellent teacher, popular with the students and possessed an effortless and kindly control in the classroom and on the playing field. He then moved to Milltown Institute of Theology and Philosophy for four years of Theological Studies. It was Milltown that had a decisive impact on Conn, in large part due to his association with Philip McShane, with whom he forged a personal and intellectual friendship, one that would influence not only the other, but a whole generation of students of Philosophy at the Milltown Institute. His interest in philosophy deepened and matured over these years and the expectations of his German philosophy professors were further realised. After his final year of formation - his tertianship - Conn attended the Pontifical Gregorian University in Rome where he obtained a Doctorate in Philosophy which he promptly put to use at the Jesuit St. Louis University in Missouri.

Conn returned home to Ireland where he taught Philosophy for 10 years. As ever, he was popular with colleagues and students, being urbane and gracious as he was. With his Milltown friend, Philip McShane, the pair established a philosophy course grounded in the teachings of the Canadian Jesuit Philosopher, Bernard Lonergan. This decision, however, was not without controversy and painful conflict. The modernisation of religious life was under heavy scrutiny at the time of the change, following the second Vatican Council. Although unknown, many believe that this series of conflicts in the 1960s were what caused Conn to leave the Priesthood and the Jesuits. Conn and the Jesuits remained passionately and eternally in a “benign and mutually appreciative relationship”.

Conn met the love of his life, Paddy, sometime after leaving the Jesuits. Paddy was an Australian nurse whom Conn met while she was travelling through Ireland. Conn was besotted with Paddy. Anything that she wanted, Conn was prepared to deliver. The two
become inseparable and shared many crazy adventures. His immense love for Paddy endured until her passing in 2003. A beautiful send-off was held for Paddy at St Canisius in Potts Point, arranged by Conn’s dear friend, Steve Sinn.

Conn arrived on the doorsteps of St Aloysius College in January 1980. He was looking for a job, as were a number of others who have been part of Jesuit education in Australia for the past 40 years. The first time I met him, Conn was sitting outside Father Bruce’s office waiting to go in and get our classes for the year. At Aloysius, Conn was an immediately hit with staff and students (and Jesuits). He played staff football on a Friday afternoon for many years. I did not realise how old he was at this time, probably 50 or close to it, he was easily one of the best players on the field – a great goalkeeper. Off the field, Conn could also hold his own with a drink.

Conn was an exceptional Latin teacher, Latin being one of eight languages Conn had been taught or taught himself to speak. He was also an exceptional Year Coordinator, earning the love of his students whom he loved in return. One of the reasons for this mutual respect was due to the fact that Conn could not bring himself to use the strap as punishment. He opted instead for a slower, arguably more cruel method, to talk them to death! If this did not work, he would refer them to his assistant, Neil Mushan, to sort out matters more… directly.This discipline method did not work when Helen Ephrums became his new assistant, as she also loved the boys to death.

Conn’s time at Aloysius is wonderfully remembered in comedian Ahn Do’s popular novel, The Happiest Refugee, where Conn’s passion and commitment to fair play saw him rest Ahn late in a Basketball game when Ahn was desperately trying to get to 30 points to win a new pair of basketball boots. When Conn was informed of his accidental actions, he was reported to have said, “Jaysus! Why didn’t you tell me earlier you daft eediot! Ahn, next time out, you’re on!” I can hear him saying it! With his right hand on his forehead.

When I first knew Conn, he was living at St Ignatius’ College in the old Infirmary. After that, he resided at Pearl Beach and travelled each day to St Aloysius is his green Morris Minor. He also for a time lived in a plush flat in Bellevue Hill, however the only piece of property he owned in his life, was an old church in the country which he used as a holiday house. Finally, Conn moved to Riverview and lived in a cottage by First Field for many years, a very happy place with classical music always drifting in the air as you approached.

On his departure from St Aloysius in the mid ‘90s, Conn travelled home to Ireland for a number of years. Paddy had convinced him she wanted to go home to Ireland to live and do a cooking course in France. Ever supportive of her dreams and true to his enduring love, whatever Paddy wanted, Conn was always prepared to deliver. While in Ireland, Conn taught at the Jesuit Belvedere College, Dublin, but both he and Paddy soon realised that with the Celtic Tiger enveloping the nation, Ireland was not the place and home they thought it to be.

Conn returned to Australia, commencing at St Ignatius’ College, Riverview, where he would join a number of us who had left Aloysius to start anew. After Paddy died, I asked Conn to come and live at Riverview. With this, a new amazing stage in his life began: that of a Jesuit, mystic and gypsy. Conn did possibly his best and most influential work while at Riverview. As mentor and confidante to the Headmaster, as well as Latin teacher, Conn spent many an afternoon wasting his time on Jennie Hickey and I - who never completed her homework and was inattentive at times - as he tried to get us through the Year 7 syllabus … year after year.

Conn’s impact on the formation of young Ignatian men and on those he worked with can be summed up by the outpouring of emotional responses on social media on hearing the news of his passing. Among the many moving tributes, here are two such examples of the widespread and lasting influence of Conn’s character.

A wonderful person and a great and enthusiastic 4th XI soccer coach! Profound intellect, humility, insight, depth of faith, simplicity of life, ease of finding joy… Conn’s gift for critical, honest thinking and seeking after truth made a big impact on me and many. I am moved to gratitude for his life. May Conn rest in peace. – James O’Brien
A dear friend and teacher who helped educate the whole person - a wonderful teacher of Ancient Greek who, in the course of teaching the subject, taught you also a good deal of literature - particularly the Irish poets - Latin, Gaelic, German, Philosophy and Theology. A great football coach who insisted on character and fair, firm play. But more, just a caring shepherd of people on their way into broader life. My favourite lessons in Greek were when he would turn up with a poem of Seamus Heaney’s,

because the story of the Trojan wars was also the story of all human struggles. Requiescat in pace, Conn. – Dominic Kelly

At this point, can I especially thank, from all of Conn’s friends and family, the care and love shared by the dozen or so girlfriends who spoilt him and gave him a graceful entry to heaven over the past months and were true friends to the end, especially you Christine, you have been an angel by his side.

In the Book of Isiah there is the story of the passing of a close friend of Cicero and when his wife asks him why do you weep so?

“The earth is poorer” said Cicero. “It has lost a good man, and we cannot afford it”

The earth will be a poorer place without Conn, at a time when good men are hard to find. Conn touched each and every one of us and has left us with memories we will cherish forever. Conn loved his Irish heritage, and in particular Irish poets. Conn and Paddy attached this poem to a birthday card they sent me in 2002. When you read it, hear Conn’s words in your head and heart.

https://lonergan.org.au/conn-odonovan-2/

27 November 2020

In Memory of Cornelius Patrick O’Donovan (17 March 1930 – 11 November 2020)

Our colleague and friend, Conn O’Donovan, was a regular attendee, participant and presenter at our biennial Australian Lonergan Workshop. He had a particular expertise and interest in the philosophy of learning.

He will remembered as a passionate and compassionate man, a lover of his wife Paddy, a scholar and a teacher,. He will also be remembered for this love of music and Lindt 85% dark chocolate.

His funeral service can be viewed (until 20th May 2021) at: https://www.FuneralVideo.com.au/CorneliusODonovan. A hard copy of the eulogy by Shane Hogan, former headmaster at St.Ignatius College, Riverview is available to download here. This includes a little of life-story.

In Lonergan circles, he will be remembered an educator, a reformer of philosophy and theology courses and a translator and interpreter of one of Lonergan’s important contributions to theology.

Educator

Throughout his life, Conn was an educator at various institutions – Belvedere College, Dublin; St.Louis University, Missouri; and Milltown Institute of Theology and Philosophy.

Over the past 40 years, Conn taught at St.Aloysius College, Milson’s Point and St.Ignatius College, Riverview (in Sydney, Australia). He is particularly noted for his course on “Wonder about Wonder: an introduction to philosophy” which aimed to have students grasp their own native wonder.

Reformer

In the early 1960s, Conn worked closely with Phil McShane and others in reforming philosophy and theology courses at the Jesuit Milltown Institute, Dublin. In a 2003 article in the Journal of Macrodynamic Analysis reflecting on the first forty years of Phil McShane, Conn recalled the challenge and the difficulties they faced:

There was considerable discontent, and even cynicism, among those Jesuit students, whether Lonergan inspired or not, who looked on theology as something more than just a canonical prerequisite for ordination, or who had already achieved considerable success in some other field. Many of them simply went along with the system, mastering the matter presented and producing it, on request, at examination time; others registered a kind of protest by pursuing private interests as much as possible; those inspired by Lonergan tended increasingly to raise questions in class in a manner that challenged their professors’ authority, at times, unfortunately, with a crude appeal to the authority of Lonergan. We did not know then that we were living through the final years of a system that Lonergan later described as hopelessly antiquated but not yet demolished, that what was happening at Milltown was happening all over the world, and that the upheaval that was soon to come would affect much more than the traditional seminary courses in philosophy and theology.

Translator and interpreter

In the early 1970s, Conn undertook the long and arduous task of translating, from Latin into English, the first part of the first volume of Bernard Lonergan’s De Deo Trino. It was published in 1976 by Darton Longman & Todd as The Way to Nicea: The Dialectical Development of Trinitarian Theology and examined the dialectical process by which the dogma of the Trinity developed in the first four centuries. The Way to Nicea was the first translation of Lonergan’s Latin writings to be published.

Lonergan was always reluctant to have any of his Latin texts translated because he wrote them in Latin for a very specific audience, I.e., the students from 17 nations at the Gregorian, as well the Holy Office who had to approve all texts used at pontifical universities. He said that he would have written it “differently” in English or French.
Having read Conn’s translation of the first part of de Deo Trino he thought it excellent and agreed to have it published as The Way to Nicea.The book includes an important introduction by Conn in which he sets out to:

survey the content and indicate the structure of the whole two-volume work [De Deo Trino] of which the part translated constitutes one sixth,
Give an account of Lonergan’s academic courses on the Trinity, from 1945 to 1964, with some references to other work in progress at the time of these courses,
Give a brief history of Lonergan’s writings on the Trinity during his years in Rome culminating in the 1964 De Deo Trino,
Discuss the importance for Lonergan of trinitarian theology as the area in which (mainly) he worked out his method in theology
Comment on Lonergan’s enduring involvement with and contribution to trinitarian theology as a topic of the greatest importance within theology
Suggest some reasons why Lonergan has been so far unwilling to release for publication in translation any more than this one part of De Deo Trino and why he has released even as much as he has
Make a few comments on the tasks of translation itself.

Born: 02 December 1912, Carrick-on-Suir, County Tipperary
Entered: 03 September 1930, St Mary's, Emo, County Laois
Ordained: 31 July 1944, Milltown Park, Dublin
Final Vows: 03 February 1947, Belvedere College SJ, Dublin
Died: 13 July 1988, St Vincent's Hospital, Dublin

Part of the Cherryfield Lodge, Dublin community at the time of death

Early education at Christian Brothers School (Carrick-on-Suir) and Mungret College SJ

by 1972 at Manhassett NY, USA (NEB) studying marriage

Prefect of Studies at Gonzaga, College SJ, Dublin: 1950 -1965
Rector of Gonzaga College SJ, Dublin: 1965 - 1971
Director of Marriage Encounter: 1974 - 1982
Superior of Cherryfield Lodge, Dublin: 1985 - 1988

◆ Irish Province News

Irish Province News 63rd Year No 4 1988 (Final Edition)

Obituary
Fr William White (1912-1930-1988)
Fr William White, SJ, who died on July 13 1988, was a native of Carrick-on-Suir, Co. Tipperary. Born in 1912, he was educated by the Christian Brothers in the town of his birth and by the Jesuits at Mungret College, Limerick. Known as “Willie” to his family, he was “Bill” to the Jesuits, whom he joined in 1930. After the customary course of studies, interrupted by a teaching spell at Belvedere College, Dublin, he was ordained priest at Milltown Park, Dublin, in 1944.
When Fr Bill was sent back to Belvedere College in 1946, with responsibility for the preparatory school there, he expected to spend many years on the staff, so he was very surprised when the Provincial chose him as one of the four priests who, in 1949, founded Gonzaga College. Fr Bill was Prefect of Studies at Gonzaga from 1950 until 1965, when he became Rector of the college. He had to cope with all the demands of founding and building up a new school, but he never lost his sense of humour, nor his sense of fairness and never forgot any of the boys whom he had taught.
A new career began for him in 1971, when he went to Manhasset, New York, to study marriage counselling and he became one of the pioneers of Marriage Encounter in Ireland, being its director from 1974 until 1982. Apart from his formal involvement, Fr Bill was a counsellor and friend to many troubled people, always ready to give his whole attention to others and with a marvellously warm smile. Many couples, individuals (including many priests and religious) and whole families benefitted from his advice, his prayers and his friendship. His closeness to his own family was an important part of his life and he was an asset to every Jesuit house in which he lived.
Fr White's final assignment was as superior to the Jesuit Order's nursing unit at Cherryfield Lodge, Milltown Park, where he took up office in 1985. In recent months, it was obvious that his health was failing and he was in St Vincent's Hospital, Elm Park, for tests when he suffered a stroke, In the days between the stroke and his death, Fr Bill was serene, in no pain and with no worries. Even in the last hours of his life, his main concern was the well-being of others.
(Catholic Standard, 22nd July 1988).

In the quartet of Jesuits who founded Gonzaga, Fr Bill White was surprisingly identified as the Brawn, harnessing the energies of Blood (the O'Conor Don), Beauty (blond Fr John Murphy) and Brains (Fr Tim Hamilton, the only survivor). In Bill it was the brawn of the jockey rather than the ploughman. He walked like a horseman, out of his element with nothing between his legs, with a slightly limping shuffle. Though I never saw him on horseback, he seemed to belong there. He mounted his old bicycle like a hunter and rode it habitually between canter and gallop round the steeplechase of Dublin streets. He had a jockey's sense of the final furlong, hurling himself up the Gonzaga avenue just in time for dinner, or on other public occasions keeping the grandstand on its toes until the last moment. Two minutes before the house exams, which were treated with considerable solemnity, teachers, boys and desks would be in chaos until at the last moment Bill would slip into the hall, bundles of papers under his arms, restoring order just in time.
Though he founded the most urban and urbane of schools, Bill brought to it a countryman's sense of reality. He was sensitive to the moods of flesh and blood, a student of form, whether equine or human. In a school that had the reputation of being heady, he was the least heady of men. Do you remember his style of greeting? In a warm and characteristic way it was very physical. Moving towards you with a smile that was always slightly lop-sided, his hands never far from his body so that he came close enough to sense you, almost smell you, he would eye your skin, your colour, the lie of your muscles, the lift or droop of your mouth, so that when he asked “How are you?” it was with the concern of a friend who already surmised your world from the outside and was eager to know how you experienced it from the inside. At that moment, nobody else existed for him, and it is no wonder that so many found him unforgettable. The sense of loss at his funeral was tinged with intensity and often indignation. It seemed that hundreds were feeling: How could the Lord take a man who was so important to me - and to whom I was so important? At the ripe age of three score and fifteen, it still seemed grossly premature.
Bill is said to have been appalled at his appointment to Gonzaga in 1950. His old guru, Fr Rupert Coyle, had trained him to run the Junior School in Belvedere, and fingered him to succeed in the Senior School. He felt himself ill-equipped to launch, albeit in distinguished company, a pioneering educational experiment. He was reflective, wise and supportive, but not an originator - he left that to his talented staff, who always sensed his ungrudging support.
From the beginning he liked to teach the youngest class in the school, to get the measure of them from the start. While his staff gradually shaped a new style and curriculum, Bill was the one who knew the individual pupil, knew the dynamics of his family, sensed where his promise and his limits were. When I wrote school reports with him in the late sixties, I marvelled at his sense of how our words could impinge on the family, to build up or to destroy; how they would affect the depression of a mother, the driving ambition of a father, the vitality of a boy. The document finally put into the envelope was not just an objective assessment, but a communication to a family that was known, with a clear sense of how it would be used.
He ran a tight ship, and wielded the biffer in the fashion of the time, but with a fairness that is still remembered. Two small boys were heard discussing which teacher they liked best. “I like Fr White best” said Peter. “But he biffs you!” protested his friend. “Yes, but that's his duty” said young Sutherland, with that sense of order that makes him a formidable European Commissioner. In fact it was often the wayward who sensed most vividly the largeness of Bill's heart. More than once he stood under the great copper beech on the front lawn calling young X, a fugitive from the classroom, to come down out of that - and X has now joined the forces of law as a thriving solicitor.
To those who have, more will be given, says the Gospel, ironically, and Gonzaga's early pupils were manifestly blessed in the Dublin of their time. Fr White succeeded in saving these fortunate ones from an enervating sense of privilege. He challenged the clever to be more than clever: to be good. It is the task of every teacher, to build up children without pandering to narcissistic illusions, to confront their selfishness without destroying or depressing them, to forge an alliance with the good in them. This was a central theme in Bill's work with boys: to reach the truth in them, and not allow them to take their blessings for granted.
Every school principal knows the four am feeling that there is a serious chink in his armour, some point where the dyke can be breached and chaos break out. Bill's chink lay in the formalities of administration. He ran his files on what we called the deep litter system, then a popular method of poultry farming. Bill dropped letters, application forms, telephone messages, reports, departmental documents to form a carpet, sometimes ankle-deep, on the ample floor of his room. He was confident that he knew where things were, and we marvelled to find that this was sometimes true. But at a time when paper-work was multiplying, and applications for a place in the school were often made from the nursing-home as soon as the baby was identified as a boy, it was inevitable that the deep litter system sometimes let him down, with often painful consequences. In general he was ill at ease with the administrative aids that are now taken for granted: secretaries (he never had one), typewriters, cars, files, computers, VDUs, all the paraphernalia of yuppiedom, that shield one person from another. For him the only essential 20th century appliance (apart from the bicy cle--but his machine was more redolent of the nineteenth century) was the telephone.
If Fr White is ever portrayed or sculpted, it must be with a telephone to his ear, listening, murmuring, reassuring, cheering, and as the minutes lengthen saying: “Goodbye ... goodbye again” (even on one occasion “Goodbye at last”). It was an instrument he could not resist. His car was attuned to pick up a phone's ring from quite a distance, and he would move automatically towards it. It was a symbol of his accessibility that he laid himself open to. In the community we were jealous of his attention, and often saw him exhausted by his unwillingness to protect himself. One remembers him slipping through the Gonzaga hall, summoned to the first parlour by one lady, to the second parlour by another, and to the telephone by a waiting caller - all on the way to dinner, or on another occasion reaching the community house for six o'clock dinner after a working day that began at six a.m., to be grabbed by a parent with the pretty ruthless remark: “I knew I would catch you now; Father”. Others might fume, but not Bill, his face would light up to the visitor and he was listening again.
Not merely listening, but containing. He took bad news on board in a way that metabolised it, made it easier to bear. He could listen to tidings of hopelessness, depression, sickness, estrangement, and by sharing the bitterness, heal some of the pain, though he knew that no practical solution was in sight. When someone remarked on his gift of empathy, he traced it to his father, who he said was much better than he: old Mr White was known in Carrick-on-Suir as the man to contact in the aftermath of some particularly cruel tragedy, a man who would not shrink from the pain but could place himself alongside the sufferers, sharing their cross. As the years passed, Bill moved more and more into work (in Marriage Encounter, and with sick Jesuits in Cherryfield) that engaged his extraordinary gift of compassion.
A dear friend who revered Bill used to speak of the “other dimension” that he revealed: the BMW cruising down the avenue through the February rain gets a wave and smile from Bill White cycling up from a hospital visit or, as Rector, carrying across hot coffee to the staff room for the teachers break; among us as one who serves. His life would not make sense if God did not exist.
His faith sustained him to the end, with a manifestly aching body, but a face that became more radiant and transparent as his health declined. He had resolved as a young Jesuit that if ever there was an apparent conflict between the religious rule and the Gospel, he would opt for the Gospel, which for him was summed up in one or two truths: “I have loved you with an everlasting love” - his favourite phrase from Scripture; and the need to cast out fear, which he saw as the most damaging and pernicious effect of original sin.
We will not run out of administrators, or teachers, or priests. Fr Bill White was more; he was a healer, and the gap he left is still felt with pain by hundreds of friends.
(By courtesy of the Gonzaga Record).

◆ The Belvederian, Dublin, 1988

Obituary

Father Bill White SJ

Fr. White was not a past pupil of Belvedere but those who were here in the 40s and 50s will remember him as a scholastic (1939-41) and, in the latter period, as Prefect of Studies in the Junior House (1946-50). He was a man of very unusual goodness and personal quality.

The following appreciation appeared in The Catholic Standard (July 22nd 1988):

Fr William White SJ, who died on July 13 1988, was a native of Carrick-on-Suir, Co Tipperary. Born in 1912, he was educated by the Christian Brothers in the town of his birth and by the Jesuits at Mungret College, Limerick, Known as “Willie” to his family, he was “Bill” to the Jesuits, whom he joined in 1930. After the customary course of studies, interrupted by a teaching spell at Belvedere College, Dublin he was ordained priest at Milltown Park, Dublin, in 1944.

When Fr Bill was sent back to Belvedere College in 1946, with responsibility for the preparatory school there, he expected to spend many years on the staff, so he was very surprised when the Provincial chose him as one of the four priests who, in 1949, founded Gonzaga College. Fr Bill was Prefect of Stud Gonzaga from 1950 until 1965, when he became Rector of the college. He had to cope with a demands of founding and building up a new school but he never lost his sense of humour, nor his sense of fairness and never forgot any of the boys whom he had taught.

A new career began for him in 1971, when he went to Manhasset, New York, to study marriage counsellling and he became one of the pioneers of Marriage Encounter in Ireland, being its director from 1974 until 1982. Apart from his formal involvement Fr Bill was a counsellor and friend to many troubled people, always ready to give his whole attention to others and with a marvellously warm smile. Many couples, individuals (including many priests and religious) and whole families benefitted from his advice his prayers and his friendship. His closeness to his own family was an important part of his life and he was an asset to every Jesuit house in which he lived.

Fr White's final assignment was as superior Jesuit Order's nursing unit at Cherryfield Lodge Milltown Park, where he took up office in 1985. In recent months, it was obvious that his health was failing and he was in St Vincent's Hospital, Elm Park, for tests when he suffered a stroke. In the days between the stroke and his death, Fr Bill was serene, in no pain and with no worries, Even in the last hours of his life, his main concern was the well being of others.

At his funeral in Gardiner St Church, Fr Senan Timoney SJ said in his homily:

“He was a great Christian, a great human being. His humanity never suffered because he was Christ like. He was wise and yet not solemn. You can all recall his infectious laugh. He was authentic - there was nothing spurious, nothing artificial about him. He was fully himself. He was that elusive thing a man of God whose scale of values were those of Christ. A graced person, he was gentle. He had time for you. When he was talking to you no one else counted - this whether it was on the telephone or in the parlour. A man of immense compassion and at the same time a shrewd judge of any situation, He was in the words of Fr Pedro Arrupe ‘a man for others’. One phrase I can recall his using quite often - especially if you enquired after his well-being - ‘And now, tell me how are you?'’ He was selfless”.

One of those who cared for him in his last days said: “It was a joy to look after him. He died as he lived - a man for others”.

◆ The Gonzaga Record 1988

Obituary

William White SJ

In the quartet of Jesuits who founded Gonzaga, Fr Bill White was surprisingly identified as the Brawn, harnessing the energies of Blood (the O'Conor Don), Beauty (blond Fr John Murphy) and Brains (Fr Tim Hamilton, the only survivor). In Bill it was the brawn of the jockey rather than the ploughman. He walked like a horseman, out of his element with nothing between his legs, with a slightly limping shuffle. Though I never saw him on horseback, he seemed to belong there. He mounted his old bicycle like a hunter and rode it habitually between canter and gallop round the steeplechase of Dublin streets. He had a jockey's sense of the final furlong, hurling himself up the Gonzaga avenue just in time for dinner, or on other public occasions keeping the grandstand on its toes until the last moment. Two minutes before the house exams, which were treated with considerable solemnity, teachers, boys and desks would be in chaos until, at the last moment, Bill would slip into the hall, bundles of papers under his arms, restoring order just in time.

Though he founded the most urban and urbane of schools, Bill brought to it a countryman's sense of reality. He was sensitive to the moods of flesh and blood, a student of form, whether equine or human. In a school that had the reputation of being heady, he was the least heady of men. Do you remember his style of greeting? In a warm and characteristic way it was very physical. Moving towards you with a smile that was always slightly lop-sided, his hands never far from his body so that he came close enough to sense you, almost smell you, he would eye your skin, your colour, the lie of your muscles, the lift or droop of your mouth, so that when he asked 'How are you?' it was with the concern of a friend who already surmised your world from the outside and was eager to know how you experienced it from the inside. At that moment, nobody else existed for him, and it is no wonder that so many found him unforgettable. The sense of loss at his funeral was tinged with intensity and often indignation. It seemed that hundreds were feeling: how could the Lord take a man who was so important to me -- and to whom I was so important? At the ripe age of three score and fifteen, it still seemed grossly premature.

Bill is said to have been appalled at his appointment to Gonzaga in 1950. His old guru, Fr Rupert Coyle, had trained him to run the Junior School in Belvedere, and fingered him to succeed in the Senior School. He felt himself ill-equipped to launch, albeit in distinguished company, a pioneering educational experiment. He was reflective, wise and supportive, but not an originator — he left that to his talented staff, who always sensed his ungrudging support. From the beginning he liked to teach the youngest class in the school, to get the measure of them from the start. While his staff gradually shaped a new style and curriculum, Bill was the one who knew the individual pupil, knew the dynamics of his family, sensed where his promise and his limits were. When I wrote school reports with him in the late sixties, I marvelled at his sense of how our words could impinge on the family, to build up or to destroy; how. they would affect the depression of a mother, the driving ambition of a father, the vitality of a boy. The document finally put into the envelope was not just an objective assessment, but a communication to a family that was known, with a clear sense of how it would be used.

He ran a tight ship, and wielded the biffer in the fashion of the time, but with a fairness that is still remembered. Two small boys were heard discussing which teacher they liked best. 'I like Fr White besť said Peter. ‘But he biffs you!' protested his friend. 'Yes, but that's his duty said young Sutherland, with that sense of order that makes him a formidable European Commissioner. In fact it was often the wayward who sensed most vividly the largeness of Bill's heart. More than once he stood under the great copper beech on the front lawn calling young X, a fugitive from the classroom, to come down out of that - and X has now joined the forces of law as a thriving solicitor.

To those who have, more will be given, says the Gospel, ironically, and Gonzaga's early pupils were manifestly blessed in the Dublin of their time. Fr White succeeded in saving these fortunate ones from an enervating sense of privilege. He challenged the clever to be more than clever: to be good. It is the task for every teacher, to build up children without pandering to narcissistic illusions, to confront their selfishness without destroying or depressing them, to forge an alliance with the good in them. This was a central theme in Bill's work with boys: to reach the truth in them, and not allow them to take their blessings for granted.

Every school principal knows the four a.m. feeling that there is a serious chink in his armour, some point where the dyke can be breached and chaos break out. Bill's chink lay in the formalities of administration. He ran his files on what we called the deep litter system, then a popular method of poultry farming. Bill dropped letters, application forms, telephone messages, reports, departmental documents to form a carpet, sometimes ankle-deep, on the ample floor of his room. He was confident that he knew where things were, and we marvelled to find that this was sometimes true. But at a time when paper-work was multiplying and applications for a place in the school were often made from the nursing home as soon as the baby was identified as a boy, it was inevitable that the deep litter system sometimes let him down, with often painful consequences. In general he was ill at ease with the administrative aids that are now taken for granted: secretaries (he never had one), typewriters, cars, files, computers, VDUs, all the paraphernalia of yuppiedom, that shield one person from another. For him the only essential 20th-century appliance (apart from the bicycle — but his machine was more redolent of the nineteenth century) was the telephone.

If Fr White is ever portrayed or sculpted, it must be with a telephone to his ear, listening, murmuring, reassuring, cheering, and as the minutes lengthen saying 'Goodbye....goodbye again' (even on one occasion, 'Goodbye at last). It was an instrument he could not resist. His ear was attuned to pick up a phone's ring from quite a distance, and he would move automatically towards it. It was a symbol of his accessibility that he laid himself open to. In the community we were jealous of his attention, and often saw him exhausted by his unwillingness to protect himself. One remembers him slipping through the Gonzaga hall, summoned to the first parlour by one lady, to the second parlour by another, and to the telephone by a waiting caller - all on the way to dinner; or on another occasion reaching the community house for six o'clock dinner after a working day that began at six a.m., to be grabbed by a parent with the pretty ruthless remark: 'I knew I would catch you now, Father'. Others might fume, but not Bill; his face would light up to the visitor and he was listening again.

Not merely listening, but containing. He took bad news on board in a way that metabolised it, made it easier to bear. He could listen to tidings of hopelessness, depression, sickness, estrangement, and by sharing the bitterness, heal some of the pain, though he knew that no practical solution was in sight. When someone remarked on his gift of empathy, he traced it to his father, who he said was much better than he: old Mr White was known in Carrick-on-Suir as the man to contact in the aftermath of some particularly cruel tragedy, a man who would not shrink from the pain but could place himself alongside the sufferers, sharing their cross. As the years passed, Bill moved more and more into work (in Marriage Encounter, and with sick Jesuits in Cherryfield) that engaged his extraordinary gift of compassion.

A dear friend who revered Bill used to speak of the other dimension' that he revealed: the BMW cruising down the avenue through the February rain gets a wave and smile from Bill White cycling up from a hospital visit: or, as Rector, carrying across hot coffee to the staff-room for the teachers' break; among us as one who serves. His life would not make sense if God did not exist.

His faith sustained him to the end, with a manifestly aching body, but a face that became more radiant and transparent as his health declined. He had resolved as a young Jesuit that if ever there was an apparent conflict between the religious rule and the Gospel, he would opt for the Gospel, which for him was summed up in one or two truths: 'I have loved you with an everlasting love' — his favourite phrase from Scripture; and the need to cast out fear, which he saw as the most damaging and pernicious effect of original sin.

We will not run out of administrators, or teachers, or priests. Fr Bill White was more; he was a healer, and the gap he left is still felt with pain by hundreds of friends.

Paul Andrews SJ

Remembering Father White

In 1976, to stimulate interest in the activities of the past pupils' union, a 'Gonzaga Dinner' was advertised in The Irish Times and attracted 100 guests, the largest number that could be accommodated in the dining room of the University Club. There were rumours that an Alternative Gonzaga Dinner had to be convened around the corner in Captain America's for the late applicants. If so, the latecomers missed what for the participants in the real Gonzaga Dinner was the high point of the evening: the few words spoken by Fr White.

Fr White spoke that evening about freedom. I seem to remember some remarks about how much freedom the boys could use!. I seem to remember too that Fr White said that looking back, he could see ways in which it might have been safe to allow a little more freedom in the school than had been the case. But it was not primarily his words that made Fr White's appearance that evening so memorable. It was the sudden explosion of applause that greeted him as he rose to speak. It was heartfelt applause, deliberately prolonged. It had overtones of shared triumph. Fr White, in his person, seemed to represent the contribution of so many teachers, pupils, and parents to the decades of endeavour in Gonzaga. He represented the sense of belonging that each of us seemed to enjoy.

What was the secret of Fr White's enduring rapport with all the boys, and all the families, who were part of Gonzaga? As someone who came to Gonzaga only after Fr White became Rector, and who therefore had direct dealings with him only on a few occasions, I can speak on this subject as a member of the rank-and-file. Even at that distance, it was always clear that Fr White was someone who paid attention to individuals. He knew people by name and he knew what was important in their lives. He was a man with a heart, who by thinking things mattered made them matter. The school's concerns were Fr White's concerns. It was an example of joyful service that like other gentle features of our youthful landscape, we noticed too little.

One personal memory that I do have of Fr White is of the time I sat the entrance examination for Oxford in one of the two sitting rooms on the left off the hallway of the priests' house. Fr White himself was my supervisor. Each morning of the exam he brought me tea and biscuits on a tray, an impish smile of complicity conveying the support of the school - once again one finds it easy to identify Fr White with the school.

The supportive community which Fr White laboured to create in Gonzaga made the school the complement of a good home atmosphere. The certainty of being known and valued, the stability and predictability of school routine, the very high standard of dedication of the staff, were easy to take for granted, as was the absence of bullying and conflict among the pupils themselves. The consistent success of the school in these seemingly small things are a reminder of the truth of William Blake's dictum that he who would do good to another must do so in minute particulars'.

If Gonzaga had a particular intellectual stamp, it was a belief in the value of open discussion. In Fr Joe Veale's English class, we gave our own reactions to the works under study and were warned off potted summaries or appreciations. John Wilson, teaching Spanish, tolerated lengthy excursuses on the bullfight or the Spanish Civil War. In fifth year, in Religious Knowledge class, Fr Cull ran a sort of open forum on the question of whether God existed, with the result that the young university student a year or two later had an acquired immunity to some of the ruder challenges he faced. Whatever else one could say about the doubts of the Gonzaga past pupils on matters of faith, those doubts would never be the mere product of a “generation gap, or a young person's means of escape from a too-rigid authority.

In this sense, the spirit of the school ran counter to the tendency in many parts of Irish life to accept reality as one might accept the absentee landlord: as a force to be obeyed, cajoled, or evaded, but never tackled directly with argument, much less brought to account. It was a great blessing in Gonzaga that we felt free to delve into the truth and that we never felt, as perhaps so many have felt, that probing the causes of things is like tinkering with an unexploded bomb. Gonzaga, like Fr White, was always ready to listen.

I am told by a reliable source within the Jesuit Community that in his years as Rector, Fr White permitted himself only one concession to the flesh. My source discovered what this weakness was one Thursday afternoon in March. The Rector had failed to answer on any of the usual telephone extensions and was located by a search party in front of the television, engrossed in the Cheltenham Gold Cup. That was in 1967.

It is only one of the many memories of Fr White that have surfaced this summer wherever Gonzaga people have been together. Everyone has his own story to tell and yet each story blends perfectly with the next and each conversation has a lightness that is surprising considering that the topic of discussion is a death, a departure. Fr White's presence, like the presence in nature that ‘veins violets and tall trees makes more and more', seems still with us.

A few years ago, I was back in Ireland after nine years abroad and found myself confessing to a colleague that gaps and discontinuities had emerged in my relationships with my friends. “The truth is”, my colleague said, “that you never come home”. As we spoke, I realised that there is an exception to that rule, if it is a rule. On each of my Gonzaga friends I could lean as heavily as before, discover the same easygoing acceptance communicated with the same humorous certainty as before. Fr White would have wished it so. Perhaps that is what Thucydides meant when he wrote of good men, that the whole world is their memorial.

Philip McDonagh

An Appreciation

Father White was, in my opinion, the single most important figure in the history of Gonzaga. He was Prefect of Studies for fifteen years from the School's foundation and Rector for six years after that. He and Father Charlie O'Connor, our first Rector, were a perfect team. Fr O'Connor was a stickler for administrative detail and had a real feel for the development of the School. But he was a distant, slightly aloof figure.

Fr White, on the other hand, was hopeless about records and correspondence and other office work; he was a man for the here and now and had a genius with people. He was good-humoured, buoyant and had immense powers of sympathy. The other teachers found him supportive, especially those who were wilting under the strain.

With the boys he had a robust, slightly hectoring way and would not take too much nonsense. “You're only deceivin' yourself, he would say through clenched teeth, simulating exasperation. But he was too sensible to get really annoyed. He had the uncongenial task of dispensing corporal punishment but this did not diminish his popularity among the boys by whom he was known affectionately as ‘Walley'. To not a few of them he became an invaluable counsellor to whom they looked for advice and support long after they had left the school.

He was the kind of man who turned up when he was most needed, generally on his old bicycle which he mounted as if it were a steed. To meet him was always a happy experience. When you were with him, you were all that mattered. But there was more. Beneath the bustle he had the tranquil contentment that goes with deep faith. That was very impressive. He had immense insight into his fellow humans and he used this to serve them. He gave of himself totally and never thought of the cost, let alone count it.

I last met him in Gonzaga at the Mass for Fr O'Connor when he rendered a superb appreciation. Recalling small but significant episodes from those early days he re-captured his subject to perfection. I remember that he concluded by expressing the wish that Gonzaga boys would regard their education as a privilege to be shared, not a property to be defended. It was a characteristically generous thought. He himself had contributed mightily to making it such a privilege. He has left with us the challenge of proving worthy of it and an inspiration and example for applying ourselves to that task.

Charles Lysaght