Julie Barrett, R.I.P.

On Monday one of our long-time parishioners, Julie Barrett, 88, returned to her true home and is now in the embrace of our loving God. Julie had always been an inspiration to me, a woman to whom I listened because what she had to say was always worth hearing. But more than that, it was always said kindly and with a smile.

In addition to our shared faith, Julie and I shared a few interests. We both served in the U. S. Navy, Julie as a Navy photographer and I as a helicopter pilot. We were, of course, separated by quite a few years, so we never served together. As an amateur photographer, I always flew with my old Leica IIIf camera with me, in the event I happened on something worth a photograph. On a few rare occasions I actually took an interesting photo. But it was from the pros, the Navy photographers, that I learned what little I know about good photography. During my Navy career it wasn't unusual to have an official photographer aboard my helicopter to take photos of everything from returning space vehicles to Soviet ships and aircraft to aerial views of major events in which the Navy had an interest. I learned early to respect those Navy photographers who seemed to know instinctively how to capture a scene perfectly and to ensure I flew them to the right place at the right time. Julie and I, then, were both avid photographers. But there was one huge difference between us: Julie was a true professional while I simply dabbled, and not particularly well.

In 2004 when I was assigned to what then was a rather small St. Vincent de Paul Parish, I volunteered to take photos of parish events, ministries, people, liturgies...whatever was needed. Some of these photos were okay, but others...well, let's just say they were less than perfect. But then Julie arrived and I was relieved (as were many parishioners) of my photographic duties. We now had a professional aboard and the quality of parish photos improved dramatically. One of my favorites was one she took at a Good Friday service during her first Holy Week with the parish. Our large team of deacons surrounded Fr. Peter Sagorski, then our pastor, and filled the small sanctuary of that earlier church. A friend kindly sent this photo to me the other day, but Julie had given me a copy years ago.

Deacons Galore on Good Friday

But Julie was far more than a photographer. She was the mother of a wonderful daughter, Theresa Campbell, whom I've also known for years, and a loving grandmother. A woman of deep faith, Julie attended Mass daily and always had a kind word for everyone. She will be greatly missed.

Julie Barrett with her daughter, Theresa Campbell

Rest in peace, Julie. We will pray for your beautiful soul and for the family you leave behind, and trust you will plead for us before the throne of our merciful God.

Chuck Smiley: Mentor and Friend

As we age it seems our thoughts more often turn to the past than to the future. The past, after all, represents a far greater percentage of our lives than does the future which, quite honestly, could be very brief indeed. And as we settle into a kind of quasi-retirement, our plans and hopes tend to focus on a less distant horizon. I also believe that, because our extensive pasts are brimming over with a lifetime of experiences, our thoughts naturally turn in that direction when we encounter something new. We measure the new by placing it alongside that which we have experienced and evaluate it accordingly. But it's not just our own experiences that enter into the mix, but the experiences of the special few who have had a major influence on us. 

If one is fortunate his life will be blessed by a few people who have freely offered not only their wisdom but also their encouragement, their advice, and their hope. And if one is extremely fortunate, that wisdom will always be timeless, that encouragement always positive, that advice always sound, and that hope ever fulfilled. I for one have been extremely fortunate.

My father, John McCarthy, is certainly at the very top of the list of those who changed my life, who changed me, always for the better. But there were others -- just a few others -- and right up there on that same list with my father was Captain Charles Boone Smiley, United States Navy, Retired.

Chuck and I cutting cake 1970

Several days ago I was going through some boxes filled with old documents and photos when I came across a photo taken back in 1970. It's a photo of my commanding officer and me cutting a cake celebrating our helicopter squadron's return to our home base at then Naval Air Station Imperial Beach in Southern (very Southern) California. The Navy has traditionally celebrated important events with cakes and since we had just completed the recovery operation for the Apollo 13 ill-fated lunar mission, I suppose a cake was in order. 

That commanding officer, Chuck Smiley, then already a mentor, eventually became a lifelong close friend. Interestingly, Chuck's wife, Sally, filled the same role for my young wife, Diane. Indeed, whenever Diane uttered the words, "Well, Sally said...", I knew that further discussion was unnecessary; all was settled; Sally had spoken. 

Sally & Chuck (2008)

Anyway, after finding that photo, I picked up the phone and called Chuck. He and Sally have made their home in San Diego for decades and I hadn't spoken to them for several months. As I punched in their number I felt a bit guilty for calling so infrequently. The phone was answered by their son, David, who informed me in a broken, grief-filled voice that Chuck had died only days before. He was 85 years old. At first I was heartbroken and could think only of the many lives, including my own, that would be emptier with Chuck gone. But then, after a wonderful, long chat with Sally, I realized that all those lives had been blessed by Chuck's presence, and that Chuck Smiley was still with us because he had influenced so many people in so many wonderful ways. Our lives weren't emptier; rather, they had been filled by this remarkable man.

Did two people share a greater love?

Chuck had suffered from multiple myeloma for a dozen years, which in itself was remarkable. I suppose I had simply concluded that he was indestructible, and would go on forever. But on those few occasions when he spoke about his illness with me, he revealed that he knew it would likely take his life at some point. In the meantime, though, he fought it tooth and nail. That was just the way he was. Simply to be in his presence was an ongoing learning experience.

C. B. Smiley: 1930-2016

For me personally, however, Chuck's most instructive traits were his deep Christian faith and his remarkable humility. The former ruled every aspect of his life and led Diane and me to ask Chuck and Sally to be the godparents of  two of our children. The latter taught all who served with him what it meant to be a naval officer. He never placed his personal ambition above the needs of the country, the Navy, and those under his command. Unlike many who "serve" today, Chuck Smiley was no careerist. And I suppose, from the point of view of some, he paid a price for that. Chuck, of course, would disagree.

A wonderful husband, father and grandfather, a friend like no other, a patriot, and a faithful servant in the Lord's vineyard -- how we will miss him! 

May The Lord bless you and keep you, Chuck. May His face shine upon you and be gracious to you. May He look upon you with kindness and give you peace.

Rest in peace, Chuck. If I could bake a cake, I would.

Joe McCuen, Rest in Peace

53 years ago, during my plebe (freshman) year at the United States Naval Academy, I decided to audition for the Catholic Choir and the Glee Club. Being a member of these groups was actually a pretty good deal for a plebe since it offered some time away from the rigors of plebe year. 

Membership in the Glee Club was especially desirable since, in those days, it was one of the few organizations that allowed plebes to leave the confines of the Naval Academy for more than a few hours. We gave concerts in New York City, Philadelphia, Boston, and other spots along the east coast, even had a few TV appearances. The Catholic Choir also made occasional trips, and even sang on the White House lawn at JFK's funeral. Most of these trips involved at least one night away from Bancroft Hall. "Mother B", as we affectionately called this huge, eight-winged building, is the Academy's only dormitory and houses all 4,100 midshipmen. And, believe me, any time away from Mother B was a real treat. This was especially true during the bleak winter months, or "dark ages" as midshipman call them.

Catholic Choir 1964 (I'm in there somewhere)

USNA Glee Club 1964 (That's me: 2nd row, far right)

Another benefit of these excursions was the opportunity to enjoy a little female companionship. (These were the days when the service academies were all-male institutions.) Plebes, you see, lived a rather monkish existence in those unenlightened times and were not permitted to date. We couldn't even talk with a young lady while we were in the "yard", as we called the academy grounds. 

The only exceptions to this rule were the occasional, infamous Tea Dances (or "tea fights") at which young ladies from nearby colleges and towns would meet and dance with the plebes. These gatherings were held in cavernous Dahlgren Hall, in those days a huge gymnasium which also served as a rifle storage site. 

A more recent photo of a renovated Dahlgren Hall

The tea fights were organized and run by the Academy's social director at the time, Mrs. Emma Marshall. As one classmate, Dave Church, said at the time of her passing in 1995, "She organized the tea fights, which were tea dances, and we all cursed her under our breath for ruining our Sunday afternoons, because we had to attend. She honed our social skills and in doing so became a much beloved figure. She was, after all, the only female figure we had in Bancroft Hall." I'll not discuss tea fights here except to say they were uniquely strange events. If you'd like to read what one alumnus thought of these Sunday afternoon gatherings, you can click here: Tea Fights.

But I digress...

Master Chief Joe McCuen 1965

While auditioning for the Glee Club and Catholic Choir, I met Joe McCuen, who directed both organizations. Joe, a Navy Master Chief Musician's Mate, was a remarkable man. He was the best choral director and organist I have ever known and was solely responsible for the outstanding quality of the Academy's Glee Club and Catholic Choir. He was also a very nice man, one who put up with our adolescent antics and still managed to get us to perform at a high level.


The last time I saw Joe McCuen was during the week of my graduation in June 1967. A few years later I heard that he had retired from the Navy and relocated to Florida. As is often the case, lives diverge and those who formed a part of our past are forgotten until something or someone brings them to mind once again. Over the years, whenever I heard a glee club or a large church choir perform, I inevitably thought of Joe McCuen. He also entered the conversation when I encountered classmates who had been with me in either choir or glee club. We all thought the world of this wonderful man.

Yesterday I received an email informing me that Joe had died as the age of 87. He lived in  Ponte Vedra Beach, only about two hours from us here in The Villages. I wish I had known he was so close by...but, sadly, I didn't. His funeral Mass will be celebrated on Wednesday afternoon at Our Lady Star of the Sea Catholic Church. Coincidentally, I attended Mass there maybe a dozen years ago when Diane and I visited a deacon friend who ministered in that parish. Small world.

Recent photo of Joe McCuen

I will be unable to attend the funeral because I'm taking another deacon and his wife to a trauma center for a follow-up appointment. They were both injured in an automobile accident late last week when a large truck rear-ended them as they sat at a red light. Their car was totaled, but thank God they survived. Joe will understand, and I will have a Mass celebrated for him at our parish.

To read about this talented man's remarkable life, visit his obituary here: Joe McCuen.

Rest in peace, Joe.

Dick Francis, R.I.P.

Today I mourn the loss of one of the all-time great British mystery writers, Dick Francis. Francis, a former jockey turned novelist, wrote dozens of absolutely wonderful mysteries over the years. All of his stories were, in some way, related to the horse racing world with which he was intimately familiar. He died this past Saturday at his home in the Cayman Islands. He was 89 years old.

Interestingly, I never "read" a single one of his novels, but I listened to ten or more. For several years back in the mid-90s, my trusty Dodge Neon and I made a daily 186-mile round-trip commute between my home on Cape Cod and Providence College where I worked. During those long drives I maintained my sanity by listening to books on tape. My dear wife, Diane, who worked in a local public library at the time, would bring me recordings of books she thought I would enjoy. Since she always liked Dick Francis' stories she assumed I would as well. She was correct. Perhaps now I will take the time actually to read those of his novels I never got around to listening to.

Click here to read more about this remarkable man: RIP, Dick Francis.

Mary Daly, R.I.P.

Here's a death notice you might have missed since it didn't get very much press. Mary Daly, former Catholic theologian, former professor at Boston College, radical feminist, professional hater of the Catholic Church, and many other things not publishable here, is dead.

Daly, the influential "mother" of radical feminist theology, not only hated the Catholic Church, but also hated the God it worshiped. She in effect accused the Holy Spirit of raping the Virgin Mary. She could not refer to St. Paul without the use of foul expletives. And her view of the Eucharist is probably best described in her own words:

The "gentle Jesus" who offers the faithful his body to eat and his blood to drink is playing Mother Goddess. And of course this fetal-identified male behind this Mother Mask is really saying: "Let me eat and drink you alive." This is no mere crude cannibalism but veiled vampirism. (Gyn/Ecology, 81)

A self-described pagan and eco-feminist, she once declared in an interview, ''I hate the Bible. I always did. I didn't study theology out of piety. I studied it because I wanted to know.''

Seemingly trapped in a madness of her own making, Daly was not a particularly pleasant person. She died early last month at the age of 81. May she taste the mercy of the Father she despised. Rest in peace.