Flower of Heaven Page 6

  Sean Merrill had arrived in West Palm Beach in 1935 at the age of forty-six. A bachelor who had never seriously worked at any trade for too long, Sean had seen his move to Florida as a new beginning, an opportunity for him to do something on his own. Sean had even driven a delivery truck for Charlie for a while but never saw himself as a potential business owner. His happy-go-lucky attitude and his carefree love for having a good time left him broke most of the time. He had never met the “right” girl until he met Jean Partridge, a quiet but intelligent desk clerk at her father’s motel. Theirs was not a passionate courtship, but one based on admiration for each other’s values. They were wed in 1936, Sean at forty-seven and Jean at forty-two.

  Apparently, Jean had inherited her father’s business sense and they began to accumulate more and more property in the Boca Raton area little by little, while both retaining their respective jobs. Glenn Partridge died in a fishing accident five years later in 1941 and Jean was the sole survivor, Glenn’s wife having passed away from cancer before Sean had come on the scene. Sean and Jean Merrill immediately became very wealthy and assumed control of the motel and of her father’s estate, valued at $2.5 million.

  As years went by, Sean saw the continuing Florida population growth and suggested to Jean that they consider opening a family restaurant on property they owned adjacent to the motel. By the summer of 1945, the restaurant was completed and ready to be opened. Jean would continue to operate the motel while Sean would oversee the restaurant operation. Chefs, waiters, and a restaurant manager were all hired and plans had been made for a grand opening in early August.

  Alice was family, Sean pondered as he drove from his home in Boca toward the West Palm Beach airport some thirty minutes away. Sean would offer Alice any position she wanted at the restaurant or none at all if she decided against working once she settled into the area. Sean had the deepest respect for Alice. She had stuck by Charlie all these years, even though, Sean knew, Charlie had seen some rougher times before he became successful. Sean felt that Alice had sort of been cheated by Charlie’s sudden death and he was determined to do everything he could to make her life as comfortable as possible, even though Charlie would not be around to share it with her.

  Flight 349 from Boston was listed as on time as he entered the small terminal at 6:15 p.m. A short while later, Alice and Dick appeared; both carrying warm smiles as Sean greeted them. The flight had been a long silent one for the two of them. The three hours had given each of them time to reflect on the years in New Hampshire while, at the same time, create visions of anxiety and doubt about what lay ahead in the world of year-round warmth and sunshine.

  After having settled in at Sean’s home, a four-bedroom sprawling ranch complete with its own boat dock, Dick and Alice slowly began the task of becoming familiarized with not only the area, but the style of living that the residents thrived on. Hospitality abounded throughout the community since the community relied almost totally on catering to its visitors. “Exactly what Alice needs, right now, Dick,” Sean said as they toured the city. “Your mother has been cooped up so long in her kitchen that she needs to be among smiling faces and people, lots of people.”

  “I’m not so sure that this isn’t too much of a change for her, Uncle Sean. I don’t know if mom can all of a sudden just relax and shift gears. It’s going to take some time. I don’t know if I can leave her at the end of the summer. I’m going to worry about her.”

  “Don’t give it another thought, Dick, your Aunt Jean and I don’t have any other relatives and your mom’s all we got. We’ll see to it that she gets whatever she needs to adjust to this climate. Dick, she’s sixty-five years old, she’s got to slow down a bit. I’m thinking of asking her to maybe just bake desserts for the restaurant. That should keep her busy just a few hours a day, no more. That way, she can learn to unwind and relax with Jean and me. You’ve got to make your own life now Dick, your mom too!”

  The summer months for Dick were totally different than he had been accustomed to. Sean had loaned him one of his cars to use and Alice did not want Dick working that summer at all. The time he spent walking the beaches or riding the open topped car for hours on end, were times for Dick to think about his future, about the regret he felt at not being on better terms with his father before he died, and about the coming September and going back to school. “If only we could have talked more,” Dick pondered, “I never got to tell him how much I loved him.” This tormented him that summer in Florida.

  “Dick, nice of you to call, how are you and how’s your mother?” the excited voice at the other end of the phone blurted.

  “I’m fine, Father, how’s everything at St. Barnaby’s?”

  “Well, to tell you the truth, Dick, we’ve had a good summer with lots of tourists attending Masses on weekends and the community is growing every day. We miss your smiling face, though. What’s happening with you in Florida and how’s your mom?”

  “Mom’s fine, really settled into this area and she’s gotten used to the hot summers and looking forward to her first warm winter. I think it might bother her, though, around Christmas time without the snow and all.”

  “Father, do you remember our talk last year about me breaking away from my folks and going off on my own?”

  “Sounds to me like you’ve been doing some soul searching on those Florida beaches. That’s pretty hard to do with those lovely young ladies parading around in bathing suits down there. Sure, I remember our talk. What have you come up with?”

  “I was wondering, Father, is there someone up there I can talk to about the seminary. I think I’d like to become a priest, Father.”

  The news to Father Gavin came as no surprise. Although he had deliberately avoided talking to Dick too much about the priesthood, for fear that it might look like he was pushing him in that direction, Father Gavin knew though that Dick’s interest in the priesthood was not merely a passing thought. He had recalled himself in similar circumstances some years before he had contemplated going to the seminary in Baltimore to study the priesthood.

  “That’s a big decision, Dick, are you sure you’ve really thought this out?” Father Gavin sounded like he was discouraging Dick while, in reality, Dick knew that Father Gavin’s concern was due to the seriousness of this decision.

  “I must find out, Father, that’s all I’ve thought about since my dad died, and now that mom’s doing okay on her own, I’ve got to think of my own future. After a year at Plymouth, I’m not sure that teaching history is for me.”

  “Father Romeo Gleason at the St. Ignatius Seminary in Baltimore is the guy you want to talk to, Dick. You’ll need a sponsor, too, someone who can support your genuine interest on this. I’ll call on your behalf to let him know you’ll be in touch.”

  Dick jotted down the phone number for the seminary and told Father Gavin that he’d let him know how he made out with Father Gleason as soon as he could. A visit to the seminary was customary, Father Gavin had mentioned to Dick, and a brief three-to-five day stay would also be required to acclimate potential postulants in the regimen at the seminary. This preliminary period usually eliminated the majority of the interested young men from pursuing the priesthood any further. Continued pursuit by the remaining candidates was no clear indication that priesthood was imminent, but it was a beginning.

  That evening, Dick broke the news to his mother that he would visit St. Ignatius in early August just to see what it would be like.

  “I’m not surprised; I’ve seen it in your eyes since you first became an altar boy. You’ll never know if it’s what you want to do if you don’t go up there to Baltimore and find out.”

  CHAPTER 6

  St. Ignatius Seminary was like a self-contained fortress, a reminder to Dick of the castles and mansions he had heard of and seen pictures of in his history courses in high school and at Plymouth. The huge stone structure stood three stories high and extended several hundred feet across a plush apron of lawn that extended far in front of it, bringing out its
unobstructed beauty. As Dick’s taxi drove up to the entrance gates leading to this grand façade, he felt a tingling sensation overtaking his entire body. He looked at his watch, 10:00 a.m., right on time for his meeting with Father Gleason before being assigned to a room in the postulant candidates’ quarters.

  No sooner had the taxi driver placed Dick’s suitcase beside him and wished him well, there appeared a tall silver-bearded man in clerical robes with a smile that surely was exactly what Dick needed at that moment. For a brief instant, he had become uncertain as to what he was doing here and was tempted to try to flag down the fleeing taxi while he had the chance.

  “Hi, I’m Romie Gleason. Welcome to St. Ignatius. And you would be…?”

  “Dick Merrill, Father, from Rumney, New Hampshire, Boca Raton, Florida, I mean…”

  “I know what you mean, son; Father Gavin and I had a long talk about your coming and he’s told me all about you. Let’s get your gear inside and I’ll show you around.”

  The grounds were even prettier behind the building than from the entranceway. There were ball fields, walking trails with young men strolling the grounds, and a pond complete with a gazebo surrounded with benches. Inside the main building, there were two huge parlors for greeting visitors and their parents. There were very ornate tables and racks of literature depicting life as a seminarian and Father Gleason told Dick to read as many as he could during his brief stay in the coming week. The building’s main floor had wide hallways lined with statues and religious pictures leading to the double doors of the chapel. As you walked the hallways, you could hear the footsteps echo against the twelve-foot high ceilings from the marble floor below. Dick smiled. As he set foot through the doorway of the chapel, he immediately was besieged with the huge glimmer and radiance of sunshine streaming through the stain-glassed windows extending nearly thirty feet high. This chapel was three times the size of St. Barnaby’s Church and the biggest place of worship he had ever seen.

  As if some magnetic force drew him forward, Dick found himself headed toward the altar and the accompanying pulpit. When he reached his destination and turned to face the vastness that confronted him, he merely smiled. “How does it feel, Dick? Is it a bit scary, overwhelming?”

  “It’s magnificent, Father, unlike anything I’ve ever seen before, it’s beautiful.”

  “Come on, let me introduce you to your roommate; he’s been here for two years now, his name is Ed McNeil, I think you’ll like him.”

  The dormitory building was adjacent to the main building and housed all seminarians during their entire stay at St. Ignatius. The odds of keeping the same roommate for all four years, Father Gleason related to Dick, were very slim and rarely did it happen. Many postulants lasted for as much as two years, some only one year and many for less than a year. Ed McNeil already had two roommates; Dick would be the third, if only for a week. If Dick decided to enroll at the seminary following the week’s activities that depicted life as a seminarian, both he and Ed McNeil would have to agree to continue as roommates; compatibility was essential because of the rigorous schedule of classes and training involved. It was not uncommon, Father Gleason related as they treaded across the lawn to the dormitory, that roommates who eventually both became ordained into the priesthood continued their friendship for the rest of their lives.

  August, 1945, was warm in Baltimore and as the two made their way through the dorm entrance and up the stairs to the third floor, Father Gleason could not help but curse how uncomfortable and hot it was wearing his cassock during this kind of weather. A priest in his mid-fifties, he was definitely the typical picture of a priest who had to always look and dress like one, Roman collar and all, even if it meant undue perspiration and discomfort.

  “Ah, three-one-one, here we are. I told Ed you’d be arriving this morning, so he should be in.”

  “Ya, come on in, the McNeil palace awaits you,” the voice sounded at the end of Father Gleason’s knock. There stood a towering blond man, wearing a baseball cap, a tee shirt full of holes, a pair of khaki Bermuda shorts and sandals. Clothes were strewn across chairs, the beds, and even the dressers. The room looked like it had been ransacked and ready for the demolition team to finish the job.

  “Ed, say hello to Dick Merrill, the fellow I said would be rooming with you this week to see if priesthood training is something he really wants to consider or something that’s been on his mind for a while and just needs to be dealt with.”

  “Dick, nice to meet you. I don’t know why Father Gleason is hooking you up with me; I don’t have a good track record with roommates. There are those here who even think I’m the cause of new guys changing their minds about becoming a priest. I’m even starting to believe that myself, although I can’t imagine why. The Lord sure didn’t know what he was getting into when he allowed them to let me in here two years ago, I guess.”

  Dick had never seen such a messy room. The floor was piled with boxes and the wall had baseball players’ pictures all over, and the crucifix, in the midst of these posters, was almost unnoticeable. Ed McNeil could sense the look of concern in Dick’s expression as he discreetly noticed his eyes scanning the room he would be calling “home,” at least for the next week.

  “Sorry about the mess; really, I’m not that bad. I just got back from summer vacation at home and I sort of just threw things around to empty my suitcases and get them out of the way. I’ll have this place looking like McNeil’s palace in no time. Sit down. Where you from, Dick?”

  Father Gleason excused himself as he informed Dick that Ed would take care of settling him in and acquainting him with the schedule for the week. “Thanks, Father,” yelled Ed, “I’ll take good care of him.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” sighed Father Gleason as he shut the door on his way out.

  The two seemed to hit it off immediately and Dick was quite comfortable carrying on a conversation with Ed McNeil. McNeil was from Rochester, New York and the son of a film company executive who wasn’t too keen on his son’s announcement to leave LeMoyne University for the seminary.

  In September of that year, Dick Merrill enrolled as a new seminarian at St. Ignatius and decided to room with Ed McNeil, who, as it turned out, really wasn’t the sloppy guy that Dick had first thought he was.

  Eddie McNeil and Dick Merrill really got to know each other in Dick’s first year at the seminary. It seems, as Dick found out, that Eddie’s father wasn’t just a big executive for a film company, but its president and a very wealthy man.

  Ed McNeil was ordained in June, 1948, and was assigned to a parish in Wisconsin. On that day, Ed was surprised and pleased to see his father attending the ceremony and, while he still had doubts about his son’s selection, he respected his determination and apparent love for religious life.

  Dick Merrill was ordained three years later and was assigned to a small parish in St. Johnsbury, Vermont, just two hours north of Rumney, his childhood home. Alice, Sean, and Jean all attended the ceremony, as did Father Ed McNeil and Father Gavin, and the Merrills flew back to Florida together where Dick spent the summer before leaving for his new parish in late August.

  CHAPTER 7

  Paris in the summer is lovely to visit and Father Dick Merrill was thrilled to be there in August 1950, a gift from his Uncle Sean following his ordination. The week’s stay at a small hotel included breakfast, but Dick’s excursions around the city would be on his own, leaving him to decide what sights he wanted to see. On his first day in Paris, it was no wonder that he asked the hotel concierge about the best way to tour the city and arranged for a tour bus from Le Bourget to pick him up.

  Françoise found it easy and interesting talking to Dick and the Quinlans following her brief experience with the tour driver. She had always found American tourists very friendly and their involvement during the war years at liberating France made her quest for knowing more about America that much greater.

  “Tell me about the Statue de Liberte in New York and about the winds in Chicago. D
o you still have cowboys in the Wild West? What about Miami, the White House, and the movie stars of Hollywood?”

  It was one question after another and Dick found himself overwhelmed by this barrage of inquiry from the French girl. He could not help but notice her beautiful blue eyes against a suntanned complexion and the long flowing brown hair with a beret atop that seemed to fit perfectly on her head. Her every motion and bubbly personality captured Dick’s attention immediately. Once lunch was over and the tour resumed, now with a much more experienced driver than before, Dick seemed to find himself very much interested and attracted to Françoise’s every word and move. His smile met her eyes often during the next several hours of the excursion around Paris and he suddenly flashed a frown as the bus approached his hotel, signaling the end of the tour.

  Françoise bid farewell to Dick and other passengers as they disembarked. “Perhaps we can continue our conversation about America at another time,” Dick was quick to state, surprising himself at his boldness, a far cry from the shy New Hampshire boy most people knew him for.

  “Perhaps, monsieur, perhaps.”

  Dick had dinner with the Quinlans that evening and they mentioned what a delightful person Françoise had been on the tour. Mrs. Quinlan went so far as to state how it seemed that Françoise was attracted to Dick and wouldn’t it be nice if Dick had a chance to see her again sometime during his stay in Paris. Following dinner, the Quinlans excused themselves and bid Dick good night and wished him well during the remainder of the week as the Quinlans were off to Nice and the Riviera the next morning.