29
Mar
2005
Every community has its special people who make a true difference, contributing beyond measure. St. Anthony's Father James Patrick Conroy was one of ours. He passed on to glory on February 13, 2005, leaving a void in the Catholic community that will never be filled.
You can't mention Father Conroy's name without generating a smile in response. He consistently amused us, whether giving a sermon, sharing a meal, or simply chatting on the phone. He was contagiously cheerful. Some attribute this endearing quality of his to his Irish heritage, others to his spiritual connection to our Lord, and both are right. I never saw a better balance between a sense of humor and a sense of duty than Father Conroy's.
I met Father Conroy in the late '80s through my grandmother, who attended St. Anthony's in downtown Davenport because of her fondness for Father Conroy and Sister Ludmilla, who partnered with Father Conroy in most of his good works at St. Anthony's and who has been equally devoted to parishioners and service to God. They made a great team bringing parishioners together not just in prayer, but also in friendship and celebration.
Within minutes of our introduction, I was conscripted into working the door at St. Anthony's annual Valentine's Day dinner, which followed an evening mass at which parishioners renewed their vows to one another. The only catch, discreetly left out of the negotiations, was that I greet the newly re-weds dressed as a big, ungainly heart with nothing but my spindly legs and mortified face poking out muttering congratulations and best wishes as hundreds (naturally) filed in. Father Conroy stood by beaming at the event's obvious success.
That bit of volunteerism was the beginning of a series of commitments undertaken at Father's request, and most were some of the best experiences of my life. He was a great salesman, full of enthusiasm, a promise of good will, and in some cases fun, all delivered in a way that made it impossible to say no.
Father Conroy's and Sister Ludmilla's friendship with my grandmother allowed me to know them both in a much closer manner. Both would stop in for dinner, or an early evening drink, and would always call when in Arizona for a visit, as well. Father Conroy blessed every home I lived in (sometimes twice if needed), arranged for my marriage in my family's Florida parish, convinced my then-fiancé that the church's required pre-Cana counseling was a worthy effort (which it absolutely was), and lovingly came out of retirement to preside over my grandmother's memorial service when she passed.
From the moment I met Father Conroy, he became an integral part of my life. I trusted him, and counted on him for so many things, and he always, always showed up. He took things seriously when the situation required it, but was able to bring levity to situations made better for it.
What I will remember most of all is the laughter. He was funny, fun-loving, and probably completely unaware of the many times he had us in stitches. I cannot remember his face with anything but a smile on it, and when I think of a church and its leadership's obligations to its parishioners, none surpasses the amount of good accomplished with the most compassion, humor, and simple dedication that Father Conroy personified.
Father Conroy is a perfect example of the character and unique contribution that one person can bring to a community that forever changes it for the better. This is a man who will not be forgotten anytime soon.
You can't mention Father Conroy's name without generating a smile in response. He consistently amused us, whether giving a sermon, sharing a meal, or simply chatting on the phone. He was contagiously cheerful. Some attribute this endearing quality of his to his Irish heritage, others to his spiritual connection to our Lord, and both are right. I never saw a better balance between a sense of humor and a sense of duty than Father Conroy's.
I met Father Conroy in the late '80s through my grandmother, who attended St. Anthony's in downtown Davenport because of her fondness for Father Conroy and Sister Ludmilla, who partnered with Father Conroy in most of his good works at St. Anthony's and who has been equally devoted to parishioners and service to God. They made a great team bringing parishioners together not just in prayer, but also in friendship and celebration.
Within minutes of our introduction, I was conscripted into working the door at St. Anthony's annual Valentine's Day dinner, which followed an evening mass at which parishioners renewed their vows to one another. The only catch, discreetly left out of the negotiations, was that I greet the newly re-weds dressed as a big, ungainly heart with nothing but my spindly legs and mortified face poking out muttering congratulations and best wishes as hundreds (naturally) filed in. Father Conroy stood by beaming at the event's obvious success.
That bit of volunteerism was the beginning of a series of commitments undertaken at Father's request, and most were some of the best experiences of my life. He was a great salesman, full of enthusiasm, a promise of good will, and in some cases fun, all delivered in a way that made it impossible to say no.
Father Conroy's and Sister Ludmilla's friendship with my grandmother allowed me to know them both in a much closer manner. Both would stop in for dinner, or an early evening drink, and would always call when in Arizona for a visit, as well. Father Conroy blessed every home I lived in (sometimes twice if needed), arranged for my marriage in my family's Florida parish, convinced my then-fiancé that the church's required pre-Cana counseling was a worthy effort (which it absolutely was), and lovingly came out of retirement to preside over my grandmother's memorial service when she passed.
From the moment I met Father Conroy, he became an integral part of my life. I trusted him, and counted on him for so many things, and he always, always showed up. He took things seriously when the situation required it, but was able to bring levity to situations made better for it.
What I will remember most of all is the laughter. He was funny, fun-loving, and probably completely unaware of the many times he had us in stitches. I cannot remember his face with anything but a smile on it, and when I think of a church and its leadership's obligations to its parishioners, none surpasses the amount of good accomplished with the most compassion, humor, and simple dedication that Father Conroy personified.
Father Conroy is a perfect example of the character and unique contribution that one person can bring to a community that forever changes it for the better. This is a man who will not be forgotten anytime soon.
