Fordham University - Maroon Yearbook (New York, NY)

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Scene along the Erie Canal in 1825. was to teach small boys Spanish and deacons theology; Legouais was to guide freshmen and novices alike. These forty-seven, ol whom only sixteen were priests, were to staff not one but five institutions, a preparatory and college course, a diocesan seminary, a scholasticate and a novitiate. They were to administer a parish Church, to aid plague-infested, famine-stricken immigrants, to supply chaplains for hospitals and later on for the army, to conduct retreats, to write books and, at the same time, to manage a business enterprise. It is naive to imagine that the members of this band had any clear sense of the future. If they were conscious of anything save the weight of their baggage or the deadening heat of August, they most probably thought of the goodness of God. But there was one humble brother who seemed to know that Fordham meant, in a way, the end of the journey for him and his brothers in Lhe Lord. 5 Brother William Hennen had been pressed into the King of Bavaria's army in 1800. In 1810 he was released and he began to search for his “place in creation.” Attracted to the religious life, he spent eight years studying in Belgium without, however, achieving the inner assurance of his vocation. Prayer and fasting over a long period of time finally yielded only a strange dream in which he saw his “place in creation embodied in a beautiful house with a Church nearby. So circumstantial and compelling was this vision and so ardent was his nature, that he began to search for the house. He wandered through Germany and the lowlands, crossed into France, took ship at Havre for America, and walked the streets of New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Boston, St. Louis, Cincinnati and Louisville. He visited the Church and College at Bards-town without success. As he was about to despair of what then seemed an utterly foolhardy adventure, an old man approached him, touched his elbow and as though reading his thoughts, said, “I will show you your place in creation, which you have sought long and well The old man led the former soldier to Father Chazelle, then rector of St. Mary’s, explained his mission and then disappeared. St. Mary’s was not the house William Hennen sought, but he stayed, as novice, as scholastic, finally as lay brother, because he had been too long away from his studies. He was one of the band which came to Fordham. When he first saw Rose Hill with its old mansion and its new and lovely church he recognized it immediately as the “place” of his vision. Brother Hennen could hardly contain himself. He felt happy enough to die. He lived to serve the “place” with utter joy for forty-four years. The old chronicle which tells this tale concludes by saying that he died, still in his “place in creation,” with beauty and peace, showing the wonder of God in his Saints. IF you looked into the office of the President of man seated behind a great desk listening to a tall young St. John's College on an afternoon in May Jesuit scholastic who appeared to be finishing a long 1870, you might have seen a bespectacled little story. If you watched the older man’s face closely, you 24

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Robert Fulton's Clermont on the Hudson in 1807. olis would be the most effective center of Jesuit activity was destined to be fulfilled. 4 Many loose strands were woven together in the making of Fordham. Had it not been for the excellent work and reputation of the band of exiles at Kentucky, for the strange animosity of Bishop Chabrat, for the opportune presence of Father Boulanger, for the unfortunate failures of Nyack and Lafargeville, for the diocesan demands upon the secular professors at St. John’s, for the tremendous will of a pioneer bishop who refused to surrender his ideal of making Catholicism a respected force in America, St. John’s College and Fordham University might never have existed. By some marvelous and divine chemistry, the right men met at the right time under the right circumstances; there was a combination, analogous to the mighty combination of the American nation. Hughes the indomitable Irishman, Thebaud the prudent Breton, Murphy the precise scholar, Larkin the impressive Englishman, Maldonado the great Spanish theologian, men of many races united by Providence, hardened by adversity, were secretly and separately prepared for Cod’s service and then pushed forward into history. Fordham did not merely happen. It was part of the Divine Providence for the Church and her children in this new, wild, restless America. A number of the Jesuit community, laden with baggage, weary with travel, straggled up the main path from the New York and Harlem Fordham Station in August 1846. One might have recognized huge Mr. Gockeln, the scholastic, and tiny Father Legouais, the spiritual father; the ample Father Larkin with the brow of a Webster and the dignified walk of an Archduke; Mr. Schianski who had been a famous opera singer and Mr. Driscoll who had been a workman. It was truly an extraordinary community It was to become an amazing one in a few years with the addition of men like Fathers Jouin, Duranquet, Daubresse and others; former noblemen, doctors of law from Paris, of divinity from Salamanca, men who could rightfully aspire to chairs at great universities, come to do whatever was required of them. The celebrated Maldonado 23

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could catch the beginning of a smile. Finally the smile came, a broad one. Father Joseph Shea chuckled audibly and then checked himself from outright laughter. He seemed to realize that the tall, young, serious prefect was more perturbed than his outward composure indicated. He began to polish his glasses. Father Shea found that the way to regain the decorum expected of a rector was to sharpen a pencil, or rearrange an inkwell, or polish his glasses. He had been president of St. John's Colicge now for three years but he was quite certain at last that he could never be as stern as most people hoped he would be. ‘‘So, they have been misbehaving again,” he said. “Yes, Father Rector.” Which ones?” The prefect leaned forward over the desk. All of them.” Isn’t that a shame now,” said Father Shea. “If you would say a word to them in chapel, perhaps ...” “I'll do that tonight. Indeed I will.” Father Shea was always saying a word in chapel. Since the students loved him, perhaps not quite as deeply as he did them, they listened as quietly as nuns on a retreat. They loved him and respected him, but (hey did not fear him. Father Shea was the kind of man who was very much like your father, or your favorite uncle, save that he was obviously holier and more learned. A dozen knocks, a dozen come ins” punctuated his ollice hours. Everyone went to confession to Father Shea. But today he was very anxious to keep to himself and to wade through the mass of documents on his desk. Tonight, he repeated, “I’ll say a word to them. We must have discipline.” The prefect said, “Thank you, Father Rector,” and returned to the battle-lines. Discipline, discipline,” muttered Father Shea to himself. It was hard to maintain discipline. He recalled the time when Father Arthur Jones, professor of Rhetoric, author of the favorite student play, Heartwell at Ham ford, upset discipline for weeks by pitching a 34-32 victory for the Fordham Nine against the Actives. And then there was that affair three years ago when the 25 Bishop Hughes welcoming the Jesuits to Fordham in 1846.