The first Campionette, the student newsletter, was published 102 years ago, on November 11, 1917. The first Editor of the Campionette was Tom O'Connor, class of 1920. The last official issue was the one announcing the closing of the school in May 1975. Over the years various classes have published special editions for their class reunions, of which some have been pretty extravagant.
The Campion Forever Newsletter was first published by Aaron Huguenard, class of 1947 in 2000 as a means for alumni and faculty to keep in touch and share in life experiences.
We've been trying to get memoirs from retired and not-so-retired Campion Jebbies
for our newsletter for quite some time.
We don't care if the memoirs are about when they went to Campion, taught at Campion, or just what they've done since leaving Campion. We just want to hear something from our mentors in the first person; perhaps words of wisdom learned while IHS; typically we only get 3rd person post mortem.
Not to lay all the blame on the Jebbies... why can't we get memoirs from more alumni. Where are all those other authors and editors of the old 'ette.
While it has been a task getting
people to submit articles, there are a few dedicated alumni and Jebbies who do regularly provide ideas for articles. This is a good thing, else I would have to conjure the 'Ghost of Joe Campion' for ideas more than I care to.
I remember Mike Sherman and Marty Cassidy doing the old spitball on the blackboard thing! And Father Kidd circling them in chalk continuing on with the class unfazed like it never happened! This was 'C' class where all us cool kids were....
I recall the day in 'C' Class math with Father Kidd when, without hesitation, he unceremoniously removed student Steve Curtis from the classroom by the scruff of his neck, all the while Steve Curtis having to drag a full-length cast on his right leg, without benefit of his crutches, out the door never to be seen again. Mr. Curtis was caught by Father Kidd for having inked the back of Father Kidd's white shirt with the commonly used cartridge pens we sported in 1968.
Freshman year I had him for math. I thought he was a great teacher. The thing I remember is when Father Kidd would turn to the blackboard we would all move our desks forward about 6 inches. He would turn around and we would be closer to him. We did this every time he turned his back to us. By the end of the class ended we had him trapped right up to the blackboard. We were such assholes and he was such a kind gentleman. I always kind of felt guilty about how we treated Fr. Kidd but kids can be jerks sometimes and like I said he was a real gentleman.
Aggie that was commonly known as "Up the Amazon with Father Kidd".
Many of us dabbled in assholiness. Unfortunately, decent human beings like Father Kidd we're on the receiving end of those tough growing times! You may recall going up the Amazon included jungle noises.
You'll always be assholes in my book! Jesuitical assholes!
HA HA on the noises!!!!! I forgot.
And it was special with grunts and chimp noises/ toucan birds / Flatus etc!
But Jesuitical !!!??? What the hell is that?
Jesuitical == fond memories.
Doug your sins are hereby forgiven! Great story!
Fr. Kidd was a very good math teacher, but I have to admit it was difficult in 'C' class trying not to laugh at Shermans poor aim with spitballs.
You guys were animals.
Oh yes ---- the abusive farm animals!
What a wild 4 years.
The farm animals reminds me of Judd Ternes !!!!
Lots of great memories here of a very kind and tolerant person! Continually curious, patient regardless, kind and brilliant. May he rest in peace.
Remember him as a gentle man and also the gerbils he raised. A photo of him in the yearbook holding a gerbil stated the 'C' on his hat stood for critter. RIP
RIP Fr. Kidd! Never had him as a teacher but remember him and his beloved gerbils! I remember Jim Bruchs playing a trick on him. We shared a great fondness of drinking!
Vaya con dios, Fr. Kidd!
I got a kick out of the Fr. Kidd stories and it made me recall one of the funniest classroom ordeals from my time at Campion. Soph year, Don Dugan from Waukon, Iowa crawled into the lecturn before Fr. Kidd got to the classroom. He was small guy and curled up on the small crossbar at the bottom of the lecturn. Fr. Kidd came in and truly did not notice him and started to teach. You can imagine the giggling and snorting from all of us trying to hold back stifled laughter. Finally, Fr. Kidd, wondering what was so funny and totally exasperated, discovered the ruse. Dugan was promptly dispatched to Fr. Duke's office with several jugs assigned I'm sure. It was a classic.
Bill Friedrichs Sr.
From Ghost of Joe Campion
From Ronald Ruble '54
Jacob and the Angel
by Ronald L. Ruble
Geometry was not an easy class. There are thousands, maybe millions of angles in this world and our job at Campion Jesuit High School was to learn how to measure and name each and every one of them. We were to do this monumental task in nine months. We, in turn, thought it best just to take these angles for granted, and not wake a sleeping giant. You know, leave sleeping dogs lie. But Mr. R.B. Bargen, SJ, aka "Bobby" Bargen, our geometry instructor, thought otherwise. His world was made up of corners, squares and triangles, and he looked upon us as his disciples to learn his teachings, and then we were to go and spread this gospel throughout the land. However, he was to learn that great plans often go awry, and the power of positive thinking on the part of twenty some students would negate any dream that a single individual might have.
Now, "Bobby" Bargen was not a tall man, he was short. Somewhat stubby, he looked like he always asked for and received that second piece of pie. Not necessarily was he overweight mind you, but pleasantly plump. Six foot two stuffed into a five-foot eight body. He waddled a bit on his left side when he walked. Something like John Wayne only different. He had the habit of standing on his toes when he got upset, rocking himself back and forth. He no doubt figured that it made him look bigger and thereby threatened his students into submission, and that in turn would open our minds to the angle of the dangle or whatever. In reality it made him look more like a chubby ballerina doing warm-ups.
The whole year had not gone well for "Bobby" Bargen. Geometry was my most fun class, and it was not because of a four-sided parallelogram. "Bobby" had lost control of this class from day one, and we students continued to take advantage of this situation, gaining momentum as the year wore on. We were at the age when we just didn't know when to stop, you know, to just enjoy what we had and not push it too far. It was my thought that if we kept pushing that envelope, we were headed for a Waterloo, and I just hoped that it would not result in a one-way ticket to Alba.
I don't know what started it all that fateful day in late April. Maybe it was the pressure that Bobby felt of trying to teach a bunch of fun-loving characters a smidgeon of knowledge that they would never use in the real world. And being aware of that fact, these same fun-loving characters were not all ears to what "Bobby" thought was some very important and informative stuff on that day. The pervading atmosphere of the class was that an isosceles triangle wouldn't fit into a round hole, so therefore made no more sense than a smoke screen on a windy day. Using a geometry term, these students were quite obtuse to any idea that would stretch their bubble gum minds.
Anyway, I was busy daydreaming about something to do with girls, when suddenly this gentle member of the Society of Jesus, threw an eraser at George Braasch, one of my classmates, interrupting a pleasant conversation he was having with Don Torres, another budding genius of our pack. George saw it coming and blocked the shot rather nicely with a forearm. George looked back at "Bobby" Bargen with an exaggerated question mark all over his face, his hands were turned upwards, and shoulders shrugged in a "What?" gesture, with his mouth open and eyebrows raised high. It was a perfect questioning expression. George had done this before and was quite good at it. Receiving no answer from his adversary, George went back to his conversation with Torres, the eraser missile all but forgotten.
This did not go well with "Bobby". He gritted his teeth, glaring at George, and started throwing chalk in his direction. Everyone immediately in front of George ducked down, attempting to avoid any errant projectile. George was still deep in conversation as a piece of chalk bounced off his head, leaving a white dusting where he normally parted his hair.
I was sensing that something crazy was going down here, and I switched gears from my daydreams of sugar and spice and everything nice, to the saga unfolding in front of me. "Bobby", now out of chalk and erasers, physically charged down the aisle towards George. George still had that quizzical look on his face as Bobby grabbed him by his green necktie, a tie that George had worn each day for a week or so and pulled. George's reaction was to pull backwards and upwards trying to escape. This movement was not only futile, but it made things worse, as the tie tightened another notch around George's neck. George, now starting to choke a bit, stood up, towering over the squat "Bobby' Bargen.
This was really turning into something special. Unique even. It's not every day that you see one of your buddies choked to death. We were watching Campion history being made here, and I had a front row seat. This was crazy, and it was going down in front of all these witnesses. This Jebbie had my vote as a great candidate for anger management classes over the summer. His self-control was ripe for an enema.
Now you had to be there to see this. Braasch was over six feet tall, and here was this Jebbie, definitely height challenged, hanging onto Braasch's tie, pulling and tugging, his feet actually leaving the ground, his body swinging back and forth, an appendage to George's green tie. Braasch in the meantime continued pulling the opposite way, his head thrown back and his body moving backwards, attempting to escape this strangle hold. But his actions were just making his tie pull even tighter, and his cries became those of a croaking frog. I couldn't tell if he was praying or crying for help. The guy was just not making any sense. His face went from a strong red to a purplish color and the veins in his neck and forehead were becoming quite large; and in the meantime, Bobby just kept pulling on that tie.
We were all cheering for George, but it only made the Jebbie more determined to strangle him. He was shouting words that were definitely not taken from his book of vespers. I would be the first to vouch that George was not ready to be canonized, but neither was he as bad as to die from strangulation. This was a little excessive.
Now, it so happened that George sat in the row next to the windows and the windowsills in this room were close to the floor. Due to the warm weather that day, the windows had been opened. We all stared in horror as George was pulled down to the floor and was now on his knees. George continued trying to loosen the choke hold of his tie around his neck, keeping both of his hands busy. The Jebbie took advantage of this and used one hand to push George off balance. George fell face down to the floor, his head was now facing toward the open window, three floors from the ground. Then the tug-of-war began. Bobby wanted George out the window, and George didn't want to go. It was push, then pull; yank then tug, each one of them determined. One to save a life, the other to take one.
George was half-way out the window when "Bobby" finally let go of his tie, then knelt on the floor, grabbed a leg, and started pushing George further out the window. Jim Marbaugh finally stepped in and grabbed one of George's legs, holding him within the safety of the room. Torres lent a hand, and grabbed the leg that Bobby was partial to. The rest of us sat there with our mouths open, frozen in disbelief, silent witnesses to this surrealist drama.
Then, just as suddenly as it had started, Bobby just quit. He pulled himself up from the floor, ignoring our gasping classmate. He stood there, his eyes glazed over and his breathing heavy, and stared out the window, looking to the heavens for guidance I guessed. A few moments passed, and then he spun around and went back to his desk and sat down still breathing hard. He laid his head, face down, on his crossed arms. He did not look at us, nor did he say anything. Meanwhile, George crawled back into the safety of the room. He plopped back into his chair while loosening his tie, all the while breathing deeply. He looked a little shaken, but otherwise somewhat normal, his natural color beginning to return.
The room was quiet enough to hear the proverbial pin drop. The only sound was the heavy breathing of the two combatants. No one could believe what had just happened, especially George. Silently he looked at all of us and just shrugged his shoulders, all the while shaking his head back and forth. Then he did that shrug thing again. The silence went on for about five minutes, even the heavy breathing finally stopped. Then "Bobby" Bargen got up and walked out of the room and was gone. I mean really gone, as he never came back. Ever! We never knew what happened to him or where he went. He just vanished. The scuttle butt was that he was whisked away in the wee hours of the morning and sent to another post, perhaps Siberia, while we were sleeping. We never really knew.
About fifteen minutes after "Bobby" had left the classroom, Father Kloster, SJ, the principle, arrived and gave us quite a lecture about behavior and stuff. He was quite upset; not as upset as Bobby Bargen, but definitely disturbed. Finally, he finished his lecture 101, and we all breathed a sigh of relief. We were not having a good day, but little did we know that it was going to get worse. He then picked up the nearest geometry book, held it high so we could all gaze at its dull grey/blue finish, and told us to start copying it, word by word, page by page, and we would be doing that for the rest of the year. He explained that we would not have a teacher, just a monitor to insure our behavior. We would be taking our final test on our own ability to learn by copying this book of horrors.
This was not good, as we weren't learning very much even with a teacher. Teaching ourselves was tantamount to catastrophe. I looked around the room, shock was tantamount with each of us. There were a lot of open mouths catching flies. The word "stupefied" comes to mind.
Well, we started copying that same day; then continued to copy the next, and then copied some more over those last few weeks. It was boring, tedious work, and not conducive to learning very much. The day of the final test arrived, and before taking it we did some serious praying at mass that morning. We begged the good Lord for a miracle. Promises were made that if He would be so good as to send us down a passing grade, we would do a lot of good things to make the world a better place. We were ready to promise our kingdom for a horse. I personally promised to spend my life to free all the kids in China from hunger. It was a big bite to take, but I was asking for quite a miracle here. My buddies, Jim Marbaugh and Bob Mckinney promised to be missionaries somewhere in the Belgian Congo. Braasch thought they were talking about the south side of Chicago, so he was game, and bought into their idea. Others promised to give up corn curls, Hershey bars and other sundry items. I didn't think God was going to work miracles for that kind of stuff, but I guess that you never know what the good Lord would go for. Anyway, there was no doubt that we had all the bases covered.
We finally took the test, and then after what seemed a thousand years, the grades were posted on the bulletin board for all to see. It was like a condemned man walking that final mile as I searched the post for my name, going the usual route of working my way up from the bottom of the list. I passed the names of Marbaugh and Mckinney; they didn't make it. But they were not alone, as I passed the names of more than half the class before I reached the magic number of 70. There would be no serving time in the Belgian Congo doing missionary work, nor would the South side of Chicago be getting any new missionary delegations. Also, the Hershey and Corn Curl factories would not be cutting back on hours.
I, on the other hand, through divine intervention, received a 72. I am still waiting for China to do their own thing about feeding all those starving children that our parents always talked about. My having to shoulder all that responsibility for the Chinese kid population was just too big a bite for me to swallow. After much thought, I had bought into the adage that "God helps those who help themselves". My thinking was that building character was better than giving free handouts. I think that God will understand where I am coming from. If not, I am no doubt destined to become a coolie throughout eternity in a rice paddy far, far away......
From George Braasch '54
I remember the confrontation with Mr. Bargen, which I caused, and his walking out of the class and not to return. I do not recall wearing a green tie - I'm not Irish - unless perhaps it was St.Patrick's day. The whole scene was a mad house. Somehow I did manage to pass, barely, the course instead of the next train home.
From Pat Mower '64
Jesuits I knew, or THOUGHT I knew
By Pat Mower
When ever I think
about my teachers in high school, then talk to one of my classmates,
I am always amazed at how different we looked at some of our
teachers. One of the reasons my mother wanted me to go to Campion
Jesuit High School was the Jesuit in the title.
My mother was more
Catholic than the pope. One of her pastors in California, told her,
when she complained that she was tired and didn't understand why
she hadn't died, told her: God isn't ready for you to take his
job over yet. He was being facetious, but in reality, who knows?!
We started in
"orientation" the first week at Campion, so I don't remember
much about that. There was all that orientating to do. Also, trying
to remember where you were, and where you had to be. We all go
Campion, like most
Jesuit high schools, I think, had four classes of people. First
there were, of course, the priests. All were ordained at the ripe
age of 33. You can imagine why, that was Christ's age when he
died. Second, there were the scholastics. There were Jesuits in
training. They wore a color, cassock for the most part, and did the
teaching and prefecting. Priests were teachers, but rarely prefects.
Third were the Brothers. At Campion, one brother stood out among
all the others, Bro. Daley. Mention him, and everyone smiles. The
fourth "class" was the lay teachers. Most of them were coaches,
and they also taught. The only one more or less special long time
teachers was Professor (Prof) S. S. deRanitz. He was the music
director and teacher. He also had some clubs in the music hall for
those interested in numismatics and a rockhound club.
You can imagine the
personalities that come out when you spend 24/7 with these people,
and all the foibles you see. I will start with the ones I knew best.
That doesn't say much, but I'll explain later.
The easiest to
remember were the four priests that were the AP(Assistant Principal)
(lawman, law giver, judge, jury and executioner). First was Fr.
Lambeck, SJ (I will ignore the SJ after the names, they were all that
except the lay teachers). Tall, thin, a ramrod up his back, with
thick glasses, and fire could come out of his eyes. I never ran
afoul of this man. The system of punishment at a Jesuit school is
called JUG. When you heard that word directed at you, JUG, you knew,
at 3:30pm (one hour after class or sooner), you had to be in the
Kostka Hall study hall to serve out your terms of punishment. It
differed depending on whom the AP was. Freshman year, you had to
write out PRECISELY as it was written in the "Prose & Poetry"
book two different columns from two different pages. The first one
was written out three times, the second one twice. Why? Only God
and Fr. Lambeck knew. I got my first JUG the day before school
started. I got three total in four years. Not bad. Either I was
good, or more likely, I got away with some stuff. You figure it out.
The second year AP
was Fr. John "Piggly Wiggly" Wiggins. I only got one jug his
year, he was our Algebra teacher freshman year, so, for him, he would
give you some huge number to take to a much higher power. I hate
math. Hated it then, didn't like it later, but I kinda like it
now, even though once past the basics, I get lost. I STILL love
Algebra though. He was a good teacher. Always looked like he was
pained, and when he smiled, that was sometimes a warning sign.
Third and fourth
years Fr. Ed Larkin was the AP. I know I got a JUG in 3rd
or 4th year, but not what it consisted of. Larkin was by
comparison, a fairly easy going Jebbie. By Junior Year, you were
through with the lower classes and more than likely not under much
stress from the classes. You had learned how to contend with all of
The principal, the
one most directly involved with the educational aspect of running the
institution was Fr. Willaim "willie the wart" Doran. He was
actually a very nice person. Always smiling, always chatting... but
like all Jebbies, be careful if you ran afoul of him. He would more
than likely be one of the Jesuits you saw last before being banished
from Campion! I'll have to ask a few classmates about that.
Let's finish the
Administrative staff. They worked in Kostka Hall. Bro Daley was the
first guy you saw coming into Kostka Hall. He kept check on the
people who came onto campus, going or coming, Bro Daley was always
there. He didn't have any other, that I know of, name then just
Bro Daley. He also controlled the phone what you had to use to call
your parents or anyone else. If a call came in, it was into THAT
phone in the entrance way. One of my classmates ran the switchboard
with his brother, Art. Ed "Eddy" Lyons was the switchboard op.
He knew how to work the old monstracity. Eddy spent his life in the
USAF Communications command, and retired as a Lt. Col. We share lots
of stories as he was in a lot of the places near where I was
stationed before flying. You did NOT want to run afoul of Bro Daley.
And if you were outside, you had BETTER have you hat on if it was
called for, and you had BETTER remove it before entering Kostka Hall,
The "Bursar" was
also here. The office was located down the hallway on the right side
of the hall, and on the left were the Class Graduation Pictures.
They were especially made to a large size to reflect on ALL the
graduates of the school. You might see Kevin McCarthy '32 or David Doyle '47
the actors if you looked hard enough. You
could also see Knute Rockne's progeny, Jack Rockne '44.
During my time at Campion,
you could have $3 on your person at all times. When you ran low,
there was an account kept by them that your parents could put money
into. I used this office a lot, since I had braces on my teeth and
on Wednesdays had to go into LaCrosse, Wisconsin by Burlington
Zephyr, so I needed extra money. Bro Kempker was the guy who
actually did the Transactions. Bro P. J. Murphy was the actual
treasurer. Never dealt with him here, only once in a while during
strolling around campus. Nice guy, very quiet.
The President and
Superintendent worked in New Lawler hall, which was the Jesuit's
residence hall. First year, Fr. Corrigan was the "president",
later called rector, while the "superintendent", was Fr.
Zimmerman. You almost never saw them, because they were dealing with
the outside world. Once in a while I would serve mass for Fr.
Zimmerman. Very nice man, again, these people were considered much
to high for we lowly students to deal with, unless you were a class
rep, or president of your entire class.
Sophmore year and
later, Fr. Howard "Howie" Kalb, class of 1941 I believe, was the
president or as we called him "Rev. Father Rector"! (After all
the school was run a little 16th century style - the
heyday of Jesuit power in England!). He was WELL known by all of us.
He taught us third year Algebra and Calculus. A firey, almost
always smiling person, I personally never saw him angry, thank
goodness. He was a big guy, and I am sure would have put the fear of
God into anyone. The only dealing I had with him was in Junior or
Senior year. My mother was getting a divorce from her third Husband,
who like my father, was a bigamist. Walking over to Fr. Kalb's
office, I couldn't imagine what I had done wrong. Usually the last
stop before departing the campus, I was relieved to see him smiling
when he asked me to sit down. He just wanted to make sure I wouldn't
go off campus with mom's ex. No way. A short chat and I was back
where I was supposed to be.
Ok, one special
person left, Prof. deRanitz. Over four years, I was probably one of
his favorites. I still had to do what I was expected, but I think
he felt sorry for my mom and me, and I had a "substitute dad"
more or less. When I went into the concert and marching band, he was
amazed that I learned the alto Saxaphone in three weeks. Gave me a
test, and made me 1st Sax. (easiest parts to play
mostly). When I was auditioning, and prof seemed to be raving, my
other favorite Jesuit, Mr. Megan, class of 1954, heard me and yelled
back, "Mower, go to the Gym and get fitted for a red jacket, you
are in the pep band!"
Megan was also one
of my senior years dorm prefects, along with the dean of Marquette
Hall, Fr. Piggly Wiggly Wiggins! I was in the room right next to
his, Wiggins that is. I believe that most of the Jebbies were
informed by Fr. Kalb of my mother's desires that I only go off
campus with friends. Every so often Piggly Wiggly would call me in
for a "how's it going" check. One of the things I remember is
that Mr. Megan brought down a record for me to listen to, "Beyond
the Fringe" by the group including Dudley Moore, who did a play
called "Pieces of Eight". It was typical British Humor, and to
this day, I have that record (well, one that I found and purchased).
More about Megan.
It was he who turned out pepband into a Dixieland Jazz band. We
played Tequilla, and when it was time, got our entire student body to
yell out, "Tequilla!". The cheer leaders took an interest in us
too, because it must have become easier to get people cheering and
out of the seat in the bleachers. Megan put us on TV also, the glee
club, because he took that over from Fr. Brehm. We went to LaCrosse
to perform on the local station there. That had NEVER been done
before. Went the mother's day concerts came up, under Megan, we
were truly a Glee Club, and he was fantastic with music. Megan also
taught a fine arts class in the basement of Marquette Hall our senior
year. Once, just November 22, we were finished with the class, so we
turned on the TV to see live Jack Ruby shoot Oswald!
I will continue with
some "Jebbie Talk" in the next article...
From the Desk Of John Duskey '63
Jonathan Haschka, S.J. '63
Many things have been written about Jonathan Haschka since his death last fall. Most notably, about his years of service in Kenya and Tanzania, his knowledge of the Swahili language, his M.A. in sculpture from the University of Georgia and eight years as a teacher of sculpture at Creighton University, and his return in 2011, to serve for four years as superior of the Jesuit Community at Camillus in Wauwatosa, Wisconsin. He stayed at Camillus as his health declined. It was during those last years that I came to really know Jonathan. There are some recollections of Jonathan that I would like to share:
At the time Roland Teske died in May 2015, Jonathan sent me this message:
"Roland went to the Lord this morning while I was sitting with him. When the CD that I was playing got to the Kyrie Eleison he took a deep breath and expired. Last words he heard were Greek."
A few years ago, when I learned of the death of a man who had been a great positive influence on me, I was going through the kinds of things we all go through in such a circumstance-remembering that last conversation, wishing that we had another conversation, expressing gratitude, etc. I contacted Jonathan and asked for a requiem mass for the repose of this man's soul. Jonathan immediately replied "Will do a requiem for him tomorrow."
I had regularly attended the funerals of Jesuits at Camillus, including, on last September 16, the funeral of Fr. James Fitzgerald. I noticed that Jonathan was not there. He had taken his afternoon nap and did not wake up until the next morning. I stayed in Milwaukee overnight and visited with Jonathan the next morning for about a half-hour before we entered the dining room and had lunch with Fr. Jim O'Leary and Bro. Ed Gill. It was only two weeks later that I returned to Camillus for Jonathan's funeral.
It is clear from those conversations that Jonathan knew that death was coming for each of us, and that he appreciated the value of prayers and masses being said for the dead. Up to the very end, Jonathan was good at consoling others, when the need arose. He told me in April 2019, after Fr. Ted Hottinger's funeral, that he knew the cancer was growing within him, and that it was only a matter of time before he would be leaving us. He did not seem troubled by this. It has truly been a blessing to know Jonathan.
In order to provide a more complete perspective on Jonathan, I asked Tony Hayne to write about Jonathan and his days at Campion.
From Tony Hayne '63.
When asked to put together some memories of our dear late classmate my thoughts at once turned to Robert Frost's poem The Road Not Taken. It was that early summer day in 1963 the last time I was to see Jonathan. Our parents had deposited us at the conflux of the Mississippi and Wisconsin rivers almost 4 years earlier with the hope that the Jesuits would be able to deliver on their promise of taking their sons, their boys, and get back men. For the most part I believe they had succeeded in their mission.
How Jonathan and I came together but can only be called the luck of the alphabet both of our last names beginning with the letters Ha. Thus in close proximity we came to be roommates. Jonathan had the benefit of having an older brother on campus for both his freshman and sophomore years and with this "clout" he was able to wrangle one of the few double rooms in the coveted senior dorm, Marquette Hall in our junior year. I was blessed with being chosen to join him. There we spent our 2 last years together sharing study, shenanigans, and sleep.
I remember little of Jon's home life in Minneapolis other than the winters were harsher still than what I knew of those in Chicago and Prairie du Chien. So much snow that you had to shovel your roof? Who knew?
Jonathon taught me the American Sign Language I believe he knew from early childhood as I believe some of his family were without the gift of speech. I still remember some of it.
We ran track, he the half mile and me the quarter mile. We engaged in activities known as "school spirit": painted the Central Park "light post" and "tree" for the Military Ball, we built the largest ever homecoming bonfire (no doubt "seen" from space via the new orbital unmanned spacecraft fashionable at the time, we cheered our winning football teams, and shouted ourselves hoarse and into sore throats at basketball games. Jon was a full fledged cheer leader.
Jon was very fond of his pipe (pronounced "peep"). Me not so much, but I played along. Jon is pictured, with Steve Boichot, on page 10 of the 1963 Knight. This is how I remember him.
Jonathan's later stint as a professor of sculpture would be apparent as we dabbled in "sculpture" Jon's abstract Virgin Mary, in papier-mâché, would make anyone proud of his work. My feeble attempt at carving a bar of soap, not so much.
Yes, we did make wine in our room right under the nose of Fr. Burke whose room was right across the hall. As I remember the '63 Welch's Prairie du Chien red had quite a piquant nose though some moldy notes in the finish.
Jon studied Latin and I, as one of the hoi polloi, took Spanish during those last two years at Campion. I suspect that that my having appended the cover of my Latin grammar book and because of my innate difficulty with languages (including English) may have played a part in Jonathan and me going divergent ways. I believe, other than Latin/Spanish, our classes were virtually the same.
We all were thoroughly instructed in the Catholic Religion, and this beginning of higher learning about God and our place in His creation, no doubt fostered Jon's chosen vocation. I will admit to being mildly shocked when I learned of his choice for his life after Campion. In retrospect, it was no doubt obvious to everyone but me. It took me some years for me to recognize that this was the right choice for him. Many are called but few are chosen.
I do not believe Jon or I ever communicated after graduation, but the Knights of '63 remained in touch somehow, as I knew he had gone to Africa to carry out his mission and that he had later returned to oversee the community of retired/retiring Jesuits. How simpatico, I thought at the time, as I had recently returned to social work after decades in another vocation. We were both working in the helping professions.
Jon, no doubt, is missed by his family, his fellow Jesuits, those of us who knew us from back in the day and many more. He was a good man and I miss him too.