My first encounter with a priest occurred when,
as a five-year-old, I was scolded
for picking cherries on church property.

Worthy priests remembered

By Jude P. Dougherty

Semi-retirement, one of my friends calls it “fiscal retirement,” brings with it the license to pursue a number of literary projects that official duties prevented at an earlier period. One of those undertakings was to put on paper a sketch of memorable priests I have known from childhood. This chronicle is necessarily autobiographical, but the point is not self-revelation but a profile of the diverse ways in which priests are called to serve and the unsuspected influence their words and deeds may have on others.

    My first encounter with a priest occurred when, as a five-year-old, I was scolded for picking cherries on church property, for drawing water from the village reservoir which was also on church property, and for throwing rocks at a black snake in the flower garden adjacent to the church. The disciplinarian was Fr. Clement Hunger, a tall figure in black cassock whose mere appearance thereafter had me fleeing the premises. We later became good friends. When visiting on festive occasions, I would serve his High Mass. He was the first person to escort me to a racing meet at a non-important track serving southern Indiana. Unfortunately, I never learned the secret of his winnings.

    A second memorable figure was Father Richard Wirth, O.F.M., the chaplain at St. Joseph’s German Catholic Orphan’s Home. Fr. Richard was in his seventies when I knew him, a retired pastor from Kansas City where he had built a church that remains a monument to his good taste. When my mother died, my sister and I were ages five and seven, respectively, too young for my German grandmother, who was at that time in her late seventies. It took all of her accumulated influence in the community to get two children with the Irish name Dougherty into an institution supported by the German parishes of the city. Fr. Richard was renowned for his ability to reach children with his homilies and for his devotion to Our Lady and to the Rosary. Although I recall nothing specific from his daily chapel instruction, I do remember being introduced to the Franciscan missionary effort in China. The looming Communist threat was clearly delineated by the itinerant Franciscan missionary.

    As a fourth grader I had the task of picking up his daily newspaper and delivering it to his quarters, a detached house with a wide front porch. There he would gather some of the children to listen to his short-wave radio. He would frequently tune in to Germany for it was evident that events there greatly disturbed him. It was on his short wave band that I first heard the voice of Hitler. Fr. Richard would translate and give the handful of boys in attendance some sense of what was going on. On September 2, 1939, he told us solemnly that Hitler had marched into Poland. “That means,” he said, “that France and England will go to war with Germany and that the United States will eventually be drawn into the conflict. But before it is all over the United States will be at war with the Soviet Union, for Germany is not our primary enemy.”

    From time to time Fr. Richard would drive across the city to visit with my German grandmother. Although advanced in age, she still made bread and was good for country butter and a bottle of German lager beer to go with it, but what drew them to conversation was their lament for the events transpiring in Germany. “Poor Germany, poor Germany,” was a refrain I heard on my grandmother’s lips more than once. Fr. Richard retired before I reached high school years and I never saw him thereafter. There was a quality to him, however, which undoubtedly left many who heard his daily homilies with a richness that permeated their spiritual and intellectual life in later years.

    Although I never missed Sunday Mass, I can recall no exceptional figure from my high school years. College was a different matter. There I fell under the tutelage of Fr. Andrew Capesius, O.S.B., college librarian and lecturer in history, economics, and sociology; he had degrees in all three disciplines. His old world learning and common sense, not unlike Fr. Richard Wirth’s, led one to a Catholic and global outlook on the economic and social issues of the day. Born in Luxembourg, Fr. Andrew held a detached view of the States. Far from being politically correct, he could open eyes with, “Your textbook may say that, but I tell you the truth.” Ever ready to tell us what to read, he introduced me to some Flemish literature for which I was grateful many years later as a visiting professor at Leuven, Belgium. He delighted in opening folio volumes of political cartoons and explaining their context. As an amateur military historian, one of the first things he did after coming to the United States was to visit the major battlefields of the Civil War. He knew Lee’s mistakes as well as those of Napoleon.

    My university years introduced me to the priest-scholar. I could name a score of edifying figures, but the one I came closest to was Msgr. Charles A. Hart, a priest of the diocese of Peoria but removed from his homeland for 35 years as a professor of philosophy at Catholic University. He introduced me to Thomistic metaphysics and agreed to serve as the mentor for my Ph.D. dissertation. He died shortly after my project was begun. To honor him I named my oldest son Thomas Hart. Those who studied with Hart will never forget his treatment of the Incarnation and the Trinity from the vantage point of philosophy and the light which it shed on those mysteries. Friendly, humble, inspiring, Hart was such a popular teacher that his classes at Catholic University were difficult to get into if one were not quick to register. All of his students loved him, particularly his graduate students who affectionately referred to him as “Charlie.”

    My first teaching position took me into the domain of the eminent Jesuit scholar Gerard Smith, S.J. A warm, kindly figure, my first contact with him in his role as chairman of the department was a summons to his office. He opened the interview with the declaration, “See that bottle of whiskey on the shelf? We are not leaving here until that bottle is empty or we have solved the problem of the transcendentals.” We did little damage to the bottle, and we certainly did not solve the problem of the transcendentals from a Suarezian point of view. Smith was a prolific writer as well as a great teacher. As a priest he had a way with children, young married couples, and the eminent itinerant. Generations of Marquette students owe him much.

    The priest-educator-administrator whom I subsequently came to admire was Msgr. Alfred Horrigan, founder of Bellarmine College. A perfect gentleman, a philosopher by training, he completed his doctoral dissertation at The Catholic University of America under Msgr. Hart, examining the role of philosophy in the Catholic college curriculum. We did not always see eye to eye. The young inexperienced professor at times required correction, but it never came as a personal confrontation. Positions were disputed in the abstract by means of editorials or elliptical allusions, no mention made of the offending party, but the offending party got the message nevertheless. Horrigan led an embryonic faculty by encouraging and fiscally supporting the good. Many who served under him went on to lead faculties and institutions elsewhere. Always the priest, his homilies reflected his profound faith and learning, providing an example for both priest and laymen who serve in the academic realm.

    The narrative stops here because to continue may embarrass my immediate colleagues if I attempted to praise their work. But I must say this. As a young scholar I was edified by many priest-scholars of the previous generation. Of those whom I knew personally, I must mention Joseph Owens, John K. Ryan, Alan Wolter, James Weisheipl, Thomas Gilby, Joseph Bochenski, and the Anglican Eric Lionel Mascall.

    The vocations illustrated here display the many-faceted character of the priesthood. By common standards those mentioned were learned men, chosen for intelligence and character. They were without exception manly, fatherly in demeanor, and committed fully to their calling. Each in his own way represented the universal and time-transcending character of the Church, embodying and perpetuating her wisdom.

    St. John Chrysostom in seeking a non-metaphysical, empirical proof for the existence of God, found it in the beauty of the Church. He reasoned that only God could have created an institution which has done so much good both for individuals and for peoples and even nations. Were St. John to return, he would, in spite of the inevitable challenge from a hard-nosed logician and in spite of detectable flaws, adhere firmly to his premises. The Church as represented by her priesthood remains an awesome institution, directing the aspirant to fulfillment by her teaching and by the support of her sacraments. 

Dr. Jude P. Dougherty is the Dean Emeritus of the School of Philosophy at the Catholic University of America in Washington, D.C. He is the author of over 75 articles on topics in metaphysics, social and political philosophy, the philosophy of law and the philosophy of science. He is the editor of the Review of Metaphysics and received the Cardinal Wright Award from the Fellowship of Catholic Scholars in 1994.

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