Dear Sir:
As I begin this letter, I realize that you may not remember me, in which case this whole thing will be very funny, and totally pointless. That would be fitting, wouldn’t it?
In any event, I recently stumbled into the Saint Ignatius High School website. I haven’t had any contact with SI since my graduation in 1965; I don’t know what I was looking for. Meaning? Redemption?
Revenge? On the website, there is this marvellous little history of that little institution. And you figure prominently in it. My angry, rocky little heart softened just a bit at the memory, and I had to concede that you were one of the good guys. You were a kind, cultured, and considerate individual in a collection of colorless hollow men, most of whom couldn’t even pronounce my name. I realized that I actually remembered you fondly, and have committed an injustice, lo, these many decades since our time.
While rummaging through this website, I found a reference to Laurence Yep (SI ’66) and to his sweet little memoir that I just finished reading. Not only were you referenced in the book, but he had also dedicated it to you. I took this as a sign. I promptly dug out my four SI yearbooks, and over (or under) a fabulous Chateauneuf du Pape, reviewed every page. I lingered over the photos of the various faculty, and tried to take myself back, but the wine was the wrong madeleine. Who would want to go back? Something else was needed really to remember. (I can’t possibly split that infinitive in a letter to you). Love…I didn’t have the love.
My departure from SI and my last few months there were poisoned by the malevolent acts of a couple of your fellow priests; and, tender fool that I am, I allowed them to get away with it, and have since carried the acidulous weight of their sin with me, of all preposterous things. My family situation at the time wasn’t great either, but that wasn’t your problem, or theirs. I imagine priests have to carry a lot bigger conflicts and burdens, like setting good examples. Still, envy is such a particularly corrosive emotion… Oh, well, nobody’s perfect.
(Come to think of it, the malice of the Irish-American priest should be fictionalized; it would make for great characters, especially in the light of recent revelations about them.)
My anger and hatred don’t surface all the time, only when the Church commits some new outrage. On the other hand, I have been so blessed, that I have no right to grouse about anything. And, in studying the yearbooks, I realized that in fact I had liked and enjoyed most of the people there. I see now that they were decent, certainly troubled, possibly talented, people…humans! It was unfair of me to judge everyone and the institution (nay, the entire Catholic Church!) because of the graceless acts of a couple of priests, who should have known better, who purported to be God’s agents on earth, who were just minor hypocrites. Or, was it fair? At the end of my little exercise with the yearbooks, I was filled with pity and compassion. The wine helped too.
Since I can’t get satisfaction from the perpetrators, you’re it. But I’m sure you can take it; it’s a small thing that I am doing. The fact of the matter is that I am finished and at peace with SI. In retrospect, I recognize that I actually owe a lot to Saint Ignatius. Thank you for bringing me to this place, albeit unknowingly. You may get some satisfaction from that. A toast: A.M.D.G.
Cordially,
JP Morgan (SI ’65)
P.S. I still wouldn’t want to go back. Remember, you taught us irony.
A Second Letter to Father Becker
