Copyright 2008 - Franklyn E. Dailey Jr.
Requiescant in pace.
Amen.
May they rest in peace.
Amen.
You may recall that my Dad became part of the Kelly family and a search I made with a Kelly daughter for a nursing home for my Dad with his incurable cancer. The Kelly family kind of fell apart in shock at the death thing. Probably the children could have handled it but Mrs. Kelly could not. Dad's last breath was announced when I was awakened by a phone call in the middle of the night by a caring Doctor in Rochester telling me that Dad had just gone peacefully in his sleep at the nursing home.
Mom got Dad back in death after a separation of about thirty years. She buried him and there were no Kellys visible in the mourning party. Dad went to Mass every day of his life during those last thirty years, choosing one of three downtown Rochester churches. His favorite was St. Mary's. He sometimes went to St. Joseph's until it burned down. In his final years he attended the French Church downtown. He was laid out decently and on a cold, snowy November day in 1975 a few mourners gathered at the French Church. I could tell that the Priest knew nothing of Dad's life but the Mass, as always, was beautiful. I was informed during the after-Mass handshakes that no Priest could be spared to come to Holy Sepulchre though a Rochester motorcycle policeman escorted us all the way to the cemetery. Before leaving the church, I managed to filch a few missalettes when I realized there would be no Priest for the committal service. These contained some hymns. Some wonderful cousins, Vinny, Billy, Bobby, Donald A. Jr., Georgianne and Kitty joined Sis and Mom and me. At the gravesite, I handed out the missalettes opened to a song page and we sang together.
All the earth proclaim the Lord
Sing your praise to God.
Serve you the Lord,
Heart full of gladness,
Come into His Presence,
Singing for joy.
All the earth proclaim the Lord,
Sing your praise to God.
The Sisters were not physically present. But their always alert sense of presence, their inspiration for improvised leadership when required, certainly let my eye fall on those missalettes in the French Church and gave me the courage to appropriate them and use them for a worthy purpose. Besides, I was a little upset that no Priest could be found to make it to the burial site.
My father was definitely not a male chauvinist. I could cite his many more female friends than male friends. And I mean friends and nothing more. My birth coincided with the Suffrage Amendment giving women the right to vote in 1921. Dad took the time one day to advise me of his view of the suffrage change that many newspapers consistently referred to as the "emancipation" of women. Dad advised me that the right to obtain a driver's license was a much more liberating event for women than suffrage.
Born in 1897, my Dad was an acute witness to our nation's affairs as World War I was coming to an end. I have mentioned the Constitutional Amendments relating to the prohibition of beverage alcohol and the one giving women the right to vote. Dad did not handle the alcohol situation well and he had a lot of company. I had left his life when I entered the U.S. Naval Academy in 1939. I know now that he was then in the throes of his life struggle with booze. Prohibition had failed the nation. The Women's Christian Temperance Union, the WCTU, had had little success. The Alcoholics Anonymous movement came along in the late thirties and it proved to be the changing event in Dad's life. I cannot verify when he joined AA but the next illustration from his Gladstone bag establishes the time to be about 1941. Page -2- of this 1953 newsletter, not shown, mentions the upcoming 12th anniversary of the establishment of this Rochester chapter of AA. Also not shown is the Guest Editorial's byline at the end of the opening article. It was "Frank D."
Illustration 11 -AA Newsletter of 1953
The year after Dad's death in 1975, I was fortunate to be able to re-visit the Sisters in their home territory. This came about courtesy of a letter from Noel Myers (Mrs. Raymond Myers), then of 27 Kimberlin Drive, Brockport, N.Y. In the letter, penned in a strong writing style with Palmer Method structure still evident, Noel thanked me for the check for my reservations to the Centennial Dinner for the School of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary. She informed me that Sister Lucida would be attending but that Sister Florentia could not attend as she was by then a patient at the Infirmary at the Mother House in Pittsford, New York. Noel had called the Mother House to see if I could visit Sister Florentia there and in her letter to me of May 11, 1976, I was told that Sister "will be expecting you." Noel also told me that my request that the organist play "Bring Flowers of the Fairest" at the Mass for the 100th anniversary occasion had been passed along to the lady organist. My memory is that it was not played but "O Sanctissima" was played at the Offertory. "Bring Flowers..." had been a great favorite during my stay at the school and Noel Myers seconded that sentiment in her letter.
If pressed, I do not know whether "Bring flowers..." or "O Captain, My Captain..." would be my favorite from those days in Parochial School. The Sisters constantly brought beautiful words to our attention. We sang, we recited, we read.
Before arriving at this wonderful 1976 celebration in Brockport, I stopped in Pittsford N.Y. at the Motherhouse of the Sisters of St. Joseph. I had brought two of my boys along to keep me company and to give them an insight on a great era for Catholic education, an education which some of my older children had enjoyed depending on what part of the U.S. we lived in when they were of age. The two children that came with me on that trip were John, number five, and Vinnie, eighth and last. Both were well over six feet tall when we headed from western Massachusetts to Pittsford, New York, located on the eastern fringe of Rochester.
The 320 mile drive from Springfield was uneventful and we arrived at the Infirmary at the Motherhouse in good time. The Sister's habits were still being worn. A smiling, young Sister at the Reception Desk welcomed us. Yes, we could go right up to see Sister Florentia as the staff had known of our coming and all was in readiness. "Just one matter, Mr. Dailey, that you may not have been made aware of. Sister has not known anyone for a few years although she is in reasonably good physical health. Go right up to her room." I was a little uneasy, not having thought out a protocol for this kind of meeting. I had not seen this lady for over 40 years.
We walked into her room. Immaculate, as was she in a modified habit suitable for a bed patient to receive visitors. Her head was on a puffed up pillow so that she was not fully reclining. She looked just like the Sister Florentia that I had come to love and to respect. I began a monologue about auto travel and weather (it was a beautiful day in spring) and her eyes opened slightly and fell upon my sons. I could see that there was no glimmer of recognition of these strange boys but blessedly no hint of alarm in her gaze. Finally, I moved the subject toward someone we both had known. "Sister", I said, "Do you remember Father Krieg?" I had used the "magic word" to borrow from an early television show.
"Frank", she said, "He was no good!" With that, the dialogue began at a furious pace. She had worked so hard to give every pupil a chance to learn and to increase their confidence that they could learn. Father had consistently failed to acclaim or even acknowledge the effort along this line. He directed that she stick to a policy of rigid number evaluations based on day by day school recitation and examination without regard to an individual's family background or living environment. Father wanted no unpleasant discussions with the civil authorities, one of whom actually countersigned every BVM school certificate of advancement before it took effect in the New York State education system. (I have my sister's eighth grade graduation certificate in 1935 and mine from 1932, both countersigned by the appointed state official of that period.) Sister told me of her repeated efforts to get her Superior in the Sisters of St. Joseph in Rochester to assign her to another parish school. Looking at the record, Sister Florentia served just three years in Brockport, two of them covering my last four grades in school. So, her entreaties to leave were finally successful in 1933, a year after I had left for high school.
Sister then told me the name of the family she had come from (Smead) and the town (Geneva, N.Y.) that she had grown up in. She had entered the Sisters of St. Joseph from the St. Frances de Sales parish in Geneva in 1909 and had a younger sister, Anna de Sales who was also a Sister of St. Joseph. Sister Florentia had served 60 years covering seven elementary schools in the Diocese of Rochester, the last being at Holy Rosary parish. For thirty minutes we talked together in an animated and at times tearful conversation. I realized finally, though I hated to leave, that I must not tire her out. I brought the dialogue to a close, the boys respectfully said goodbye, and we left and went back down to the lobby. The young Sister was still at her Reception Desk. I had the momentary thought that I might tell her that Sister Florentia had full possession of her faculties, but again, the Guardian Angel must have overcalled me. I left knowing that the young Sister would be able to go on with her duties without any unsettling thoughts.
An obituary in the Rochester Democrat & Chronicle placed Sister Florentia's date of death on February 20, 1985 after 11 years in that Infirmary. The obituary notice stated, in part, "Sister Smead was one of those rare and dedicated teachers who had discipline when required, sympathy when needed; counsel when wanted and love at all times." Someone obviously knew Sister well. The right person wrote those lines. My sharp-eyed Mother, then 86 herself, sent Sister Florentia's newspaper obituary notice along to me. Sister Florentia was 93 when she died. My Mom died in 1992 when she too had reached the age of 93. These ladies were of like minds in the discipline matter. Sister Florentia had a little the better of it with her Irish sense of humor.
Sister Lucida Rice passed on December 30, 1989 in the Sisters of St. Joseph Convent Infirmary in Pittsford, New York. She had been born in Ithaca, New York, and entered the order in Rochester in 1918. She taught at seven Rochester Diocese schools, including a term as Principal at St. John The Evangelist in Spencerport, New York. Her obituary declared her to be a lively person and an excellent teacher, concluding, "She always brought out the best in her students." Amen.
Isabel Lasher Dailey passed at the Eagle Pond Nursing Home in Dennisport, Massachusetts on May 9, 1992. Her daughter, Alma Dailey Valentin, passed at the Cape Cod Hospital in Hyannis, Massachusetts on December 11, 1999. After forty years of geographic separation, Sis and her Mom had one last year together in the same apartment house in Dennisport before Isabel's slow onset of dementia of four or five years required around the clock care. Sis told me that a week before Mother's death, during her last visit with her, Mother had said, "Tell Frankie I love him." Isabel recited the Our Father with me on the phone the day before her death at the Nursing Home, finishing it with the triumphant, "For Thine is the Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory of God, forever and forever, Amen." That exultant phrase was much preferred by her to the Roman Catholic Lord's Prayer that ended several words sooner.
The Holy Sepulchre Roman Catholic Cemetery on Lake Avenue in Rochester borders the Genesee River. Eleven bodies were re-interred in that cemetery when the Dailey plot opened in July of 1917. Among those brought from other sites were John and Mary Dailey who came from Ireland in 1836. They were my Dad's grandparents. John was born in 1805 and is the oldest resident of the Dailey lot. The original lot was laid out for 50 gravesites. With infants, and now the permission for cremation in the Catholic Church, the population is already much larger than 50. There are still several open sites. The central message is one of couples. There are spinster ladies and second and third wives, but couples are predominate. Where couples and children lie, a story is told on the unusually detailed inscriptions. Dad is there, but Mother is not. She chose to be with her parents in Riverside Cemetery, adjacent to and downstream of Holy Sepulchre. I have no idea where Mrs. Kelly is buried. Except for chance tellings in pages such as these, the story line in my Dad's marriage is broken. One piece of the tapestry will return in a few weeks. Sis will be buried next to her father.
God has given me the gift of wonderful ladies. One of these is my own wife, Marguerite "Peggy" Parker. We are now in the 57th year of marriage. As was her custom, my mother stood aloof to any lady until she was very, very sure of her ground with that lady. My wife, of southern origins, proved to be no exception. My mother never had a better friend than my wife and it probably took Mom only about 25 years to figure that out. My Sis was immediate in her recognition that she had found a lifetime friend in my wife. Sis accorded Peggy Sis' own special nom de plume, "Peggity."
Go back into your old Parochial School when all is quiet. Listen. Hear your Sister in the walls.
The End.
My Times With the Sisters and Other Events, 134 pages, ISBN 0966625110; can be ordered through your local bookstore. Cover Price is $9.50. Book can be purchased direct from the publisher for $6.50. Add $3.00 shipping and handling. Include your shipping address.
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Copyright 2008 - Franklyn E. Dailey Jr.