June 08th, 2025

I got to thinking about the friars who staffed St. Joe's and their impact upon us. Of course, I can only speak for myself, and you are welcomed to add your own memories using the Facebook page or the Catechist Cafe message box at the bottom of the home page.

Ligouri Mueller: I knew Ligouri twice in my life as I later lived with him at Siena from 1974 till 1978, after a five-year run with him when I was a student in Callicoon and he was the rector. In high school, at report card time, I was often called in to his office for less than stellar academic performance. His office was dark and smokey, and he always accidentally reversed his notes so that I got John Burke’s scoldings, and John got mine. Later in the day, I would find John and tell him that having an older cousin at St. Joe’s did not mean that John was going to get a free ride to do what he pleased, and John would tell me to stop wasting my time writing short stories and start taking class seriously. We still laugh about that today. David Lingelbach, God rest him, did the best Ligouri imitation, in my recollection.
 
Every year after the first semester Ligouri would give a January state of the union in the chapel, and in my second year he was worked up about cursing among the students. “I walk the corridor, and I hear words beginning in A…B…C…D…F…H…M…P…S…T.” Everyone looked at each other with a glance that said, “Yep, he knows them all.” In fifth year [1966-67], he gave me the supreme gift of calling on me first—every day! I only had to prepare one nightly line of Herodotus or Thucydides all year. Every class began with a prayer and “Burns, please?” I can’t remember why he called on John Burke second; I sure wasn’t going to complain. One snowy day we were sitting through Greek class on the first floor. Up on the third floor some high school kids were fighting, and one threw the other’s massive winter coat out the window, and it landed with a loud thud in the myrtle outside our classroom window. Ligouri saw it fall—it looked a body--and he turned back to us and said, “I wonder who that was?”
 
In living and imbibing with him in Siena as an “equal” [1974-78] when I was chaplain-- and every now and then I had to pinch myself on how life plays out--I slowly came to a sense that Ligouri was not without ambition. I believe Ligouri went straight to Siena during the spring of 1967 when Columban Hollywood succeeded him as rector of St. Joe’s. 1967-68 was a crossroads for Holy Name Province, the first Provincial Chapter after Vatican II. The friar superiors elected a progressive/reform slate of guardians/superiors as well as provincial management, by a very slim margin.
 
I had heard that Ligouri, at the Provincial Chapter of 1967, lost an administrative provincial position by one vote: “to a man who sees a psychiatrist, no less!” [Ligouri never lost his blue-collar biases.] Years later, in the Siena friary, he told me that “it is a hard thing when you’re passed over and your powder’s been pissed on.” [The “P” word, in his Callicoon chapel talk, no doubt.] In retrospect, I have more sympathy for the men of his generation who arranged their lives around the ancien regime and were unprepared for the Church and Order changes. Ligouri was far from the only Callicoon friar to wrestle with “the changes.” Ligouri’s transfer to Siena meant he was no longer a superior. Kevin Mackin was the guardian-superior at Siena during my college chaplain years [1974-1978].
 
Eric Kyle: I was curious as to how old Eric was when we were in Callicoon. From his friar biographies I learned he was born in 1925, so he was 37 when my class arrived in 1962 and he had been there for at least some years before we arrived. Thus, he dedicated well over a decade of his life to St. Joe’s, probably more. I did not develop a smooth personal relationship with him until I was ordained ten years. In a sense Eric was devoting his best years to an institution that was becoming obsolete, and now I think he knew it. In The Seraph he was once quoted as saying that St. Joe’s high school was superior, but the college was at best average. I often wonder what he thought about his work on the hill, given that he was one of the anchors of the college faculty.
 
Those of you in the class behind mine probably had minimal contact with him personally unless you needed to go to confession before the daily 6 AM Mass. I still laugh at my stupidity about that odd early ritual. I was in sixth year [sixth year!] when a little burst of piety overtook me to make a devotional confession before Mass. Eric was not on duty that morning—Paul Oligny took his place. So, I confessed, and Paul blew up at me: “Don’t you know this time is reserved for emergencies?!” I walked back to my pew, scratching my head and wondering what kind of emergency—ooooohhhhh! And I realized then how glamorous Eric’s life must have been.
 
When I arrived in 1962 there was standing permission that you could be excused from the evening study hall to walk over to Eric’s office for spiritual direction and advice. I did that once, in the winter of my first year. I had gotten a letter from home; my mother told me she was pregnant. [Of course, you got your personal mail at the lunch or supper table in which to digest delicate matters at home.] I would say that my first year at St. Joe’s may have been the hardest of my life—to that point—and too much was changing for me. Today, as a clinician, I might have diagnosed myself as suffering from “Adjustment Disorder with Mixed Features of Mood, R/O Depression. “
 
So that night I hoofed it over to Eric’s office and tried to put into words my “existential crisis,” so to speak. Eric thought for a moment, and then said: “You know, sometimes it is hard to discover that our parents are human, too.” As bad as I was feeling, I knew that arrow of advice had missed the mark by more than a little. So, for the rest of my high school years, I didn’t have much personal interaction with him.
 
Our two years of college engagement was a different story. We had Eric for religion and English. For some reason, our personalities never meshed. He was very critical of my writing style in papers and essays, which was a good thing, really—but his written and personal evaluations came across as denigration of the writer, not the product. It went beyond the classroom: I was a sacristan in college, and he told me I had no taste. Yet I respected his lectures, for the most part. He was trying to open a window on the world, wide enough for us street urchins to crawl in, introducing us to Existentialism and Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, among others. Another consideration, too, was the fact that the closing of the college division had been determined during our college years [1966-68], and I’m sure he was aware of that and its implications for him.
 
However, after we left Callicoon my class encountered Eric again, this time at the novitiate in Lafayette, NJ. I am not sure where he was assigned at that time—probably the Provincial Office in NY—but whatever, he was invited to St. Raphael’s to speak to us about human development, in concrete ways: how to take care of ourselves, planning our careers for fulfilling work and leisure pursuits, retirement, etc. It was a talk that made eminent sense and stayed with me till, well, today. Isn’t 87 the new 77?
 
Eric returned later that same year, but now he was the Province’s liaison with the blue-chip consulting firm, Booz, Allen, and Hamilton [Now Booz & Allen]. At the 1967 Provincial Chapter the friars had agreed on a long-range study with recommendations and blueprints for the future of Holy Name. Eric was escorting the interview team through the province, including a visit to the novitiate. I remember meeting with the team alone—it was a very thorough interview. I was pressed on how I saw my future in the Province and where I saw the needs of the Church. I assumed that Eric would have a significant role in the report’s implementation. The report, when it was finally compiled, looked larger than a Los Angeles County phone book. Strangely, I cannot remember a formal rollout and even after I was ordained and attended superiors’ meetings as a superior myself, I never recall any reference to this resource.
 
Fast forward to 1984: I was in the New York area for a meeting, which coincided with my class’s tenth anniversary of ordination. Five of us gathered in one of our Jersey parishes for essentially a 12-hour preprandium. Eric was stationed there at the time, and we were glad to have him and talk about the old days. Around 2 AM I asked him what had happened to the BAH report, since all of us had been interviewed. He lit up immediately and said, “I have a copy in my room.” He hurried to get it and showed it off. I asked if there were other copies, and he said to check with 31st Street. That fraternal night was my last opportunity to spend quality time with Eric.
 
The next time I was in NY—I served on the personnel board of the province then—I used a coffee break to wander over to the front office. One of the friars told me there were two copies of the report in the vault. Sure enough, they were still there. I asked if I could take one home to Florida [this was in the days before the $50 luggage surcharge for commercial jets]. “Only if you swear to bring it back next month,” was the reply. So, I took it with me to JFK Airport, which was backed up for hours, and I sat on the floor reading the report from cover to cover while I waited for my Orlando flight. I had to give it back, of course, but I want to see it again. Any of you who spent any time in St. Joe’s, or any stretch of the friars’ life might be interested to see what BAH projected and recommended for the Province. I am going on a retreat this week with the Trappists in South Carolina, but when I get back, I’m going to call New York. I feel like I should post about it. I just hope Eric doesn’t critique my style from above.