Dooner’s Hotel

In 1928, well-known author Christopher Morley (Parnassus on Wheels, Haunted Bookshop) and Thomas A. Daily collaborated on an affectionate tribute to “The House of Dooner, the Last of the Friendly Inns,” on Tenth Street above Chestnut in Philadelphia (next to St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church), which closed in 1924. The little volume wistfully captured the spirit of an age that had recently passed, while offering a curious glimpse into the manly domain once occupied by some prominent SFDS parishioners, and a caution about the changing world order at the turn of a different century.

Morley described Dooner’s men’s hotel as a comfortable home and gathering place for Philadelphia locals and occasional celebrities. He characterized it using the works of deceased authors: it was “A Mark Twain kind of place. An Edgar Allen Poe kind of place. A fireman save my child kind of place. A sleep with the window closed kind of place and hang your scapular on the back of a chair. A terrapin soup and catch the late train for Villanova kind of place…A Comédie Humaine (Balzac’s French novels about life in the 1800s) kind of place. A Joyce Kilmer (Catholic poet died in World War I. Remembered for a poem called “Trees.”) kind of place” that was “as masculine as firemen’s suspenders.”

Morley wrote that “The Dooners, father and son – sons, I should say…were publicans” — tavern owners. “The house the elder Dooner established, and which the sons inherited and carried on, was an authentic institution.” What did that mean? Morley described something ordinary, clubby, and timeless: “the gist of Dooner’s, as I think about it this moment, was that the right kind of person knew as soon as he stepped into it that it was real. The steam that floated up from those plates of cabbage was a genuine exhalation…” Its patrons included permanent residents; visitors – traveling salesmen, academics, and others — often regulars; and locals who gathered in the saloon and public spaces to relax, meet with friends, and participate in a number of men’s groups — especially relating to Ireland — which met there. These included the Hibernian Society, the Friendly Sons of Saint Patrick, the Kelly Street Choir, the Koemmenich Society (a musical group), a number of private supper clubs, and more.

Dooner’s was said to be a “mind your own business” kind of place with its own strict code of ethics, “and the house was a restful, well-mannered club for those who were likeminded.” It was probably not strong on diversity. Nonwhite staff are described in the casually racist parlance of the day. Women were approached with caution and considered potentially dangerous. Dooner’s did have a women’s parlour on the ground floor, with a separate entrance and exit from the street. But when proprietor Peter Dooner once found a “notorious woman” there, “placidly enjoying the good fare with one of her many admirers,” he reportedly ejected her, saying “we don’t want your kind here” and warned her to inform her friends. In a similar way, a college president who flipped a coin to determine who would pay for the next round in the main saloon was evicted for “gambling.”

A comfortable bachelor refuge, Morely found that “There was something essentially Catholic, I mean Papist, about that place as I remember it: one surrendered to it as the troubled soul does (eventually, I dare say) to the Church Universal… I expect there was usually some dust under the beds, and the engravings on the walls were sure to be of the Landseer type (Thomas Landseer was a British artist of the 1800s best known for engravings based on his brother Edwin’s painting of dogs, horses, and stags); the ventilation was dense (in an age when everyone smoked), and I expect some of the guests slept in their union suits (one-piece long underwear); yet there was a kind of obese holiness about it too.” Daily agreed that “Indeed, there was a ‘dim religious’ air about the place – neither pagan nor Christian, but a savouring of both; a sort of human-natural religion – particularly on Sunday mornings when foot-loose bachelors foregathered there for a late breakfast.” It was very much a men’s club: “Tradition has it that, save for the elderly housekeeper, no woman ever set foot above the ground floor of Dooner’s.”

Daily related the hotel’s origin story:

“It was the Grand Centennial Exposition of 1876 that brought Dooner’s into being. Peter Samuel Dooner, foreman of the pressroom of the Philadelphia Times, conceived the idea – probably on a night when the devil was loose in those dingy depths – that it would be more pleasant and profitable to provide food and other refreshments for the expected multitudes of visitors to the Centennial, than to go on forever feeding rolls of white paper into grimy presses. So he jumped – first his job – and then directly into the benevolent business of the boniface, for which he had no previous training whatever. But he had something better, a positive genius for the giving of joy…”

His original hotel at Eighth and Chestnut was successful and filled a need:

“The place of his modest beginning was outgrown in six years. He was forced rather suddenly to move, and thus it came about that the true House of Dooner arose – almost overnight – on the island site (the boundaries being Tenth, Kelly, and Chance streets, and a nameless rear alley) upon which it was to endure for nearly half a century.

The new building was designed for comfort, not to impress:

The outward appearance of Dooner’s was never anything to brag about. The necessary haste of its construction cannot be advanced as an alibi for this. The edifice was the ordinary product of its time, a time when American architecture was having an epidemic of the Mansard disease, not to mention a combination of other ailments. The house was four-square and solid, but it was not beautiful; homely, perhaps, is the happiest word for it.”

When Peter Dooner passed away in 1906, his sons took over the business and kept all of its traditions intact. “Dooner’s was a solid institution then. The one thing that was to destroy it was still slumbering in that twisted brain of fanaticism from which, in the midst of war’s alarms, it was to spring full-armed.”

Beyond the insulated walls of Dooner’s, the swirling social and political unrest that led up to World War I — supposed to be the War to End All Wars — energized those who thought the world’s problems could be solved by single-mindedly imposing their own personal values on everyone else. The particular fanaticism that Dooner’s couldn’t weather was Prohibition, which banned the manufacture, transportation and sale of intoxicating liquors from 1920 to 1933. Frank Dooner, who had bought out the interests of his siblings, kept the hotel going as long as he could, but realized that it “was a losing fight…Its venerable decencies and human frailties withered in the hot dry air of virulent virtue; and so the house whose motto was ‘Mind your own Business’ went down before the will of those who never are content to mind theirs.”

It was unfortunate that places like Dooner’s, which provided affordable, comfortable accommodations suitable for returning servicemen; and places to gather, socialize, and restore the rhythms of ordinary life in troubled times, had to close down just when they were most needed. The blight would also trickle down to the Little Sisters of the Poor, a mendicant order that depended on charity to serve the city’s neediest, and which Dooner’s had long supported with a lavish annual Christmas banquet and generous donations.

Dooner’s Hotel was demolished in 1924, to make room for a massive extension to the Federal Reserve Bank next door – ironically, just five years before the 1929 stock market crash and banking panic plunged the world into the Great Depression.

Sons of Peter Dooner associated with St. Francis de Sales, included Edward, the eldest (who lived at 4345 Baltimore Avenue; later 4230 Spruce St.); Thomas Francis (known as Frank. 4508 Chester Ave.; later 327 South 46^th); and William (4705 Sansom), who had all worked at the hotel; and Albert J., of whom Morley wrote:. “The youngest son, Albert, now a distinguished organist and choirmaster and a composer of real talent and charm, is the only one of the boys who had no part in the conduct of the House of Dooner.” Instead, he founded the SFDS men’s and boy’s choir, over which he presided as choirmaster and organist from 1921 to 1957, forming his own historically-inspired male bastion against a too-rapidly changing world.

A Change of Tune

With a flick of a long ago editor’s pencil, she disappeared from the parish history. The 1940 parish anniversary book began its choir story with the arrival of the “distinguished” Albert J. Dooner in 1921. The 1989 parish anniversary book looked back further to claim “Tudor Strang” as first choirmaster at St. Francis de Sales in 1911 — but he was actually an organist/choirmaster for several local Episcopal churches, who played in a single organ concert at SFDS. It’s time to restore Margaret Marie Marshall to her proper place in the parish chronicles!

Margaret Marie Marshall, the original organist/choirmaster at St. Francis de Sales, left the parish quietly, without acknowledgement of her twenty years or more of service, around the time that Monsignor Crane became Bishop in 1921. “Did she fall or was she pushed?” Did she resign or was she let go? The answer to the question of how she left is probably “yes,” a bit of both, due, in part, to a new movement in church music centered in Philadelphia.

Up into the early 1900s, music offered a rare oppourtunity for Catholic women to contribute to the male-dominated liturgy. Margaret Marie Marshall was personally and professionally invested in all the possibilities, as a church organist and “concert and oratorio soprano,” who sang and also taught other soloists, first from her home at 2126 Vine Street, and later, when she moved to 3413 Baring Street. Her life seemed dedicated to her work: she lived with her father, a retired grocer, and several sisters, until they all passed away. One of her sisters was known for dramatic readings, and the other was also a church organist. It is unclear where Marshall received her training: she was listed in the Musical Blue Book of America, but, according to the U.S. Census data, her formal education ended with eighth grade.

Marshall’s musical programmes at St. Francis de Sales initially included both men and women. According to family records, golf champion J.J. McDermott’s mother sang in St. Francis de Sales Choir in the early 1900s. At General Mulholland’s funeral in 1910, Marshall’s “augmented choir” included a female soloist, Anna Elizabeth Kelley, who sang Gounod’s “Ave Maria” and Koenan’s “Come Unto Me.” A quartet sang “Nearer My God to Thee.”

An article in Adoremus claims that Philadelphia-German composer Albert RoSewig, who delighted in “the florid and sentimental style of the classical music of his day,” set the tone for music in Philadelphia around the turn of the century — and Marshall’s ambitious programmes seemed to follow that lead. In December 1902, her “special Christmas program for both morning Masses” included Eduardo Marzo’s Mass at the first; and “Hayden’s Mass No. 6, Huntzer’s ‘Veni Creator,‘” and the “Angel’s Messenger” by Homer Bartlett at the second. In 1904, the Blessing of the School included “an augmented choir of selected voices under the direction of Miss Margaret Marie Marshall, organist.” A 1912 listing for Easter services noted that she would be directing a “vested choir of sixty voices” with works including the “Grand Verdi March” and pieces by Harry Rowe Shelley, Alban Lipp, Victor Hammerl, and Édouard Batiste – all romantic 1800s composers. A Solemn Pontifical Mass commemorating the fifth anniversary of the dedication of the church in 1916 featured an “augmented choir under the direction of Miss Margaret Marie Marshall, the organist,” rendering Gounod’s St. Cecilia Mass.

But the end of the Victorian era of embellished music, sentimental hymns, and women’s voices was already in sight. In 1903, Pope Pius X had issued an Apostolic Letter on the simplification and reform of church music, which, as Anne L. Silverberg notes, “restricted both the style of appropriate liturgical music and its execution.” It expressed a strong preference for Gregorian chant — in which all the singers follow one melodic line in Latin based on medieval modes rather than modern scales — and multipart singing “unaccompanied by instruments, a decided change from the nineteenth century when orchestras and soloists were frequently heard in American and European churches.” She notes that “The Motu Proprio also forbade women from singing liturgical music and called for boy choirs to sing music with high vocal parts.”

Philadelphia would become a centre for a new American Catholic musical movement embracing the changes, when “Nicola Montani led the nation in reform” and “founded the St. Gregory Guild in Rittenhouse Square to spread the message of the Motu Proprio and to furnish suitable musical publications.” Lucy E. Carroll notes that “From 1906 to 1923 he served at St. John the Evangelist in Philadelphia, with terms as music director at Hallahan High School, West Philadelphia Catholic Girls High School, and St. Mary’s Academy.” He worked as an editor for two music company publishers, founded the Society of St. Gregory in 1914, began the Catholic Choirmaster magazine, then published his St. Gregory Hymnal and Catholic Choir Book in 1920, renewed in 1947. The young Albert J. Dooner was among his avid pupils.

Montani crusaded for his own ideas of pure Renaissance style music without any of what he perceived as “operatic,” “theatrical,” or “balletic” elements. An article in Adoremus reports that “Montani’s voice was a strong one, and his determination to rid the liturgy of anything that even smelled of the profane was his driving force. Masses by Charles Gounod, August Durand, and Luigi Cherubini were black-listed, with many traditional hymn collections.” These would include much of the music in Marshall’s repertoire.

Montani also had strong views on women, which Albert Dooner shared. Dooner would write in 1926 that women’s voices lacked a purity and spiritual quality of boys’ voices, and their singing was far too dramatic for the liturgy. He also maintained that the proper place for a choir was in the front of the church. Since women were prohibited in the sanctuary, they were therefore disqualified from being in the choir, even though most American choirs sang from a choir loft at the back of the church.

Montani’s stern influence gradually made itself felt in the archdiocese, and Marshall may have felt the pressure. The Solemn Papal Mass commemorating the anniversary of the dedication of St. Francis de Sales Church in 1917 was tersely described as featuring a “male choir of forty voices under the direction of Margaret M. Marshall,” with no musical programme listed.

As church music changed, Marshall turned her energy to other channels. The Catholic Standard and Times reported her war work in July 1918: “Margaret Marie Marshall, Division No. 22, has started ‘liberty sings’ in the different divisions of the Auxiliary, and each Friday night she instructs the members of the chapter in patriotic songs. The meetings close, each night with the singing of the ‘Star Spangled Banner.’” In August, the paper observed that “The ‘community sing’ movement is being enthusiastically received among Catholic societies and organizations. This was evidenced by the fact that 1,500 persons attended the community sing of the Knights of Columbus Red-Cross last Monday night at the Knights of Columbus Hall, Thirty-eighth and Market streets. These ‘sings’ are being conducted under the direction of Miss Margaret Marie Marshall, organist of St. Francis de Sales’ Church, assisted by her sister, Miss Mary Agnes Marshall, organist of St. Anthony’s Church. The former is organizing the movement among the various divisions of the Ladies’ Auxiliary of the A. O. H. (Ancient Order of Hibernians).

Was there friction over music at de Sales? In November, Margaret continued her community outreach – from Most Blessed Sacrament Parish: “For the entertainment of men in the nation’s fighting forces, an elaborate fall and winter programme has been prepared by the Women’s Auxiliary of the Archbishop Ryan Catholic Association, with headquarters at Fifty-fourth street and Chester avenue, in the Most Blessed Sacrament parish. Beginning with a big community sing on Friday night of this week, under the direction of Margaret Marie Marshall, affairs will be held every two weeks and possibly more frequently, according to the committee in charge.“

Marshall may have become less enthusiastic about her musical endeavors at St. Francis de Sales. In November 1918, for the Solemn Pontifical Mass commemorating the seventh anniversary of the dedication of St. Francis de Sales Parish, The Catholic Standard and Times reported simply that “The music of the Mass will be rendered under the direction of Margaret Marie Marshall, organist and choir leader.” When the memorial tablet “to men and women of the parish who served in the late world war” was unveiled at a Solemn Military Mass in 1920, “The musical programme was in charge of Margaret M. Marshall.” And when the church was consecrated with a Solemn Pontifical Mass in November 1920, it was reported that “A splendid musical programme will be rendered on the occasion of the Thanksgiving Mass and Vespers, under the leadership of Margaret Marie Marshall, Organist and director,” but none of the musical works were listed.

Marshall’s last mention at St. Francis de Sales appears to have been at a reception for newly-installed Cardinal Dougherty, just back from Rome in May 1921, when “A chorus of welcome was sung by the children, who formed a pretty picture as they stood grouped on the steps and displaying the Cardinal’s colors, American flags and emblems of welcome. After the chorus, which was rendered under the direction of the Sisters, Servants of the Immaculate Heart of Mary, assisted by Miss Margaret Marshall and Miss Sophia E. Maley, Natalie McElroy, one of the little pupils, delivered a touching address of welcome in splendid style.”

It was a delightful image, indeed, though it suggested that Marshall had been relegated to working with the schoolchildren, under the direction of the IHM Sisters.

Bishop Crane sang his first Solemn Pontifical Mass at St. Francis de Sales in September 1921, with the proud notice that “Special musical programmes will be rendered at the Mass and at Vespers by the parish choir of thirty-five boys and thirty men, under the direction of Albert J. Dooner, organist and choirmaster.” The younger brother of prominent parishioner Edward J. Dooner, Albert had received a degree in music from the University of Pennsylvania in 1912, continued his studies under Montani, and was already acclaimed as an organist and composer for the new church music. He would find his place as founder of the parish’s renowned pre-Vatican II boy choir, and would preside as its celebrated organist and choir director from 1921 to 1957.

After leaving St. Francis de Sales, Margaret Marie Marshall appears to have focused on the pupils of her own music studio for several years, before becoming organist and choir director at the recently-built chapel/school of St. Ambrose at Roosevelt Boulevard and C Street, far away from the city centre, around 1929. She was buried from St. Agatha’s Church (38th and Spring Garden) in 1952 — three years before Pope Pius XII cracked open the door to re-allow women’s choir participation in his Musicæ Sacræ encyclical of December 25, 1955.

The Attraction of Royalty

St. Francis de Sales parish is inordinately proud to have had Bishops Crane, Lamb, and McShea in its lengthy pastor lineup. Like the Three Magi in the Nativity story, the three successive bishops, 1921 to 1961, brought gifts to the parish church — of gold, in its magnificent decorations; frankincense, in its atmosphere of piety; and myrrh – an embalming fluid.

If having been home to an assistant bishop once-upon-a-time could transform a church into a cathedral, though, then Philadelphia would be a city of cathedrals! Some other Philadelphia parishes that have had Bishop-pastors include St. Malachy (Bishop Prendergast); Our Mother of Sorrows (Bishop McCort); Nativity B.V.M. Parish in Port Richmond (Bishop O’Hara); Church of the Incarnation (Bishop Benjamin); St. Helena’s in Olney (Bishop Graham); Old St. Mary’s and Holy Trinity parishes (Bishop Lohmuller); Saint Alice in Upper Darby (Bishop McDevitt); Our Lady of Fatima (Bishop Hughes); St. Colman Parish in Ardmore (Bishop Maginnis); and Saint Charles Borromeo in Bensalem (Bishop Deliman), among others.

The story of this parish is much more than the story of its long-ago episcopal royalty. Its rich musical heritage began much earlier than the bishops’ boy choirs, as early as 1902, with its first organist and choirmaster, Miss Margaret Marie Marshall. The parish was never segregated: in the 1960s, long after the bishops, it was a model for success, studied by local protestant parishes struggling with racial integration. Immigrants were always welcomed. The efforts of parishioner Betty Allen and of Sisters Constance and Jeannette at the school in the 1970s and 1980s made the parish a center for Vietnamese refugee resettlement, with immigrant ministries to refugees from around the world continuing later and in the IHM Center for Literacy and Sister Gertrude’s ministry.

It’s easy to be distracted by the glitter of elaborate pageantry and the visuals of shimmering golden mosaic and tall church windows cloaked in brilliant colours, but the reality check has always been there. Despite their magnificence, the Three Magi, or Kings, or Counsellors of the Bible story were peripheral characters — visitors — like the shepherds and sheep, coming to see Baby Jesus, who was the real attraction, lying in a manger because he “did not regard equality with God something to be grasped. Rather, he emptied himself, taking the form of a slave…” Look around the church, and you’ll see that there are no images of a kingly Christ in its impressive original decorations. Instead, you’ll see Christ as a helpless baby; as a child, working in Joseph’s workshop; and the adult Christ as a teacher, in prayer, and crucified, wearing a crown of thorns. One of the most poignant images is a humble square on the exterior of the church above the choir door, showing the Flight into Egypt, when Joseph and Mary, clutching the tightly wrapped Baby Jesus, fled the violence of King Herod and sought the kindness of strangers, far from home.

The story of the Nativity of Jesus, his ministry, death, and Resurrection, has been retold by a succession of pastors to an ever-changing congregation, each year since the parish was formed in 1890. And every year brings inspiration to see with new eyes and begin once again — much as Douglas Adams quipped in the Hitchhikers’ Guide to the Galaxy in the 1970s: “And then, one Thursday, nearly two thousand years after one man had been nailed to a tree for saying how great it would be to be nice to people for a change, a girl sitting on her own in a small café in Rickmansworth suddenly realized what it was that had been going wrong all this time, and she finally knew how the world could be made a good and happy place. This time it was right, it would work, and no one would have to get nailed to anything.” We can only keep trying.

Cardinal Dougherty’s 1922 Non-clave

Cardinal Dougherty in front of St. Peter’s in Rome — picture mailed while still wet (undated)

When Pope Benedict XV died on January 22, 1922, Bishop Crane, pastor of St. Francis de Sales and Assistant Bishop of Philadelphia, made the official archdiocesan announcement from St. Francis de Sales Rectory, advising that “Priests and people are earnestly requested to pray for the happy repose of his soul…” and “The Reverend Pastors are further directed to drape their churches in black for thirty days.”

Cardinal Dougherty, Bishop Crane’s boss, was out of town on a “vacation voyage to the West Indies,” and had to quickly leave his cruise and make his way home to Philadelphia to prepare for a trip to Europe, arriving in a blizzard Friday evening January 27 to leave again on Saturday morning January 28. According to the rules of the time, the conclave to elect a new Pope had to occur within ten days of the Pope’s death, so, in an era of steamship travel, the timing was very tight for the Cardinal to be at the Vatican by February 2. (Airplane travel was, as yet, impractical: Alcock and Brown of Britain had made the first historic and perilous nonstop transatlantic flight from Newfoundland to Ireland in a biplane just three years before, in 1919, and Charles Lindbergh would not make his famous New York to Paris solo flight until 1927).

Let us not imagine the Cardinal rushing about frantically on his way, however. Travel by ship was a grave and ceremonial affair, whatever the occasion, and this was the first time that a cardinal from Philadelphia was eligible to vote – one of two American cardinals — so it was a big event.

The Catholic Standard and Times reported that when His Eminence arrived in Philadelphiaon Friday evening, “He was met at Broad Street Station (Pennsylvania Railroad Station was at Broad and Market St.) at 8 o’clock by a committee of priests headed by the Right Rev. Bishop Crane.” Early the next morning, after his summer gear was hurriedly unpacked and replaced with sombre Vatican formals, a “private car was attached to the 8 o’clock express from Philadelphia to New York…and placed at the disposal of the Cardinal and his party. When His Eminence arrived at Broad Street Station a few minutes before 8 o’clock, a number of priests were assembled to wish him ‘bon voyage’ At the request of the newspaper men, the Cardinal stepped to the observation car and posed for a photograph…” He also granted an interview to the Catholic Standard and Times while aboard the train.

A large group of clergy rode with the Cardinal on the train to New York – among them, Bishop Crane and Reverend Hugh Lamb (another future assistant bishop and pastor of SFDS who would manage the Philadelphia end of things from SFDS when Cardinal Dougherty participated in the 1939 conclave). Upon arrival, they were met by representatives of “the Mayor’s Committee for the Reception of Distinguished Visitors.” Then, “Headed by a squad of motorcycle police, the Cardinal’s party entered automobiles at the station, which were provided through the courtesy of Rodman Wanamaker (heir to the Wanamaker’s Department Store fortune), of New York, and were driven to Pier 57, where the Lorraine was docked. It was precisely 10.30 o’clock when His Eminence boarded the ship. As the Cardinal strode down the gangplank of the liner he faced a battery of cameras and motion picture machines, and at the request of the photographers posed for pictures.”

The Very Rev. Joseph A. Whitaker, S. T. L., chancellor, accompanied Cardinal Dougherty to Rome as his assistant, and Cardinal Begin, the Cardinal-Archbishop of Quebec, travelled to the Conclave as a fellow passenger aboard the same ship. Bishop Crane would return to Philadelphia to keep things running until the cardinal’s return.

Cardinal Dougherty “graciously” granted more newspaper interviews in his stateroom once aboard, admitting that “It is very improbable that we shall reach Rome in time to enter the Conclave, the likelihood being that by the time we arrive a new Pope will have been elected.” The cardinal’s pessimism was justified: the record speed for a transatlantic crossing was 4.5 days and the conditions this time were not ideal. It had snowed heavily through the night, the snow was predicted to continue with gale force winds, and news reports alarmed “many ships caught in worst storm of years along coast.” (The blizzard would later be memorialized as the “Knickerbocker Storm,” after the roof of the Knickerbocker Theatre in Washington DC, collapsed under the weight of snow on the evening of January 28, killing 98 people and injuring 133)

U.S. Weather Bureau Weather map for United States East Coast January 28, 1922 (wikimedia)

At 11:30 AM, the newspaper men were shooed away, the decks were cleared, then, finally, “The shrill notes of the siren announced at 12 o’clock that the Lorraine, was departing and at that time she left the port of New York,” scheduled to arrive at Havre in France on February 5.

Cardinal Dougherty and Cardinal Begin received the news of the new Pope’s election by radio a week later while still at sea. By then it was predicted that after arriving at Le Havre they would reach Paris on Tuesday, February 7, and Rome on the 9^th. So it was Bishop Crane of St. Francis de Sales who, on February 6, 1922, announced to the Philadelphia archdiocese that “‘Habemus Pontificem.’ With profound gratitude to God, we announce to you the glad news that a successor to the late Pope Benedict XV has been elected in the person of His Eminence, Achille Cardinal Ratti, Archbishop of Milan, who has chosen the name of Pius XI” and reminded the clergy “P. S.—Please remove mourning draperies from the church and have this letter- read at all the Masses on Sunday, February 12. “+M. J. C.”

Cardinal Dougherty was not the only one to miss the Conclave. In total, three Europeans were ill; the Brasilian cardinal knew he didn’t have time to get there and didn’t attempt the journey; and the two Americans and the Canadian tried but didn’t arrive in time. Of the fifty-three cardinals who were able to vote, thirty were Italian; five French; four Spanish; three German; two each from the United Kingdom, Austria, and Poland; and one each from Belgium, the Netherlands, Hungary, and Portugal. (By contrast, in 2025, the 135 cardinal electors eligible to vote for the successor to Pope Francis now represent seventy one countries spread across Europe, Asia, Africa, Oceania, and all of the Americas).

Some placating was, apparently, in order when Cardinal Dougherty returned to Philadelphia on April 1. Bishop Crane arranged for him to be met in New York by a large reception committee of clergy and distinguished laity – among them Bishop Crane, Reverend Hugh Lamb, various current and former SFDS assistant priests, and several SFDS parishioners including Thomas Slattery (one of the Sponsors at the blessing of the church bells in 1916), Timothy Wholey (who donated the statues of St. Anne and St. Francis de Sales to the parish), and Joseph Durkin (early pew-holder) — among many others from around the city. When the cardinal’s train pulled in to Broad Street Station in Philadelphia, he was greeted by cheering, flag-waving crowds, city dignitaries, a squad of police, a full military band, a procession of flags, and several hundred Knights of Columbus marching before him in procession.

In a fulsome speech at the Cathedral, Bishop Crane carefully framed the trip as a victory:

“After witnessing the magnificent demonstration along the Parkway and looking into the happy and contented faces of this immense congregation, need I tell Your Eminence that throughout the length and breadth of this diocese there is universal rejoicing tonight upon your safe return to your beloved people, both clergy and laity. When the death of the late and lamented Pope Benedict XV was announced to a grief-stricken world, you promptly obeyed the call of the duty which belongs to your exalted office. You at Once made speedy preparations for the journey to Rome. On that stormy Saturday morning when you left your home to board the steamship La Lorraine, you were accompanied by the. prayers of your loyal and faithful children…We had hoped against hope that the deliberations of the Conclave might be prolonged so as to enable you to take part in the election of the successor to the saintly Pope Benedict XV. Rut on account of the long distance to the Eternal City and the brief, duration of the Conclave you were doomed to disappointment. We shared in your disappointment…” However, “You had the unique honor of assisting at the Coronation of the new pontiff; you had the intimate privilege of private conversation with him. It put you in close touch with the aims, the aspirations and the ideals of the Chief Shepherd of Christ’s flock on earth. Yours was a splendid opportunity of welding even closer, if possible, the ties that bind this diocese to the centre of unity, the Holy Roman Apostolic See…”

Bishop Crane’s speech was followed by another lengthy address, highlighting every important moment thus far in the Cardinal’s illustrious career, culminating in his personal audience with the new Pope.

Curiously, there’s a postscript. A few years later, in 1927, Cardinal Dougherty felt a need to use the Catholic Standard and Times to publicly denounce an obscure news item that he said he had recently been shown. The Catholic Standard and Times offered the background, that “A copyrighted Universal Service cablegram dated at Rome, September 19, and published in a local paper (where?) on September 20,” had reportedly claimed that, “…only the Pope’s intervention dissuaded Cardinal Dougherty, of Philadelphia, from offering his resignation as a Prince of the Church in 1922” after he was unable to participate in the conclave “although he used the fastest ocean liner and although the special train placed at his disposal by the Italian Government made the trip from Naples to Rome in record time…” The Catholic Standard and Times then emphasized that “His Eminence Characterizes Recent Newspaper Articles, That There Was Opposition to Sacred College Meeting in Conclave Before Arrival of American Cardinals, as Falsehood Out of Whole Cloth and as Calculated to Do Harm.”

The news item that infuriated the cardinal was not widely circulated and does not appear to have been archived, but it seems to have hit a sensitive nerve. One detail stands out, however: Cardinal Dougherty should have recalled that his ship had docked at Havre in 1922. It was the other American, Cardinal O’Connell of Boston, who landed in Naples then raced across the country, heartbreakingly arriving at the Vatican just one hour after the doors had been sealed. At the time, it was reported that Cardinal O’Connell’s “fortitude and resignation in a most trying situation” were “commented upon favourably by all the Italian newspapers” – which is an entirely different use and meaning of the word “resignation”! Cardinal O’Connell certainly could have had reason for despair: due to the unpredictability of travel, he had likewise arrived a day late and was shut out of the previous conclave in 1914. One of the first acts of the new Pope in 1922, was to extend the travel period before future conclaves to make it more feasible for non-Europeans to participate.

The 1922 conclave was notable for another reason, when it was reported that “For the first time in history women will be permitted to be present in the quarters occupied by the conclave. They are Sisters of Mercy, who will preside over the destinies of the cardinals’ kitchens, which heretofore have been supervised by monks.”

The Pope Comes to Philadelphia 2015

It seems like a lifetime ago, doesn’t it! The world has changed so much since then.

Ron and Maria back from Poland in time for the World Meeting of Families, with Joan September 25, 2015

World Meeting of Families, Philadelphia Convention, September 2015 with Dominican Brother Joseph Thermadon, Fr. Shawn Casey, Venus Murphy, ofs Members of the International Catholic Deaf Association.(ICDA)

Sister Alice Daly sports a trendy t-shirt and sweater ensemble at the World Meeting of Families, Philadelphia Convention, September 2015

Pigeon coming through!

The Mountains Beyond

It’s easy to look at something so often, that you stop seeing it. The suffering Christ on the glass mosaic altarpiece at St. Francis de Sales (designed by Frederick Dimble Henwood and executed by mosaic artist Henry Choffin around 1910) is an obvious center of attention, especially during Lent, but look again: the mountains and stars in the background also offer something to ponder all year long.

The rocky scenery behind the kneeling figures is easy to overlook and might at first seem unimportant. The precise location for the hill of Golgotha, or Calvary (both of which mean “place of the skull”), outside the old walls of Jerusalem, where the crucifixion took place, is not known, but the general area where it is thought to have occurred was once a limestone quarry, so rocks might be expected. The mural scenery features pointy mountain pinnacles, though, not flat excavated cliffs, which might suggest other meaning.

Mountains in the Holy Land were the places closest to God, where many important Old Testament events occurred. Among them: Mount Ararat, where Noah’s Ark came to rest; Mount Moriah, where Abraham went to sacrifice Isaac; and Mount Sinai, where Moses received the ten Commandments – though, curiously, the precise location for all of these places is no longer known. Mount Zion, where The Second Temple stood in Jesus’ time (it was destroyed around 70 AD) is today known as The Temple Mount. It is the holiest site in Judaism – and also one of the holiest sites in Islam. The Dome of the Rock mosque now covers a large rock known in Judaism as the Foundation Stone – thought to be the spiritual junction between heaven and earth, and the place from which the world was created and Adam was formed. In Islamic tradition, this was the site of the miraculous Night Journey of the prophet Muhammad and his ascent into heaven — an interesting thought this year, when Ramadan, the Islamic month of fasting, reflection, and community, coincides with Lent.

The Christian connection with mountains continues in the New Testament. The gospels – particularly that of Matthew – mention a number of mountain events significant to the life of Jesus: his Sermon on the Mount; a number of healings; his resistance to the devil’s temptation; the Transfiguration, when his divinity was revealed; his farewell discourse, when he counseled his disciples to “love one another” and declared that “the hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified;” and his commissioning of the apostles to “go therefore and make disciples of all nations...” The actual locations for most of these events are not known today, but tradition says the Transfiguration may have occurred on Mount Tabor. The garden of Gethsemane, where despairing Jesus prayed “to let this cup pass from me” on the night before his death, is at the foot of the Mount of Olives. Jesus is thought to have ascended into Heaven from the summit, and a shrine there, shared by Christians, Muslims, and Jewish people, contains a rock that supposedly has the impression of Jesus’ footprint.

Is the number of peaks shown in the mosaic significant? Two separate sets of seven summits could have been intended to link the “Seven hills of Jerusalem” with Rome, which is traditionally identified as the “City of Seven Hills.” Our church includes many references connecting the Old and New Testament while affirming our Catholic connection with Rome, and the unbroken line of authority from Saint Peter – “upon this rock” – to the present day. Seven is a mystical number, traditionally thought to represent completeness and perfection. There are seven sacraments, seven gifts of the Holy Spirit, seven joys and seven sorrows of Our Lady, and seven deadly sins. Seven mountains are mentioned in the apocalyptic vision of Revelations, which also proclaims that the first resurrection of the dead will take place at the seventh trumpet. Whatever the number intention, the stern mountain peaks in the mural all point in one direction, straight up to heaven.

Steep mountains look daunting from the ground, but the view closer to the stars is exalting. In these interesting times, the mountains beyond the crucifixion could inspire thoughts of theologian Thomas Merton’s Seven Story Mountain mystical quest for contemplative freedom inside the protective walls of a cloister in 1948, when the memory of World War II was still strong. Contrarily, in a more popular vein, it could call forth the tuneful encouragement of the Mother Superior to Maria, in the classic movie “The Sound of Music,” to “Climb every mountain…,” as Maria, also during World War II, followed her destiny to leave the security of cloister walls and journey over the mountains to a new life.

Incidentally, that movie was loosely inspired by the real-life story of an immigrant family, one among the “huddled masses yearning to breathe free,” who once found a haven on this side of the ocean. And there’s a parish connection: Peter La Manna, the parish choir director in the 1960s, performed for several years with the Von Trapp family singers, whose actual exodus from Austria during World War II inspired that film!

Votes for Women 1915

At 7:00 PM on the crisp Autumn evening of October 22, 1915, thousands of women from across Philadelphia and its suburbs gathered downtown at Broad and Mifflin Streets. Their plan was to march to City Hall, in a grand parade and “Festival of Light,” hoping to convince voting men to support a Pennsylvania state constitutional amendment permitting women to become their full partners in democracy.

Reasons for women wanting the vote ranged from idealistic notions of equality and justice for everyone, to the practical: “women who inherited family farms needed the vote to protect their interests, and mothers needed the vote to protect children’s health and education.”

They planned an impressive display.

The Philadelphia Inquirer described the scene: “The parade formed on Broad Street, south of Dickinson, promptly on time, but it reached the reviewing stand on the North Plaza of the City Hall just five minutes before nine o’clock…” with a squadron of mounted police leading “the advance guard of automobiles. There were about 150 of these cars, most of them big, costly limousines…” which, in 1915, when automobiles were still somewhat exotic, would have been a thrilling sight! “Most of the cars were decorated with yellow plumes and banners. From one of the cars, ‘Miss Mumford,’ the official mascot, a toy fox terrier…barked lustily at the crowd.“

Then, “one hundred women, attired in pure white and in the strong daffodil yellow of the suffragists, each bearing a flower-shaped torch with an electric bulb in it” – electricity was another modern marvel in 1915 – “drew a similar colored triumphal car on which rested the ‘Justice Bell.’”

The Justice Bell, on its brilliantly lighted float, was a replica of the Liberty Bell, commissioned by activist Katharine Wentworth Ruschenberger and cast in bronze by the Meneely Bell Company of Troy, NY (The same name, but a confusingly different family branch and a rival company to the Old Meneely Bell Foundry of West Troy, NY that would cast the chime of bells installed in the St. Francis de Sales church tower in 1916). The words “Establish Justice” were engraved on the side of the Justice Bell and its clapper was chained to its side, to symbolize women’s silenced political voices. In the months before appearing in the parade, the bell toured the state to promote awareness of, and support for, the 1915 referendum on a state constitutional amendment allowing women to vote.

The Inquirer report continued: “Around the bell itself, as a guard of honor, were women attired to typify the virtues…” followed by several other floats depicting “historic and legendary characters.” Numerous women’s groups from across the region moved forward in orderly ranks of several hundred marchers at a time, preceded by banners, and carrying glowing lanterns and torches to light the way. Then, “Miss Dora Keene, athlete and mountain climber, on horseback, in full riding habit, led the College Equal Suffrage Society, most of the women wearing their caps and gowns. These were followed by the women physicians, and these in turn by the graduate and district nurses, in their distinctive uniforms.” The Inquirer noted that “Every profession or occupation open to women, every condition of society, every creed, had its representatives.” The parade culminated at the Academy of Music with a mass meeting and program of speakers.

What did all of this have to do with St. Francis de Sales Parish?

One of the marching groups in the 1915 parade had a direct association. The newly formed Suffrage League of Catholic Women was an offshoot of the American Catholic Historical Society (ACHS) Auxiliary, which had been involved with voting issues for many years under “pioneer Catholic suffragist” Jane Campbell of Germantown. When she retired, one of her supporters, Laura Blackburne , formed the new organization which included SFDS parishioners among its members. Blackburne herself had a special SFDS connection, as she had donated the large cross-shaped eternal lamp that hung as a beacon in the middle of the St. Francis de Sales sanctuary, from its construction until the 1950s (Bishop McShea replaced it with a pair of red sanctuary lamps, still in use, on the two side walls, and a pair of hanging lights).

SFDS also had an inspirational standard-bearer in the parade. A columnist for The Catholic Standard and Times, reminiscing some years later about the event, recalled that “our league made the finest showing in the suffrage parade, held in 1915… Banners with legends describing heroic Catholic women of the past were carried in line…Three young girls in accurate historical costumes were preceded by banner-bearers. Miss Catherine Forsythe represented St. Catherine of Siena, the famous publicist of the Middle Ages; Ethel de Barth (now Mrs. William P. O’Neill) was an ideal Joan of Arc in shining armor, and Frances Tobin appeared as Margaret Brent, niece of Lord Baltimore and the first advocate of woman suffrage in the New World.” (A laudable role model: according to the Maryland State Archive, Margaret was denied the courtesy of a vote when Maryland faced a “severe crisis” in 1647, though in the end “Margaret’s decisive actions in such troubled times ensured the survival of the settlement.”) Frances de Sales Tobin, age 24, was then the Executive Secretary of the Suffrage League of Catholic Women. A well-known daughter of the parish, her father worked for the Catholic Standard and Times, and her family, who lived at 5033 Cedar Ave., were very active in church activities.

Ultimately, the efficiently-organized 1915 parade was a powerful — perhaps intimidating — demonstration of women’s fitness to have a voice — and a choice — in government. But local politicians, who were concerned about the unpredictable effect of a large mass of new voters with different perspectives and priorities, pressed their mostly white male electorate to reject the amendment.

Voting men were directly responsible for the defeat, but it’s important to note that not all women had supported getting the vote. It’s hard now, to imagine that any woman would actively campaign to limit women’s opportunities, and yet some did. In 1910, the Philadelphia Inquirer published an entire page of commentary headed “Society Leaders Head Opposition to Woman Suffrage,” with photos of several prominent, wealthy, local women — wives of those comfortably in power — who opined that allowing women of every social class the right to vote would be “dangerous.” In 1913, the Washington headquarters of the National Association Opposed to Women Suffrage , an anti-voting organization, printed a letter from a woman who proudly stated “I am such an ardent anti-suffragist that I never go to bed without pinning the colors of the national organization on my night gown.” A curious mental picture indeed.

World War I and the Influenza epidemic next filled the newspaper headlines and took over the nation’s attention. Then, in 1919, the controversial Eighteenth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution — instituting Prohibition and making “the production, transportation, and sale of alcohol illegal” — was ratified by the relatively small segment of the population which then qualified as voters. The Encyclopedia of Greater Philadelphia notes that although the Eighteenth Amendment took effect nationally in 1920, Pennsylvania actually enacted Prohibition earlier, on February 25, 1919. Once that happened — perhaps in reaction to it — on June 24, 1919, Pennsylvania became the seventh state to ratify the Nineteenth Amendment, allowing women to add their input to the local and national decision-making process.

In an article about the Justice Bell, Laurie Rofini writes: “After the ratification of the Nineteenth Amendment, the Justice Bell’s clapper was unchained in a ceremony on September 25, 1920, at Independence Square in Philadelphia…A wide range of women’s organizations and local clubs were represented…” supporting a broad spectrum of voices. The Encyclopedia of Greater Philadelphia then reports that “Over one million women in Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and Delaware voted in a national election for the first time on November 2, 1920. It had taken well over one hundred years for women to win that right and to push the nation forward toward living up to the ideals put forth at its founding.“

Afterwards, Frances de Sales Tobin would continue to address women’s groups on the importance of exercising their new rights. In 1921, she became the Leader of the first St. Francis de Sales Girl Scout Troop, tasked with preparing young women of the parish — now future voters — to embrace civic responsibility.

A Postscript:

Damaged in 2020, and restored in 2023, the Valley Forge Washington Memorial Chapel website now reports that “The Justice Bell is on permanent display at its home at Washington Memorial Chapel.” Check it out.

Chaplain Hilferty

Was it unexpectedly shrewd Archdiocesan administration or divine providence that sent Father Hilferty to Saint Francis de Sales in 1977 for his first assignment as a pastor?

He was modest about his qualifications. He would tell parishioners that this belated first pastor assignment, at age 49, was not due to a late vocation – he was ordained back in 1952 — but because he enlisted as a Navy Chaplain in 1957 and stayed in the military for twenty years “until somebody noticed and sent me home.” But that unique experience made him peculiarly suited to the needs of the changing parish when a Ninth Pastor was required. And he was already familiar with the place, since his father and grandfather had both been buried from SFDS.

What was significant about Father Hilferty’s work as a Navy Chaplain? An initial trawl through newspaper databases finds him presiding periodically at weddings and giving speeches at local high schools, usually near the Naval Base in Newport, RI – work that seems routine. However, these moments turn out to have been the calm breaks between active postings. A deeper dive finds clues that he steered through some interesting times: between the Bay of Pigs and the Cuban Missile Crisis, the July 1962 Sunday Supplement for the U.S. Naval Base at Guantanamo noted that “After a year at Guantanamo Bay Lt. Thomas J. Hilferty is leaving for Naval Air Station, Washington, D.C. The much-traveled Father has served in the east and west – Japan to Gitmo…” And in June 1965, as the Vietnam war expanded, the Chief of Naval Operations and the Chief of Chaplains appointed Lieutenant Commander Thomas Hilferty as Navy Chaplain in Saigon.

Chaplain Hilferty’s initial posting to the Saigon military base first connected him with the Vietnamese community. According to the History of the Chaplain Corps, in addition to supervising religious services and counseling personnel on the base, an important function of the military chaplains was distributing humanitarian aid to civilians in South Vietnam. Chaplain Hilferty was also assigned to a Community Relations Committee, responsible for “formulating solutions to problems which arose out of the concentration of U.S. personnel in the Saigon-Cholon area.”

Housing issues would become his theme song. He soon saw how the large number of arriving Americans needing accommodations caused significant issues for the incumbent Vietnamese: American personnel were initially sequestered in secure but crowded compounds on the base, but as the military buildup began, “with few exceptions, every large hotel and apartment house, as well as many of the larger villas, was used for U.S. personnel. This deprived the Vietnamese nationals of many rooms and apartments and increased the housing problem caused by the influx into Saigon-Cholon of workers and refugees.” Additionally, many American servicemen preferred to rent their own properties outside the official housing compound to “live more privately, comfortably, and even luxuriously, and induced landlords to prefer Americans with their buying power to Vietnamese nationals who generally could not compete financially. The Vietnamese had to settle for substandard housing while American had two quarters: the authorized one and the one on the economy.” Chaplain Hilferty observed that “this situation is offensive to many Vietnamese who are not in the real estate business.” Understanding the issues on both sides, and learning to delicately negotiate workable solutions, foreshadowed his future efforts on this side of the ocean to resettle waves of Vietnamese refugees arriving in West Philadelphia, needing to be welcomed into scarce local accommodations.

When the humanitarian assistance program phased out on the Saigon base, as the war ramped up, Chaplain Hilferty was reassigned to become “the only navy chaplain ashore in II, III, and IV Tactical Zones in Vietnam.” A lonely job, this moved him through the jungle on swiftboats, right into the action. The History of the Chaplain Corps reports that “Captain Hilferty traveled up and down the coastline and along the rivers establishing contact with small, widely scattered units to which American personnel were attached…His efforts to provide religious coverage for personnel of sixteen widely scattered bases represented the beginning of what was to become the Saigon-based chaplains’ circuit riding ministry.” As the solitary chaplain, his efforts were ecumenical, ministering to everyone in need. Eventually, a protestant chaplain was assigned to help and they alternated routes: one going north; the other south; then reversed.

Getting places was half the fun. Chaplain Hilferty’s eventual replacement on the circuit would later report “Ordinary travel by road is almost non-existent due to the ever-present possibility of ambush by the Viet Cong…Fortunately, air travel came to my rescue…This padre became a familiar and welcome sight to the crewmen of AIR COFAT (Naval air support). As one of the pilots once said, ‘Padre, it’s always good to see you aboard. We feel like you’re a third engine. Start praying.’ Unscheduled hops on Army choppers, Air Force planes, and water transport were part of the routine. To make a one-day visit to a detachment usually involved at least a full day spent in traveling to and from the unit.” Chaplains had to cultivate patience and flexibility, and remain unflappable in any situation. This would be an asset for Father Hilferty, when he arrived at SFDS, where memories of a rectory home invasion and gunpoint robbery in 1972 had left behind a deep residue of anxiety. Father Hilferty was unimpressed by tales of neighbourhood toughs, and, like the recent popular meme, his example to the parish was ever to keep calm and carry on.

His successor in Vietnam wrote about the physical and psychological drain on chaplains who “had to experience death many times over,” administering last rites to mangled corpses and comforting the terrified, mortally injured, and bereaved. Their ministry was raw and the needs they addressed were immediate and traumatic. This was much different from the squabbling at SFDS over the modern Venturi altar and the new rituals of Vatican II, which had taken up so much parish energy. Under Father Hilferty, the parish refocused to embrace the incoming Vietnamese – and all the other refugees and immigrants from faraway places who came to the parish and school at the time, fleeing horrors and arriving destitute. Sisters Constance and Jeannette nurtured war-traumatized children and evolved an award-winning school. Father Hilferty encouraged parish cooperation with representatives of other non-Catholic religious institutions in the neighborhood as they worked together to open a credit union to solve a local banking crisis, and looked for ways to deal with other pressing local issues.

Father Hilferty was appointed Director of the Black Diaconate for the Archdiocese in 1978, while at SFDS. In 1989, Monsignor Hilferty moved on from SFDS to become the regional Vicar of Philadelphia-South, at St. Carthage. After several other assignments, he became Pastor, then Pastor Emeritus of Queen of Peace Church, Ardsley, Pa. He died in 2008.

A Field Guide to SFDS Pastors

Bird watchers like to keep a “life list” of all the different birds they’ve seen and identified. It’s a competitive activity – a long list of exotics gives bragging rights – but it also, incidentally, provides clues to the compiler’s own story and where they’ve been at different times through the years.

SFDS parish has a similar lengthy “life list” of pastors – including several bishops — that offers snapshots of the parish through its 134-year history. Perhaps it’s time to review that exhausting compilation as Father Eric moves on and Father Ryan Nguyen becomes Parochial Administrator – on the way to becoming Pastor Number Eighteen!

Here’s a quick timelapse of parish history, as told in the sequence of its pastors:

1. 1890-1903 Rev. Joseph O’Neill. Founding pastor of St. Francis de Sales. He chose the name of the church in 1890 – probably to honour his brother Rev. Francis O’Neill, who had started to build St. James Church (38^th and Chestnut. Today St. Agatha St. James) and died suddenly in 1882 . Father Joseph O’Neill picked the location and began construction of the first SFDS parish building a combination chapel/school building (today’s school hall) in 1891, and the rectory in 1893. In 1898 he was involved as a defense witness in a notorious local murder trial. He died of heart failure at SFDS in 1903.

2. 1903-1928 Bishop Michael J. Crane. Reverend Crane opened the school in 1904 and built SFDS church between 1907 and 1911. In 1921, he became Assistant Bishop to Cardinal Dougherty. Bishop Crane was diabetic, so Cardinal Dougherty pulled some strings to get him into Dr. Frederick Banting’s historically successful hospital trial of insulin in Toronto in 1922. Bishop Crane later built the convent and the addition to the school in 1926. He died at SFDS on December 26, 1928, and is buried on the Rectory lawn.

3. 1929-1936. Rev. Edward L. Gatens. Father Gatens is a bit of a puzzle. He came to SFDS from Pottsville, where he defiantly built a Catholic High School with a cross-shaped window atop a hill that had been used for cross burnings by the anti-Catholic Ku Klux Klan. Arriving at SFDS, he became pastor just as the Great Depression began, and struggled to minister to the many in need among his flock. He resigned, went on medical leave in 1936, and died in 1955.

4. 1936-1951 Bishop Hugh L. Lamb. Bishop Lamb was the second of three bishops to serve as pastors at SFDS. He is remembered for radio broadcasts, expanding parish activities, paying off the parish debt, and overseeing the 1940 Parish Jubilee. In 1951, he was appointed first Bishop of Greensburg, in Western PA, where he passed away in 1959.

5. 1952-1961 Bishop Joseph Mark McShea. Bishop McShea was a son of the parish: in his youth, his family lived, for a time, on Farragut Terrace, right behind the school, and he served as an altar boy for Bishop Crane. His family home was one of those torn down to make room for the 1926 addition to the school. During his tenure he refurbished the Lower church and re-tiled the Guastavino domes in an unsuccessful attempt to stop leaks. In 1955, he established St. Lucy’s School for the Blind in a house on Farragut Terrace to fill an archdiocesan need (since moved to NE Philadelphia). The SFDS Boys Choir – established in 1911 – expanded and became prominent during Bishop McShea’s era. When he was appointed first bishop of the new Allentown diocese, in 1961, he took the choirmaster with him to start a new choir school there. He died in 1991.

6. 1961-1967. Monsignor John J. Sefton. Monsignor Sefton assisted at de Sales from 1945 to 1957 before returning as pastor 1961 to 1967. He left his mark on the church for its 1965 Diamond Jubilee, by replacing the original quartered oak pews with the present ones, changing the lighting, and covering the walls with blue tiles, reportedly to achieve a “Mediterranean” vibe. In 1966, Monsignor Sefton began to set up Star Harbor Senior Center – “the first community of its kind in the archdiocese, a recreational center for citizens regardless of race or creed” — which opened soon after he left. Parishioners were moving to the suburbs at this time and the parish shrunk from 4,233 families in 1953 to 1,232 by 1973. Monsignor Sefton moved on to St. Charles Church in Oakview and died in 1980.

7. 1967-1976 Monsignor John T. Mitchell (Pastor Emeritus from 1973-1976). Monsignor Mitchell was known in the archdiocese for his civil rights activism and his dedication to the black community. He founded St. Ignatius Nursing Home while he was pastor of St. Ignatius Parish (43^rd and Wallace). At SFDS, Monsignor Mitchell was pastor during the divisive period of the Venturi “Neon Halo” renovation, when an ultramodern Plexiglas front-facing altar was installed in the sanctuary for the New Mass of Vatican II. The SFDS Boy Choir also came to an end during this period, as musical styles changed. Monsignor Mitchell’s health deteriorated as he tried to focus on social ministry. He died in 1981 at age 67.

8. 1976-1977 Monsignor Francis J. Fitzmaurice (Parish Administrator from 1973-1976). Monsignor Fitzmaurice, who had been assisting at the parish since 1961, officially took over key administrative duties in 1973 when Monsignor Mitchell’s decline accelerated after a traumatic home invasion and robbery at the rectory. With the end of the Vietnam War, the parish began ministering to incoming refugees. Monsignor Fitzmaurice officially became Pastor for one year in 1976 – just in time for the “glorious” Eucharistic Congress in Philadelphia — before being transferred to St. Lawrence, Highland Park/Upper Darby in 1977. He died in 2004.

9. 1977-1989 Monsignor Thomas J. Hilferty. Monsignor Hilferty, who was at SFDS for twelve years, was the parish’s last long-term pastor. This was actually his first parish assignment: prior to arriving here, he had spent twenty years as a travelling Navy chaplain in the Vietnam war. During the time that he was at SFDS, the Lower Church was the archdiocesan “Mother Church” for the Vietnamese Community, with Reverend Anthony Vu Nhu Huynh as chaplain. In 1980, Philadelphia Magazine reported that “Over the last five years this parish has become one of the most successful centers for Indo-Chinese refugee resettlement in the area.” Meanwhile, a new classical choir of men and women gradually evolved in the parish under the direction of organist Bruce Schulz (who had arrived at SFDS in 1969) and choirmaster Father Hermann Behrens, a visiting German academic . Monsignor Hilferty left to become the regional Vicar of Philadelphia-South, and died in 2008.

10. 1989-1994 Rev. John J. Kilgallon. Preoccupied with the state of “this wounded and broken world,” Father Kilgallon was pastor during the lean years of the early 1990s. At that time, SFDS and MBS were both part of a “musical chairs” cluster of parishes, under study by the archdiocese as it made plans to streamline its operations. A chapter of the Knights of Peter Claver began at SFDS in 1990. The IHM Sisters also opened their Literacy Center that year, teaching English as a Second Language (ESL) classes to adult immigrant learners (moved to NE Philadelphia in 2022). He died December 26, 2024.

11. 1994-1999. Rev. Anthony W. Janton. With the parish Short of funds while archdiocesan conversations continued about its future, Father Tony tried to restore the church in simple ways – painting and stuccoing over the peeling “blue bathroom tiles” from the 1965 church renovation; finding a home in Allentown for the statue of St. Francis de Sales, which had been sitting in the parking lot, behind the dumpster, for several years since it had been removed from the church façade for safety reasons; and removing pews to create the cross-aisle linking the two side doors. The confessionals on the parking lot side of the church were turned into shrines during his tenure. Choirmaster Father Hermann Behrens died suddenly of heart failure in 1996, in a great shock to the parish, and Isabel Boston became his successor. The Assumption Religious moved from 49th Street to 1001 South 47th street across from SFDS in 1999.

12. 1999-2004 Rev. Roland D. Slobogin (and 8^th pastor of MBS 1996-2004). Father Roland became the Eighth Pastor of Most Blessed Sacrament Parish in 1996 and, then, also, the Twelfth Pastor of SFDS, when the two parishes were “twinned” to share a pastor in 1999. He celebrated the MBS Centennial in 2001 and closing ceremonies for MBS school in 2002. When he moved to SFDS rectory, Father Roland brought the first parish dog to live there since Reverend Crane’s Missy back in the 1920s. The annual Blessing of the Animals, near the feast of St. Francis of Assisi, began during his tenure, and originally took place inside the church. The Parish established a relationship with Partners for Sacred Places during this time and began the long, agonizingly slow, planning for church restoration.

13. 2004-2009 Rev. Zachary W. Navit. Father Navit was the 9^th Pastor of MBS until its closing in 2007; the thirteenth pastor of SFDS; and the First Pastor of the combined parish of St. Francis de Sales United by the Most Blessed Sacrament. Father Navit enjoyed elaborate ceremony and was known for his lavish use of incense. The rectory garden was re-landscaped and the building restoration plan progressed slowly during his tenure as he looked for ways within the parish to fund needed repairs. Scaffolding was installed in the sanctuary and on the outside of the church during this time, due to falling masonry.

14. 2009-2011 Rev. Louis C. Bier. Father Bier was the second pastor of the combined parish of SFDS/MBS. During his brief tenure, he instituted outdoor Stations of the Cross around the neighbourhood on Good Friday and provided a birthday cake with sparklers for Baby Jesus at the Children’s Christmas Mass. His down-to-earth personal style offered a contrast to the embellishments of the traditional choir.

(2011 Monsignor Francis Beach Administrator Pro-Tem) Father Beach served for just one summer between pastors, and remembered dealing with catastrophic roof leaks in the Guastavino Dome.

15. 2011- 2016 Rev. John D. Hand. Father Hand was the pastor for the 125^th Anniversary of SFDS. During his tenure, he was tasked with selling the Most Blessed Sacrament property. This enabled him to move SFDS building restoration forward, so the scaffolding in the sanctuary could be removed in 2013, after seven years. A Hispanic community moved from Divine Mercy Parish in 2013, adding a Spanish Mass to the Parish schedule in addition to the longstanding Vietnamese Mass.

16. 2016 – 2019 Monsignor Joseph Anderlonis. Monsignor Joe came to SFDS from St. George Parish, where he had served since 1982. Noticing how SFDS had suffered, due to the “revolving door” of short-term pastors in recent years, each pulling the parish in a different direction, he promised that he would never voluntarily leave – often declaring to his flock that “they’ll have to carry me out feet first.” Which, sadly, happened, when he passed away on December 6, 2019, just shy of his 50^th anniversary as a priest. The Vietnamese community moved to Divine Mercy Parish in 2018.

(2020 Rev. Matt Guckin Pastor pro-tem). Father Matt arrived in February, and the church closed to the public indefinitely for Covid quarantine in March. He said prayers on Facebook; recorded Masses in the church, with a small crew of helpers, for later viewing by other parishioners online; and generally kept the parish afloat during the crisis.

17. 2020 – 2024 Rev. Eric Banecker. SFDS was Father Eric’s first assignment as pastor. He was Administrator for a year, before being installed on the 100th anniversary of Bishop Crane’s consecration as Bishop. During his tenure, he had the scaffolding finally removed from the facade of the church after seventeen years. His Golf Classic aided funding of building repairs, which made significant progress. Working tirelessly to reshape parish organization, his goal was to transform the parish into a hub for young families and young adults of the archdiocese. We wish him well as he moves on to St. Mary Magdalene Parish in Media.

2024 Rev. Ryan Nguyen. Father Ryan, who will be joining us soon, has several odd intersections with our combined parish story. When he came to this country from Vietnam as a child in 1993, Father Ryan’s family attended St. Thomas Aquinas Parish in South Philadelphia – the parish that supplied the original chapel building for MBS when it was founded back in 1901! He later attended the University of the Sciences in our neighbourhood, where various parishioners have taught, worked, or studied. After ordination, in 2022, he was assigned to St. Bede’s Parish in Holland, PA – which had been redecorated with many of the original interior fittings of MBS, after MBS merged with SFDS in 2007. Since the Philadelphia Vietnamese community were part of SFDS for over 43 of our 134 years, it feels providential to restore that cultural connection. We welcome Father Ryan to SFDS and look forward to the notes that he will add to the symphony of our rich parish history.

Window of Grace

The Christmas season actually begins nine months ahead of December 25, with a mysterious event that can only be explained in symbols — and which attains added significance when viewed through the glass of our window.

The Annunciation window on the parking lot side of SFDS church, crafted by the studio of Nicola D’Ascenzo about 1910, celebrates the startling moment when Mary found out that she was to be the human Mother of Jesus. Its design was inspired by symbol-rich 15^th century Northern European Renaissance paintings such as those of Jan van Eyck (left. “The Annunciation” ca. 1434-1436), Hans Memling (center. “The Annunciation,” ca. 1465-1470) and Rogier van der Weyden (right. “The Annunciation” from the Saint Columba Altarpiece ca. 1455). Serendipitously, its thematic elements echo the decoration of the church built around it, making the scene relatable to all those sitting in the pews, while the medium of stained glass adds an extra dimension of meaning.

It begins with the familiar setting. Art historian Christopher Jones notes that in the 15th and 16th centuries, “Northern European artists…often showed the Virgin in an interior space, sometimes…an ecclesiastical context, drawing on contemporary Gothic styles to suggest the familiar setting of the Christian Church.” In our window, rather than showing medieval pointy Gothic arches, Mary’s church features the same elaborate round-topped windows and linked-chain and Byzantine lozenge decorations as the 1911 Byzantine-Romanesque church constructed around it.

The presence of a dove, representing the Holy Spirit, is the usual convention to symbolize the moment of conception. Jones observes that “In Annunciation paintings, the dove is often shown descending on a ray of light, indicating …a sense of movement or passage, with the ray of light touching the Virgin’s head or breast in the moment of Incarnation.” This is how it’s shown in the window. The idea is presented again in the sanctuary of the church, with a dove mosaic pointing down above the statue of the Blessed Mother.

Jones observes “One fascinating tradition that developed in early Netherlandish art was to show the ray of light entering the scene through a window, as in Rogier van der Weyden’s painting. This was a way of alluding to the conceptually tricky idea of Mary’s miracle conception, by comparing the passage of the Holy Spirit through the body of the Virgin to light passing through glass.” Our Annunciation window actually becomes a double Holy Spirit reference – rays of light from the dove beam into Mary through an image of a window, painted on an actual glass window—so that the light of the dove, shining through the Blessed Mother, reaches us, too. The “Holy Spirit as a dove in a window” theme recurs in two dove windows in our dome – one showing the dove descending into the church bringing grace from heaven, and another ascending from the church, to carry prayers heavenward — the Holy Spirit passing through the glass in both directions.

Since the Feast of the Annunciation is celebrated in the Spring, nine months before Christmas, Jones observes that paintings often include garden references. He notes that in Northern Renaissance artwork, like that which inspired our window, “The motif of a flower in a vase became well-used, a tradition that developed into a lily, which became the symbol of the Virgin’s purity.” Our window shows a lily in a pot in the foreground – which would have echoed the multitude of cut flowers used to adorn the church, as well as the single lily in one of the dome windows. Since the lily also represents Christ in the Passion, it brings a poignant note into the scene — appropriate since the March feast occurs during Lent, overlapping with that more solemn season.

As in many of the Northern Renaissance paintings, the Archangel Gabriel in our window wears a lavishly patterned gown with a large jewel clasp at the neck, Art historian Isabella Meyer notes that the opulence of a similarly attired angel, in a painting by Van Eyck, evokes heavenly richness and observes that “His garments also suggest that he is taking part in or celebrating High Mass” – an interesting observation – our angel’s elaborate garments would have mirrored the pageantry of high Masses inside the church when the window was installed.

Our Archangel Gabriel is equipped with a lily staff embellished with the words “Ave gratia plena,” or “Hail favoured one.” The Dictionary of Subjects and Symbols in Art notes that Gabriel’s prop evolved in artwork over time: “In early examples the angel holds a scepter tipped with a fleur-de-lys, the attribute of Gabriel, but later it often holds the lily.” The transformation from sceptre to lily offers an interesting meditation. A sceptre would symbolize royal favour while the lily flower symbolizes purity. Gabriel’s lily staff is an invitation — or a mandate — to the Virgin from God — but a similar lily staff, shown on the St. Joseph tabernacle in our church, references Jesus’ earthly lineage: “And there shall come forth a rod out of the stem of Jesse, and a Branch shall grow out of his roots.” So the small detail of the staff can be a reminder of Christ’s dual nature: his divinity, in the recognition of God’s favour; and his humanity, based on his earthly lineage. This thought is repeated with the pair of fleur-de-lys/lily crosses under the Nativity window.

As in many Renaissance depictions, a statue of David appears near Mary in the window scene as a reminder that Jesus was both God and human (and Jewish!) — the same message as the mosaic Stars of David in the church dome, both offering a link to the Old Testament and a reference to Jesus’ family lineage as part of the House of David. Double cross symbols in the lower panels of all three windows on that side of the church to reinforce the concept of the Incarnation — the notion that Jesus had a dual nature that was both divine and human.

Finally, the Dictionary of Symbolism offers the interesting idea that Mary’s words of response to Gabriel’s invitation, sometimes included as a “speech balloon” in Renaissance Annunciation paintings, “may be upside down so that it can be more easily read by God the Father.” Curiously, the Old Testament prophecy of Isaiah, written above our Annunciation window, and which translates from the Latin as “Behold, a virgin shall conceive…and his name shall be called Emmanuel,” shows the word virgo, or virgin, upside-down. This could have been a reference to that historic practice — echoed by the symbol of the Eye of God shown peering down into the church through the oculus window of the dome.

Viewed as a group, the three windows on the parking lot side of the church celebrate the Christmas season with heavenly light, representing God’s grace shining symbolically through a window in each design. The Holy Spirit dove illuminates the first scene; and the nativity star, representing the light of Hope from above, gleams above the birth. In both instances, the light from the painted window shines into the church through the glass of the actual window. The third scene, of Christ’s youth, is a darker vision, foreshadowing his future as he builds a cross in his father’s workshop. That scene also includes a little piece of a painted window in the background, obscured by the cross and a red rose — another flower that symbolizes both Mary’s purity and Christ’s passion. The story then continues across the aisle with the three windows of the Easter season, commemorating Christ’s adult ministry, all shown outdoors, ending with the Agony in the Garden.

The story of Christ, as told in the windows of our church, invites us to find our place in the rhythm of historic continuity — from the Old Testament to the New; from Christ’s Birth to his Resurrection; from Renaissance artwork to the construction of our church in the early 1900s, to the present day; from an interior life to a worldly ministry; from darkness to light in an endless annual cycle of death and rebirth. And through it all, we are called to reflect on the miracle of God’s continuing presence, symbolized in the light shining through the bright rainbow glass, illuminating history and touching everyone who pauses to look.

This Christmas, before entering the church, take a moment to notice another depiction from Christ’s early life, now revealed with the removal of the scaffolding: a weathered bas relief outside, by the front door, of “The Flight into Egypt.” Crafted by Italian immigrant sculptor Adolfo de Nesti, it shows the Holy Family desperately fleeing a dangerous situation at home to seek refuge in a foreign land in a time of trouble — one more family, part of another endless historical cycle that is all too relatable for too many people across the globe this holiday season.

The Holy Family’s urgent movement — and the travels of Jesus who never stayed in one place — are a reminder that faith is a journey. Pope Francis, in his pre-Christmas address to the Roman Curia, cautioned that “it is important to keep faring forward, to keep searching and growing in our understanding of the truth, overcoming the temptation to stand still and never leave the ‘labyrinth’ of our fears.” Christianity “is not meant to confirm our sense of security, to let us settle into comfortable religious certitudes, and to offer us quick answers to life’s complex problems.” The Pope “concluded with a call to courage, love, and humility in our journey of faith and service” and asserted “Only those who love fare forward.”

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