CHAPTER ONE Training - Sainthood bid opens for Fr. George J

CHAPTER ONE
Training
1.
Brooklyn
N
ew York City, in the hot summer of 1902.
Horses, trotting over the cobblestones, drawing
beautiful carriages. The new automobiles, chugging
and churning, and drawing much attention. Music floating into the
street from the phonograph-shops— the classical waltzes of Strauss,
the new popular songs from the American theatrical productions,
cheerful, romantic, adventurous.
The businessmen, full of energy and drive, with high
starched collars, moustaches carefully groomed, Derby hats and patent
leather shoes. The ladies in their long gowns, the skirts almost brushing
the street, sleeves fastened in cuffs at the wrist, delicately puffed
shoulders, and their long lovely hair set up in pompadours.
New York was the big city, the strong city, the sophisticated
city. But it was still young, growing — caught in a swift maelstrom
of change, but at the same time hanging on to the beautiful things of
the past. Big buildings were rising everywhere, but in that summer
of 1902, a New Jersey butcher bought twelve heads of cattle in
New York, and drove them through the intersection which is now
Broadway and 42nd Street.
1
The Gentle Warrior
It was that way with the Willmann family. They were American
to the core; and New York people to the core, but their traditions
reached out to Germany on their Daddy’s side, and to Ireland on their
Mommy’s side. They lived in the city, but during the summer they
went on vacation to the country.
The German Willmanns would occasionally gather together for
a spectacular feast of pigs’ knuckles and sauerkraut. Some of the elder
Willmanns no longer spoke German, even at home. But when it came
time to pray, they could only pray in German.
Julia Corcoran, married to William Willmann, had relatives who
grew grapes in long trellised gardens in back of their homes, even in
the turbulent borough of Brooklyn. Their laughter was Irish laughter.
Their humor was Irish humor. They were affectionate, very
demonstrative, sometimes sentimental.
But, both on the Irish side and on the German side, they were
deeply religious. Julia Corcoran Willmann led the rosary with her
children at night. The father, William Willmann, made sure that all his
children went to Catholic schools, and to Mass on Sunday, and prayed
together at night. The religious education of the children began long
before they entered a classroom.
On this summer of 1902 they were praying that their vacation in
the mountains would be beautiful, that no one would get sick, that no
one would get hurt. Miriam, the eldest girl, who was almost ten years
old—she would be ten in October—was the quietest, and the most
sensitive. Agnes, who would be seven in November, was the outgoing
one. Even at six she was eloquent. She would tell exciting stories
about everything that happened to her. George was the gentle one, the
loving one, the dreamer. Dorothy was still a baby, and they did not
know what she would be, yet.
Whenever the Mommy, Julia, would go out of the house, she
would say to the children: ―Now, remember! Do everything that
2
Training
Miriam tells you!‖ George felt that Agnes was a model girl, and that
Dorothy was only a baby—so that this instruction must be for him. He
felt that, somehow, he must be the trouble maker. So he tried, with all
his heart, to be good, so that he would not be a disappointment to his
mother, or to his father.
When they prayed the rosary together at night, he tried to be as
quiet as Miriam and as intense as Agnes. But his mind wandered.
This was a beautiful summer, for a five year old. Vacation in the
country! All together! The whole family! And then, in September, for
the first time—school! He would go to Our Lady of Good Counsel, in
Brooklyn. Miriam was going there, and Agnes was going there, and
both of them were very good in school. The Sisters expected him to
be just as good. So he prayed that their vacation would be happy and
joyous, that school would be a great adventure, and that he would not
shame his father’s name, the name of the family of Willmann.
But, on July 1, 1902, on the day before they were to leave
Brooklyn for the country, for the Atlantic Highlands, a terrible thing
happened. George was sitting on the curbstone, on Putnam Avenue,
watching the automobiles and the carriages in the busy street, thinking
about the trip to the mountains the next day, and wondering about the
mystery of school. What would it be like?
A huge wide-wheeled garbage truck, pulled by two mammoth
Percheron workhorses, began to back up, along the curb, beside him.
George did not notice the garbage truck, and the driver, maneuvering
the horses from the high front seat, could not see the little boy sitting
on the curb behind him.
The iron rim of the great wooden wagon wheel rolled over the
feet of the little boy, crushing the bones.
There was panic in the street, women screaming, a store
keeper bellowing at the truck driver, a policeman running across the
street from the far corner to the scene of the accident, and the little
boy writhing in pain on the sidewalk.
3
The Gentle Warrior
They took him to the hospital in a carriage, the ponies
galloping through the crowded streets of Brooklyn. A big man carried
him into the Emergency Room, and put him down carefully on the
examination table. The doctors and the nurses gathered around.
By the time the family assembled in the hospital, George was
still in pain, but the bleeding had stopped, and everything was under
control. The resident physician drew Julia Corcoran Willmann aside,
and spoke to her privately. He was kind and considerate, but desperately
trying to be honest. He said: ―There is no danger. He will not die.
But it seems that some amputation might be necessary.‖
That night the whole Willmann clan, and the whole Corcoran
clan, prayed on their knees for little George. Miriam wept, blaming
herself for not taking care of her little brother. Agnes was very quiet.
Her only question was: ―What is am…pu…ta…tion?‖
George’s father and mother prayed together, and consulted
together. In the morning they said to the doctor: ―Please….if it is
humanly possible….no amputation.‖
The agony of waiting went on for three weeks, while George
was learning patience in the hospital. Finally the doctors announced
to the family that the injured bones would heal, that no amputation was
necessary, that – given time – George would walk normally. There was
great rejoicing among the Willmanns and the Corcorans. The family
vacation, postponed for three weeks, actually came through! They all
went up to the mountains. George was only five years old. It was easy
to carry him. And in September he started school, at Our lady of Good
Counsel.
George never complained about this accident, and never asked
quarter from anybody because of it. He played handball and tennis. He
loved athletics. But in later life he had many falls. He never made much
of these falls, either. But his last illness, and his death, was occasioned
by a fall. God was ordering his life from the very beginning. God
draws straight, with crooked lines.
4
Training
At Our Lady of Good Counsel George found another little boy,
his classmate, who had polio. This boy moved around in a wheel chair.
Coming home from school one day, George said to Miriam and to
Agnes: ―I can walk! At least I can walk! That‘s something!‖ His
heart went out to the poor boy with polio.
In Grade Two, when he was only six years old, the Sister began
to talk about the missions. The talk was really occasioned by the Mite
Box. During Lent, each class in Our Lady of Good Counsel had a
Mite Box. The children were asked to sacrifice a little, to give up
candy, or ice cream, and put the money in the Mite Box for the
missions. George would do this. He would walk past the candy store,
with the nickel held tightly in his hand, and when he reached the
classroom he would drop the coin into the Mite Box.
The Sister in Grade Two said that if the money in the Mite
Box reached five dollars, the class could buy a baby in China. George
always wondered how you could “buy a baby”. The baby in his house
was Dorothy. Later there was Ed, and Ruth. But these babies were
loved by everybody. The bigger children fought for the right to push
the baby carriage in the summer, and pull the baby on a sled through
the snow in winter.
But Sister said that in China it was different. In China,
sometimes, they would throw the baby away. So missionary nuns, in
China, would go through the dark streets at night, with a push cart,
looking for the babies who were thrown away. And they would find
them! On top of trash cans, on door steps, in the gutter, wrapped in
newspaper. The missionary nuns would take these babies home, and
baptize them, and feed them, and care for them. Five dollars would
support a baby like this, for a full year.
Because he was such a faithful contributor to the Mite Box,
George was given the chance to choose the name of the baby that the
class would ―buy‖. He chose the name of his father, William. But the
Sister in Grade Two said that it had to be a girl’s name. She said: ―In
China, they do not throw away the boys. They only throw away the
girls.‖ So George chose “Julia” – the name of his mother.
5
The Gentle Warrior
He thought about this, very often. Why would a mother wrap
her baby in newspaper and put the baby in a trash can? The Sister in
Grade Two said that in China, sometimes, they were very poor. They
did not have enough to eat. They did not have a home. They did not
have medicine, when they got sick. They could not go to a hospital,
where doctors and nurses would take care of them. They could not go
to school. They had no church. No Mass. No communion. Nothing.
They needed help. And that is why the children put their nickels in the
Mite Box.
At the age of seven , George was very sure that a nickel box
was not enough. These poor people in the missions — they needed
more than that. They needed food. They needed clothing. They
needed houses. They needed medicine. They needed schools. They
needed God. He began to think about what it would be like to be a
priest in the missions.
Years later, when he entered the Jesuit Novitiate at Saint
Andrew’s on the Hudson, he ran a little survey among the young men
who entered with him. He asked only one question: ―How old were
you, when you knew that you wanted to be a priest?‖ The average
age at which those who entered the seminary with him knew that they
wanted to be a priest was….seven! This surprised George a little
because he himself was seven years old when he began to think about
becoming a missionary.
In school, George liked mathematics. It appealed to him. It was
so logical! It was so neat, and orderly! He always saved his
homework in math until the end, because it was such a consolation to
do it.
He was good in math, good in English, good in religion. But
he was not ambitious for honor cards, or for medals. This was due, at
least in part, to his father. William Willmann spoke to his children
quietly, simply, clearly. He said to George: ―If you get high grades
in academics, that is good! But the important thing, in school, is not
your marks. It is you! How much you learn, how you grow. I am
sending you to a Catholic School because I hope that — by going
to this school — somehow you will come out a good boy, a
6
Training
good man! I hope that, in school, you will learn to concentrate, to
study, to learn! This is the equipment that you need , in order to live
in this world!‖
So George was happy to receive high marks, happy to pass all
his subjects, but he was not hungry for honors. He was only eager to
learn! He was at peace in grade school, with many friends.
What the nuns noticed about George was…responsibility! They
said to Julia Corcoran Willmann: ―All of your children are bright!
All of them are so neat and orderly! But the thoughtful one, the
responsible one, is….George!‖
After graduating from Our Lady of Good Counsel, George went
on to Boy’s High School in Brooklyn, for one year. Then he transferred
to the new Jesuit School in Brooklyn — Brooklyn Prep. This school
opened only in 1908, when George was eleven years old.
Suddenly, academics became very serious — Latin, which was
hard; Greek, which was hard; Physics, Biology, Chemistry, which were
all very hard. Mathematics, which was a Godsend, a relief. German,
which was a reprieve from hard labor — he received First Honor cards
in German. This was probably a throw back to his German Aunties,
who would only pray in German.
But George was deeply impressed by the young Jesuit
Scholastics who taught him. These teachers were, on the average,
between 25 and 28 years old. They were good in Latin and Greek,
good in English, good in Mathematics, and in Science, but best of all in
sheer, straight, simple guidance.
One Scholastic, talking about the value of a human person, said:
―Five thousand years from now New York will be a hole in the
ground, and pythons will be moving up and down where Wall Street
is now. All the buildings will be gone — there will not be left a stone
upon a stone. All the money will be gone — all the gold will be
melted and all the paper will be burned. But five thousand years
from now you will be beginning to live with God! What doth it
profit a man if he gain the whole world, and suffer the loss of
7
The Gentle Warrior
his immortal soul?‖
George meditated on that: ―What doth it profit a man if he
gain the whole world, and suffer the loss of his immortal soul?‖
He thought: “If I become a doctor, I might keep some people alive
for five or ten years more — but in the end they all die and stand
before God to be judged….and then what? …. If I become a lawyer,
I could keep some people out of jail for five or ten years — but
inevitably they all die and stand before the great white throne of God
to be judged….and then what? …. If I become an architect or an
engineer, I build buildings, or bridges, or railroads — but with time
they all come tumbling down, and I am standing before that little
green door of death …. And then what?‖
At the tender age of 17, in that Jesuit High School, the thought
of death and the meaning of life were crucial issues to him.
High School was a joy! He was playing handball in the school
yard before, between, and after classes. He was playing tennis. He was
writing for the school magazine, debating, working in the school
canteen, working in the book store. He had friends. It was a boys’
school, but they went to parties now and then, here and there. He
learned to waltz.
Once, when the whole family was gathered in the living room,
little Ruth stalked in from the outdoors and announced: ―Of all the
children in this family, the brightest are the youngest two!‖ She
was referring to herself and to Ed. George, listening, was in no mood to
contradict this. He felt that Ruth and Ed really were the brightest. He
was doing well in school. He was learning. He was happy. He was
at peace. And this was enough. He was enjoying life as a teenager.
What impressed him about the young Jesuits was this: they
were so positive! They never seemed to say a negative word. They
were trying to get the best out of the boys in class, in elocution, in
dramatics, in debating, in football, in baseball, in track, in writing for the
school publications….they were filled with energy, and enjoyed what
they were doing!
8
Training
George realized that, with the Jesuit, education was not an eight
hour job. It was the Jesuit’s whole life. It was his vocation. His day
began at 5:00 a.m. when he organized the altar boys for the morning
Masses. Then he was prefect of the canteen, prefect of the school
yard, prefect of the library, prefect of the book store. Then he taught
class after class after class. Then out to the athletic fields to coach the
teams, into the debating halls with the orators, onto the stage with the
actors. Then correcting papers at night, and studying for the classes of
the next day. And they did it with a smile! They enjoyed it!
George knew that there were many missionaries – Franciscan
missionaries, Augustinian missionaries, Dominican missionaries – but
now, what he was seeing at close range, were Jesuits who might some
day be missionaries. A boy learns more from his eyes and ears, in
actual experience, than he learns from a textbook. George began to
think of becoming a Jesuit.
In his last year at Brooklyn Prep, the school was favored to win
a championship, in athletics. The student body was excited. But just
before the crucial game three of the Brooklyn Prep stars were caught
breaking the rules for training. The penalty was expulsion from the
squad. If these three stars were dropped, the chances of winning that
game were very low.
The Moderator of Athletics, a Jesuit priest, explained very
quietly to the student body that the purpose of athletics in a school is to
develop the students. To help a boy become a man. The purpose is
not to win games. So, if the students were dropped from the squad, it
would develop those three boys. They would learn the importance of
responsibility, of keeping rules, of integrity, of honesty, the importance
of keeping their word. If the school lost the championship, that was
secondary.
The students accepted this. The three stars were dropped
from the squad. Brooklyn Prep lost the championship. And all of the
high school students, between the ages of 14 and 18, realized that this
was the right thing to do.
9
The Gentle Warrior
George never forgot that the purpose of athletics is to develop
men….to develop character….to train a boy to be a man…. Athletics
is a part of every boy’s education….the purpose is not to win, but to
develop people!
Years later, halfway around the world, in Manila in the
Philippines, he himself put that into practice. He took tough youngsters
off the street, and started their training as real men on the basketball
courts of Santa Rita, of Intramuros, of Sampaloc. He did this in Boys’
Town, in the C.Y.O., in the Columbian Squires, in every athletic
league that he set up, all over the country.
His sister Dorothy, who was four years younger than George,
wrote to him when she was 71 years old: ―We really grew up in
security, didn‘t we?‖ She was reflecting on all of the pressures which
are now playing on the youngsters of today, especially on the young
ones of the Willmann family.
What she wrote was true. George really grew up in security.
A peaceful home, where father and mother loved each other. Brothers
and sisters who were disciplined and prayerful, and who supported each
other, all the way. Catholic schools, where the teachers were nuns,
priests, and young religious studying for the priesthood.
George grew up in Brooklyn, which is a tough town. But he
really grew up in security.
2.
Wall Street
“Worked on Wall Street for two years‖
These seven words, all of one syllable, cover the period in the
life of George Willmann from the time he graduated from Brooklyn
Prep, in June of 1913, to the day he entered the Jesuit Novitiate at
Saint Andrew’s on the Hudson, on August 14, 1915.
They are laconic. A very brief description. Obviously, George
did not want to call attention to these years, or feature them as
10
Training
important. He was only a messenger boy, fifteen years old when he
started, turning sixteen on June 29, and just eighteen years old when he
left the job to become a Jesuit Novice.
But, in the summaries of his life, which George was required to
make, several times, during his long career as a Jesuit, he never leaves
these words out! They were formative years. He learned accounting.
He learned how to deal with men. But, above all, he experienced at
close range the thoughts, the feelings, the deep emotions, the high
exaltations and dark depressions, of intelligent, hard working, Catholic
laymen.
He was working in downtown Manhattan. The tall buildings
rising like cliffs on both sides of the narrow streets. The teeming
crowds. The clanging trolley cars. The newsboy shouting the disastrous
events of the war breaking over Europe. Eating lunch in a lunch wagon.
Watching the great ocean liners sailing down the Hudson River. The
majestic Statue of Liberty. Soaked with perspiration in the summer.
Shivering in the snow and sleet of winter. The long journey from
Brooklyn to Wall Street every morning. The struggle in the traffic,
going home at night.
The theaters. The beautiful music of Sigmund Romberg. He was
a Hungarian by birth, but a real American composer.
As George
Willmann was German and Irish descent, but a real American messenger
boy. The bright lights in the streets at night. People hurrying. People
flooding across the streets at every intersection. The beggars. The
quiet churches, where George could drop in, and kneel in the back, and
pray for a few minutes, between jobs.
He learned accounting in a strange way. It was an older man,
who befriended him, and discovered that the boy had a genius for
mathematics. He instructed George at odd hours, in the office, in his
own home, in George’s home. George loved this, and learned fast. It
was an amazing accomplishment. In later years, George became the
Treasurer of the Ateneo de Manila, and then the auditor of all the Jesuit
houses in the Philippines — though he never took a formal class in
accounting, or business, or economics, or finance. He was working, for
11
The Gentle Warrior
two years, in the financial center of the world. The atmosphere was
right. The teacher was right — he liked George. And the boy was the
ideal student, with a love for mathematics, and a hunger to learn.
When Jim Willmann, his nephew, found a good job — much
later — which involved insurance, George expressed real interest in
that job. The work of an actuary is dizzy mathematics. George wrote
in his letter to Jim: ―I probably know less than one per cent of what
the experts know in this, but I have had a little experience with it,
and I like it!‖
In the years to come, in the Philippines, George Willmann
introduced a system of insurance for the Knights of Columbus. It
was incredibly successful. It grew from a very small local
organization to a national enterprise worth, literally, millions of pesos.
His preparation for this was: ―Worked on Wall street for two years.‖
But, most of all, he was working with men, at close range.
Later, George wrote of Father McGivney, the founder of the Knights
of Columbus: ―He was a hard working priest, even though not of
robust health, and by his kindliness he was enabled to get along well
with men and to persuade as well as inspire them to carry out plans
he conceived.‖ George could have written those lines precisely about
himself. When he was ordained he was exactly that kind of priest: hard
working, though not robust, kind, persuasive, inspiring. He was
prepared for this by his contact with men in Wall Street.
Father Mc Givney died five years before George Willmann was
born. But he was filled with the dauntless spirit of his age – he had
courage! George wrote of him: ―He was the courageous counsellor
of a Catholic Fraternal Group when all fraternals were under fire.
He was the prudent planner of a national Catholic society when
diocesan - wide organizations were only in their infancy. He was
the far - sighted exponent of an inherently American organization
when consciousness of racial background was divorcing too many
from full participation in the American social fabric. The daring of
the Order‘s inception, its adaptability to the different localities and
needs, the pioneering spirit that prompted this leadership in the
solution of so many problems… these are the translation into
12
Training
the Knights of Columbus of Father Mc Givney‘s priestly ideals.‖
The men of Wall Street, in their own way, were filled with that
same spirit. They were aggressive. They were looking for new ways
to do things. They had courage. George could sense this. The men
had tremendous potentials for good, but their power was not channeled
through the Catholic Church . It was not channeled through religion.
Catholic organizations for men were few in number, and weak
in influence. The men were good in their private lives, and prayerful,
but they did not appreciate the vital part of the Catholic layman in the
life of the Church. They had the impression that the Catholic church is
an organization of Bishops, priests and Sisters, and that the function of
the laymen was merely nominal, extremely unimportant.
The most terrible misconception that George saw, among the
men on Wall Street, was this: the belief that religion was a ladies’ game,
that praying in church was for women only, that it was proper
for a man to go outside of the church, and smoke, during the sermon.
George saw power in Wall Street, tremendous power among
men, waiting to be harnessed. He wrote, later: ―We must make our
Catholic men realize that they are a vital part of the church, that the
Catholic Church is their heritage, just as really as it is of the Bishops
and priests, and that they do have important works to perform,
important duties to fulfill. We must make our men realize that they
are the Church!‖
When he was running through the crowded streets of
downtown Manhattan, George Willmann was not thinking of the
Knights of Columbus. His first thoughts were always to deliver the
package, to get the reply, to get back to the office on time. But, riding
in the trolley, sitting at the counter in the lunch wagon, his thoughts
were: ―What shall I be? What shall I do with my life?‖ His sister
Agnes was going to be a nun, he knew. She was interested in the
Franciscan Missionaries of Mary. His baby sister, Ruth, was saying loud
and clear: ―When I grow up, I will be a Sister!‖ He knew that,
whether he became a priest, or married, or stayed single, he wanted to
consecrate his life to God.
13
The Gentle Warrior
To those who do not have a vocation to religious life, it seems
as if that decision should be made by careful reasoning. But it is not
that way. A boy enters the seminary because of the convergence of five
thousand probabilities. It is like getting married. If you asked a young
man, about to be married, why he is marrying this girl, he would find it
very hard to explain. He might say: ―She is beautiful!‖ But he
knows other girls who are really more beautiful than the girl he is about
to marry. He might say: ―She is intelligent! She is gentle! She is
good!‖ but he knows that not one of these qualities is why he is
marrying this girl. To explain it properly, he would have to write a
book, telling all the thoughts and feelings that he had from the first
moment that he saw this girl. It culminates in three words: ―I love
her!‖ But it is very hard to explain the fact that he feels that God
wants him to marry this girl.
So it is with the boy who enters a religious order. It starts with
the prayers of his mother. It continues with his life at home, his life in
school, his friends, the older people he has known, his dreams. When
you come right down to it, it is the grace of God, and a boy’s
acceptance of that grace.
The best answer to the question: ―Why did George Willmann
enter the Society of Jesus?‖ is in the gospel. Our Lord said: ―You
have not chosen Me….but I have chosen you.‖
On August 15, 1973, George wrote to his sister Dorothy, whom
he loved:
―Do you remember 58 years ago yesterday, when we
all piled into a car and drove from Suffern to
Poughkeepsie? That big car that we rented
from Fred Sinnel, if I remember correctly. With
her countless blessings Our Lady has helped us all
tremendously during the many years.‖
To his good friend Larry he wrote, in 1965:
―The years have flown by, and it‘s hard to realize that
it was 50 years ago when I carried my valise up
14
Training
the steps of Saint Andrew-on-Hudson, Poughkeepsie.”
The day meant very much to him. He was offering his life to
God.
And the day meant very much to Julia Corcoran Willmann and
to William Willmann. They were giving their son to God.
And it meant very much to Miriam, and to Agnes, and to
Dorothy, and to Ed, and to little Ruth, who was in tears. They were
giving their brother to God. The gentle, quiet brother, whom they
loved.
3.
Saint Andrew’s on the Hudson
The official name of the Jesuit Novitiate in Poughkeepsie was:
St. Andrew-on-Hudson. It was a beautiful religious house, in northern
New York State, overlooking the great, majestic Hudson River. Boats
plowed up and down that river, and the shell crews of many colleges.
West Point, the Military Academy of the United States, was close by.
The Novitiate was old, and firmly established. It had dignity, and peace,
and beauty.
The difference between a boy who enters a religious order - like
the Franciscans, the Augustinians, the Dominicans, the Jesuits – and a
boy who enters a secular seminary is this: the boy who enters the
religious order lives in a community, for the rest of his life. This means
that he lives in a barracks. He does not pay for his education, or for
board and lodging, or for clothing, or for anything. The religious order
takes care of him, from the day he enters the novitiate, including his
hospital expenses, and – if necessary – the expenses of his funeral. The
body of the religious belongs to the Order, from the moment he enters
through the door of the Novitiate. If he dies, the body does not go back
to the family. It is buried in the cemetery of the religious order.
If a boy enters a secular seminary, he is consecrating his life to
God, just as completely as the religious. He is studying for the
15
The Gentle Warrior
priesthood, which is exactly the same, for the secular priest, and for the
religious. But the boy in the secular seminary pays for his own board
and lodging, and for his education. When he is ordained, he is
incardinated in a diocese. He promises obedience to a definite Bishop,
in a definite area. And he receives a salary. He can own things. He
can invest. He can retire, when he is old.
Both the secular priest and the religious are bound to celibacy –
they can not marry. The secular priest is bound to celibacy by his
priesthood. The religious is bound to celibacy both by his priesthood,
and by a perpetual vow of chastity. The religious takes three vows:
poverty, chastity, and obedience.
George Willmann chose to be a religious, in the Society of Jesus.
He entered on August 14, 1915; took his perpetual vows on August 15,
1917; and studied his first two years of college proper, from 1917
through 1919, at Saint Andrew’s on the Hudson.
It was one of the largest religious houses in the world. It
sheltered one hundred Novices; one hundred Juniors, in the first two
years of college; and about thirty Tertians, in their last year of spiritual
formation, after ordination. There was a staff of about twenty Jesuit
priests and Brothers. Two hundred and fifty men. There wasn’t a
woman in the whole compound.
The Novitiate and the Juniorate had a rule of silence. The Jesuits
spoke only at definite times, and in definite places. For the religious, this
comes very naturally, and is a help to prayer, to work, and to studies.
But for outsiders it is sometimes frightening. A Norwegian writer went
to a Trappist Monastery in the snow covered mountains
of
Switzerland. He was greeted at the door by a monk who signalled,
with his hands, but did not speak. When he arrived, it was near supper
time. He was brought into the great dining hall, where all the monks
were standing, hooded, and absolutely silent. They said grace in Latin,
in small waves of sound. Then they sat down, and began to eat, in
silence. The writer was so terrified that at the end of the meal he ran
out of the house, and through the snow, until he dropped from
exhaustion. The next morning he went home.
16
Training
Saint Andrew’s on the Hudson was just as silent as that Trappist
Monastery. But to the young Novices and Juniors, this was normal.
The long black line moving down the corridor to the chapel, to the
dining hall.
The religious kneeling in silence in the chapel, waiting. The
litanies in common, the sound coming in little Latin waves. The Novices
at meditation, each one praying in his room. The Juniors studying, each
in his own little cubicle. Washing the dishes, in silence. Cleaning the
corridors, in silence. Waiting for confession, in the corridors, in silence.
But there were joyous, exuberant moments. The Novices at
recreation in the cloisters, outside the buildings, laughing. The Juniors
playing baseball, talking it up to each other in the infield. Novices on
long walks through the beautiful hills in autumn, when the leaves on the
trees are changing colors, and falling to the ground, peacefully. The
Juniors doing Shakespeare, emoting as Hamlet, and Macbeth, and Julius
Caesar, and Falstaff. The fusions, when the whole house was together,
comparing notes, talking to old friends, encouraging each other.
The Novitiate is an emotional time. The young men are facing
themselves, squarely, planning their lives, estimating their own strength.
Externally, it seems uneventful, but internally there are mountains and
valleys, sunlight and shadows, laughter and tears. Sometimes, a Novice
leaves, feeling that the life of a Jesuit priest is not for him. This is always
a sad moment. One young Jesuit said: ―Whenever anyone leaves, all
of us have failed!‖ It could, of course, be the will of God. But all of
the Novices feel a deep responsibility for each other.
There were beautiful moments: at Christmas season, when all of
the young men went out into the hills to gather laurel and weave it into
garlands…. The Christmas carols sung in the dark, on Christmas Eve,
just before the Midnight Mass…. The strong Lenten Liturgy, the
powerful men’s voices singing: ―My people, what have I done to you?
Answer me!‖…. The joyful days of vacation in the summer time.
Swimming in the Hudson River….the peaceful moments of prayer in
the chapel…. on the bluff, overlooking the river….the realization
17
The Gentle Warrior
that God is with you.
There were two painful crises for George Willmann, during
those four years at Saint Andrew’s. The first was World War I. The
United States entered the war in 1917, when George was a second year
Novice, about to take perpetual vows. Because he was in training for
the priesthood, he was excused from military service. But many
seminarians, all over the country, left their seminaries to enlist in the
Armed Forces.
George thought about this. He considered it, seriously. But the
overpowering reflection came from the Spiritual Exercises, which he
had made, for thirty days. It was the meditation on the Kingdom. God
was calling all to fight under His standard, His flag. Saint Ignatius
Loyola was a soldier, in the Army of Spain. He left the service of the
King of Spain, to enlist in the Army of a Greater King. The real war
was not fought with rifles, in trenches. It was not fought with
battleships, and with planes. It was the war of the spirit. Good against
Evil. Life against Death. And that was his war, where the stakes were
eternal. Not land, not money, not power. Nothing that ends with time.
He decided to fight under the flag of Christ Our Lord, under the flag of
God.
Other things, about the war, troubled him. Especially hatred.
There was a campaign to hate the Germans. Some of the relatives of
George, on the German side, had sons fighting in France for the Allies,
for the United States. And at home their houses were stoned, because
their name was German.
George was willing to fight for his country, but he did not see
the need for hatred…. From all his education, with the Jesuits, he felt
that deeper than the passion of nationalism was the brotherhood of
man…. It is alright to condemn the sin, but we should try to love the
sinner…. It is alright to condemn the fault, but we should try to love
the one who has it. Boys were dying ―to keep the world safe for
democracy‖. George never challenged this. He was not a pacifist. He
never said that he was against war. But he felt that there were deeper
and more beautiful things for which to die.
18
Training
He took his perpetual vows, as a Jesuit, on August 15, 1917, in
the chapel of Saint Andrew’s on the Hudson.
The second painful crisis was the death of his mother. Julia
Corcoran Willmann died on February 17, 1919, during his second year
of Juniorate, his second year of college. He went home to Brooklyn for
her burial. The six children, and their father, were united in their love
for Julia. Death is a gift of God, but it is always a shock. It always
comes like a thief in the night. It is always a time of heartbreak. It is
always a time of tears.
Forty eight years after her death, George wrote a letter to his
little sister, Ruth, who by that time was a nun, a Franciscan Missionary
of Mary. Her religious name was “Godfrey”. Here is the letter as
George wrote it. He was deeply sensitive, and his memory was sharp,
even after the long years.
March 4, 1967
Dear Sister Godfrey,
Hope my old memory is correct in telling me that
today is the anniversary of Father‘s death.
I
offered the Holy Sacrifice for
him and for
Mother also. Her anniversary, I think, is February
17. Correct? He, in 1937, she in 1919. Correct?
It is still early, just six o‘clock. My Mass was even
earlier, as usual, about 4:45 a.m. Then some
prayers, a cup of hot coffee. And now a few lines to
you, before I go to the Office.
For when I think of Father, I remember that you
were closer to him, probably, than any of the
rest of us. Remember his evening game of solitaire,
at Park Place?
Only it wasn‘t solitaire, because so often you
were at his shoulder, even making some of the
moves for him when he overlooked something. And
19
The Gentle Warrior
you were not more than five or six years old then. I
think you were only seven when in 1915 I went
away to the Novitiate at Saint Andrew‘s.
Then to digress, (and maybe repeat myself), for
ten years our dear Ed hated me, never gave
me
a courteous word when probably dragged
along
by Mother or Miriam
he
would
accompany them
to
Poughkeepsie or
Woodstock to see me. It was about 1926 that he
told me he had hated me all that time. Why?
Because in leaving home, according to him, I
had broken my mother‘s heart. Soft hearted under
his sophisticated bluff, he said he used to catch her
crying, and no doubt exaggerated it all. But he
almost cussed me because, he said, I was too
blankety stupid to realize, completely engrossed as I
was in my own affairs.
Meanwhile, anyway, I was away, and Father was
having his at least slightly upset emotional life after
Mother‘s death. I think you lived with him
and Elsie for quite a few years.
Any more
solitaire games? When you
weren‘t away at
Ladycliff.
But I know next to nothing about
what happened during those years.
But I remember him distinctly when you were
accepted to enter Fruit Hill. He and I were chatting
in that dingy old left building
near
Canal
Street in downtown New York. He quoted you as
saying that you wanted to be a victim, and that
he didn‘t want you to be anybody‘s victim. I
tried to explain to him the theological meaning
of victim, and remember telling him that as a good
father and husband he had been a sort of victim
himself for many years.
I‘m not sure he
understood.
20
Training
Then he added that you were a tomboy, or
something of that sort. To which I retorted that
probably some of
your contemporaries were
even worse. Then he bridled in your defense. ―Of
course there are others much worse!‖ Then Ed
and I were afraid he‘d break down on the day of
parting, and helped arrange for you to go by
plane to Providence. So at the Newark airfield he
was so distracted, perhaps with fear about his
darling taking a risky airtrip, that his other
emotions were controlled.
Enough, my dear. Happy Easter if I don‘t write again
soon.
With much love and prayer,
George
William Willmann was terribly upset by the death of his wife.
But he married again, later. The girl named in George’s letter “Elsie‖
was the woman he married. The six children did not approve of this
wedding. Dorothy, years later, expressed regret for their ―lack of
charity‖ to their father.
Ed and George became very close, later. Ed was sickly, and
died in 1965.
The four years of Novitiate were beautiful in many ways, but
stormy and painful. There were storms and pain in the world, and
storms and pain in the soul of George Willmann.
But that is how a warrior is trained for battle. He learns how to
live in the rain.
21
The Gentle Warrior
4.
Woodstock, Maryland
George Willmann traveled by train from Saint Andrew’s on the
Hudson, in Poughkeepsie,
to
Woodstock
College
in
Woodstock, Maryland. There he studied philosophy, for three years,
from September of 1919 until June of 1922.
The place was beautiful. Solemn brick buildings with tall grey
towers. Acres and acres of rolling ground — a nine hole golf course; a
little forest which was kept clean and attractive by the young Jesuit
Scholastics who cut down the trees and cleaned out the underbrush and
cut the grass and trimmed the bushes; a quarry which had a deep area
filled with water, for swimming in the summer time; a mile path running
around the cluster of main buildings. It was quiet and peaceful,
conducive to study, an ideal place for prayer.
It was the largest religious house in the world, sheltering three
hundred Jesuits, engaged in seven years of study. It was clearly divided
into two — the philosophate, which was the last two years of college
and another year for a possible Master of Arts; and the theologate,
which was the four years of study immediately preceding the
priesthood. The Jesuit philosophers, like George, were generally
between the ages of twenty two and twenty five. Philosophy was
followed by regency — three years of teaching. The Scholastics who
came back to Woodstock were normally between the ages of twenty
eight and thirty-two.
Because the buildings were filled with young men, who were
vigorous and energetic and in love with life, the mood of Woodstock
was joyous. After lunch each day the men poured out of the house to
play basketball, or handball, or tennis. They would walk across the
golf course to get to the quarry, for swimming. They went into the
woods with long saws and axes, to cut down trees. They ran around the
mile path. And in the kitchen they mopped the floors, and washed the
dishes, and then set the tables in the great dining room for the next
meal. The house overflowed with the energy of youth. The paths and
the playgrounds were filled with laughter. The young men felt that life
was good, that life was beautiful, that serving God was an adventure.
Their principal occupation was study. And they took this
22
Training
seriously. George was grateful for the classes in Logic. The course
appealed to his orderly German mind. He was fascinated with
Cosmology — the study of the universe — and with psychology, the
study of the human spirit, the human soul. Study was not hard labor; it
was not distasteful; it was a joy. George went to his books, at study
time, eagerly. He felt that studying philosophy was a great opportunity,
a wonderful chance to learn. Natural theology appealed to him — the
study of God. It was all so reasonable!
The Jesuit Scholastics laughed a lot, and — because they were
young men — they laughed most of all at themselves. When a nun
asked one theologian: ―What are you doing at Woodstock?‖ He
answered: ―Four years‖. In colloquial American language, that is
how a jailbird would describe his prison term: ―I am doing four
years.‖
Another Sister, very emotional, said to Father Walter Hogan
when he was leaving Woodstock: ―You will miss Woodstock!‖
Walter Hogan, who was a good friend of George Willmann, answered:
―Not if I take good aim, I won‘t!‖
The Scholastics had a fire department, and a real fire engine.
They were supposed to control the fires in the area around Woodstock.
The Jesuits themselves would point out to visitors various heaps of
charred ruins, saying: ―Those are monuments to the Woodstock fire
department.‖
Once in June, in the hot summer, while all the philosophers and
theologians were decorating the house for ordinations, a local boy rode
up to the front door on a bicycle and said, breathlessly: ―Could I see
the fahr chief?‖ In Maryland, fire was pronounced ―fahr‖. The
Scholastic decorating the front door said: ―He‘s around the back!‖
So the boy rode around to the back, on his bicycle. But everyone he
asked gave him new directions. After about an hour he came back to
the front door and said, wearily: ―Do you know where I can find the
fahr chief?‖ The Scholastic, who had first seen him an hour ago, felt
sorry for the boy. He said: ―Why? Why are you looking for him?‖
The boy answered: ―There‘s a fahr!‖
23
The Gentle Warrior
So the Woodstock fire department went roaring out to find the
fahr…..But the house was all burned down. Charred embers. Another
monument to the Woodstock fire department.
The driver of the fire engine always had trouble finding the fire.
Once the engine went roaring down the road, with the Jesuit
Scholastics on it, looking brave and heroic. They passed a little crowd
of Negroes, who waved to them, excited. The Scholastics waved back,
grateful that the blacks appreciated their bravery and heroism. They
roared down the road for ten more minutes, and could not find the
fire. They came back. The place where the Negroes were waving —
that was the fire! …. Charred ruins…. Another monument to the
Woodstock fire department.
During one fire, the driver of the engine saw the smoke! So he
headed straight for it, off the road, over the field. When they reached
the fire –– it was on the other side of a river. The Scholastics sat on
the fire engine, and watched the fire burn….Charred ruins…. Another
monument to the Woodstock fire department.
The plays presented by the Scholastics at Woodstock were
notorious. The faculty was never allowed to attend these plays, because
the Scholastics usually portrayed all the foibles, all the faults and
failures, of the administration. When Woodstock installed an elevator
there was great speculation on “What rules would be made for the
elevator?‖ One night the Scholastics staged a little drama. The Jesuit
Minister — the priest in charge of all things temporal — was writing
rules for the elevator. The Rector, who was also very strict, came
into his room and said: ―What‘s the matter? You look worried!‖
The Minister said: ―I‘m making rules for the elevator. I can‘t get
past the first rule!‖ The Rector rubbed his hands and said, with a
wicked gleam in his eye: ―Oh! I‘ll help you! I‘m very good at
making rules! What‘s your first rule?‖ The Minister held up the
paper on which he was writing and read:
“Rules for the
Elevator….Rule Number One….No one shall use the elevator!‖
When Dan Lord came to Woodstock for theology, he was also
notorious. When a young Jesuit is assigned to a school for regency, he
usually teaches in that same school for three years. If he is changed
24
Training
during those three years, it means he was not satisfactory. He is in mild
disgrace. If he is changed twice in three years, this is very bad. It is
double disgrace. It is the bottom of the barrel. Dan Lord was changed
three times. He had four different assignments in his three years of
regency. It was because he was very personable, and popular, and was
always becoming more important than the Rector. He had tremendous
initiative, and was always trying new things, which got him into
trouble.
So, during his first year of theology, the Scholastics dramatized
the regency of Dan Lord. When the Rector is throwing you out of his
community, to soften the blow, he sometimes says: ―They are asking
for you in this other town.‖ The most undesirable assignment, in the
days of Dan Lord, was Buffalo. So in the Woodstock drama, in which
he starred, they would portray all his troubles, and the Rector throwing
him out. Between each scene Dan Lord — who was a wonderful
entertainer — would sing and dance in front of the main curtain, with a
straw hat and a cane and spats, singing:
―They are asking for me in Buffalo!
Everywhere I go ….
Everyone I know ….
Is asking for me!‖
This kind of play does more good than is usually known. It
enables the student to laugh at himself. It restores balance. A young
Mexican Scholastic was studying philosophy in Spain. He was suffering
so much that he made up his mind to leave the House of Studies, and to
leave the Society of Jesus, and go home. But before he could announce
this decision to his Superiors, there was a fusion between the
Philosophers and Theologians, and the Theologians presented a play.
The star was a Mexican Jesuit, Miguel Pro. He was an imitator. For
thirty minutes he imitated each one of the Superiors, portraying all the
things which the Mexican Scholastic had suffered. It was so funny that,
in the midst of all the laughter and applause, he wept. When Miguel
Pro left the stage, the Mexican thought: ―If all these men have
suffered this, and if they can laugh, then I can laugh, too!‖ He
decided to stay in Spain, and in the Society of Jesus.
He wanted to thank Father Pro, and went to his room. When
25
The Gentle Warrior
he knocked, he thought he heard “Come in‖, and entered. Miguel Pro
was lying on his bed, white with pain, his knees against his chin. When
he realized he had a guest, he sat up on the bed, and talked to him.
Miguel Pro had ulcers, and was suffering from those ulcers while he was
doing the imitations that saved the vocation of the young Mexican
Scholastic! Miguel Pro was martyred, later, in Mexico.
It is important to know that George Willmann grew up in a
place like this — a barracks of three hundred men — where the
atmosphere was cheerful, manly, friendly. George was always a team
man. He was never a loner. It is remarkable how the friendships he
formed in Woodstock lasted through all the years! After fifty years his
friends remembered the handball games they played together, the tennis
matches, mopping floors together in the kitchen, reviewing together,
praying together, sharing their lives together. From the day he entered
the Society of Jesus until the day he died, the normal home of George
Willmann was a barracks, a community, a group of men living together,
laughing together, supporting each other. This was the training that
prepared him for the Knights.
Many years later, Dan Lord asked George Willmann to do him a
favor. He said: ―I want to ask your sister Dorothy to work with me.
Could you ask her for me? Tell her the truth. Tell her that I am a
savage, and hard on everybody, and that it is very difficult to work
with me. But I would be grateful if she would take the job.‖
When George Willmann relayed this message to his sister,
Dorothy, she asked: ―Is he really a savage?‖ George looked at her.
He really loved her. The family called her their ―Gift of God‖. He said:
―Well….whenever anybody really wants to do something, he is always
apt to step on a few toes!‖
Dorothy took the job with Father Dan Lord, and worked with
the Sodality of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and with The Queen’s Work,
and with Christian Life Communities, for the rest of her life.
In third year philosophy, the Jesuit scholastics began to think of
the specialty they would follow. Some chose education. Some chose
26
Training
social work. Some chose science. But George was not particularly
attracted to any of these. He was touched by the poverty that he saw
among the Negroes who lived around Woodstock. And not only
material poverty — spiritual poverty! They were suffering real
discrimination.
Woodstock parish had a Catholic school, taught by religious
Sisters, but it was for white children only. The government built a one
room schoolhouse for blacks. In that one room there were students for
all eight grades of grammar school, with one tiny frail black girl
teacher. She had to remove the woolly suits of her kindergarten babies,
in the winter time. And some of her eighth grade students were big
strong black boys, heavily muscled, and weighing 180 pounds.
The blacks had to ride in the back seats of the bus, and in the
back seats of the trolley car. Some restaurants were for whites only.
And in the parish church, there were three pews, in the back, for the
blacks. They had to receive Holy Communion after the whites. One
winter’s day on Sunday, the whites went to Communion first, kneeling
at the altar rail. A black girl wanted to receive. She waited until all the
whites were kneeling at the altar rail. Then she went up to the railing,
and knelt. Suddenly a group of white children came into the church.
They had been delayed by the snow. They hesitated, then plowed down
the center aisle and knelt to the left of the black girl. The priest gave
Communion to the white adults, but — when he came to the black girl
and saw more white children, after her, at the altar rail —he passed the
black girl, gave Communion to the white children, and then came back
to give Communion to the black.
George grieved over this. His heart went out to the
underprivileged. His heart went out to the poor. He felt that all men
are created equal, that the black girl was just as valuable before God —
and maybe even more valuable — than the whites. So he began to
think, again, of the missions. Only this time it was not the Chinese
babies, abandoned by their mothers in the trash can. Now it was the
Philippines. Because the sign was already on the bulletin board of the
Philosophers! The Province of Maryland-New York would be sending
Jesuits to the Philippines — even Scholastics! The Provincial was
asking for volunteers — volunteers to go to the Philippines for
27
The Gentle Warrior
regency, after third year philosophy!
George had read many military stories about the SpanishAmerican War. The battles in Cuba. The battles in the Philippines. He
went to the library, to research on this new mission territory.
He found it! It was an old magazine, which was describing the
American campaign in the Philippines. Among other things, he found
an article that had been written by a war correspondent named John
McCutcheon. It was printed in the New York Herald. It told the story
of a battle that was fought in the mountains, somewhere north of
Manila. The Filipinos had revolted against Spain, but when Dewey
sailed into Manila Bay the Americans took over the revolution. The
Filipinos lost more men against the Americans than they did against the
Spaniards! The article said:
The fight above the clouds at Tirad Pass was in
many respects the crowning achievement of the
War. It was a last stand, the only fight which can
be compared, in character of fighting ground
and
desperation
of resistance, to Thermopylae.
How stubbornly contested the position was may be
seen
from the fact that a
small force of
insurgents
held
back
the whole American
Army for a full day! And how loyal and
devoted the Filipinos were is told by the grim
record that they left behind them.
They were
sixty
men,
picked
from Aguinaldo‘s own
bodyguards, selected because of their devotion to
their leader and for their marksmanship. The
General entrusted
with
the
command
was
Gregorio del Pilar, Aguinaldo‘s best friend.
The
General built his barricades high in the rocky
ledges of the trail to guard the slender path that
wound up the precipitous mountainside. It was an
admirable position for defense.
28
Training
As Company G reached the base of the rail and
started upward there was no evidence of alarm on
the part of the insurgents.
We could see them slowly and deliberately loading
and firing on the men below. Even when the
American response was sharpest these statuesque
figures on the rock exhibited no signs of alarm.
Even with a company of our troops one hundred feet
away from them and two companies advancing from a
farther point there was not the slightest indication that
they had any idea of fleeing or of giving up. It was an
exhibition of cool deliberate nerve that was new to us
Americans.
All sixty men went down.
General del Pilar was the last man to fall.
Major March stood over the body of General del Pilar
and said to Lieutenant Quinlan: ―Bury him here
with full military honors, and place a cross over his
grave with this inscription: General Gregorio del Pilar.
Killed at the Battle of Tirad Pass, December 2,
1899. An Officer and a Gentleman.‖
George thought: ―These Filipinos are men! Greater love than
this no man hath, that he lay down his life for his friends!‖
He volunteered for the Philippines.
He asked his family to pray for this
brother. His father.
They prayed, with all their heart.
He was chosen.
*
*
* *
29
*
his four sisters, and his
CHAPTER TWO
The Battleground
1.
The Philippines
W
hen George went down from the gangplank, at the pier in
gangplank, at the pier in the Port Area, from the SS
Area, from the SS President Grant, he was impressed by
he was impressed by the sunny cheerfulness of the people. Not only the
people were sunny. The whole dock was sunny! It was bathed in
brilliant sunlight, the brass rail of the ship gleaming, little flames of
sunlight dancing on the hood of the only car on the dock, heat waves
shimmering up from the warm boards on the pier.
There were cargadores carrying heavy sacks of sugar, but they
were calling to each other, helping each other, laughing. A little girl
was at the foot of the gangplank, looking up at him with bright brown
eyes, and holding out a necklace of small white flowers. A Filipino
family was welcoming their son, who had come with George on the
ship. His mother was hugging him, weeping. George could see her
tears, in the sunlight. Even the tears were beautiful. George was
thinking: ―Tears of love!‖ Remembering his own mother, who wept
on the steps of Saint Andrew’s, when he carried his valise up the stone
stairs, and disappeared through the great wooden door.
There was a crowd of people on the dock, vendors selling
things; baggage boys carrying suitcases; some families standing in little
groups, looking up at the deck of the ship, waiting for one they loved; a
couple of agents dashing up the gangplank, against the traffic, waving
papers; everybody busy; all of them noisy; but all of them smiling!
30
The Battleground
Calesa drivers were calling out to him, from a distance, but the
Jesuit Brother who was guiding him said: ―We have our own calesas.‖
The group of American Jesuits who came on the boat were
ushered into the tiny carriages. When George sat down in the calesa,
he saw the broad belt tighten around the belly of the horse, and he felt
very sorry for that little horse. Their bags and boxes and trunks were
loaded into other carriages. They started out from the pier, heading for
the Ateneo in a little caravan.
A little boy, selling newspapers, standing in the street and
looking up at him, with big eyes. George made a gesture, trying to
convey to the boy that he had no Philippine money. The boy smiled. A
flash of white teeth. Bright brown eyes.
The policeman at the intersection, waving them on, smiling,
saluting the Jesuits as they passed. A mother wheeling her baby, in a
baby carriage. A little girl, carrying her baby sister on her hip. Caratelas
in the streets, the tiny horses trotting happily along. The music of their
hooves on the cobblestones.
The great, historic ruined walls of the Inner City, Intramuros.
Going into Intramuros through a gate, which was almost like a tunnel.
There was a moat around the wall, but there was no water in it. George
was looking for a drawbridge. The narrow streets of Intramuros. The
old Spanish buildings. San Ignacio Church. The white school. A group
of high school boys running out to meet them, laughing, calling to each
other in Spanish. It sounded, to George, like ―Los caballeros
Americanos!‖ The street was bathed in sunlight. The school was
bathed in sunlight. George had come to the missions. He was
breathless with expectations. It was a dream.
The next day he saw the wide peaceful expanse of the Luneta,
with people sitting quietly on the grass. The Manila Hotel — clean,
regal, majestic. San Jose Seminary, on Padre Faura, a regional seminary,
run by the Jesuits. The famous, historic Manila Observatory, with its
great telescope and its silver dome. San Agustin Church, built in
31
The Gentle Warrior
1585,with walls three feet thick. The Augustinians were the close
friends of the Jesuits. On the Feast of Saint Ignatius of Loyola the
Augustinians would say the High Mass at San Ignacio, an Augustinian
priest would preach, and the Augustinian seminarians would sing. On
the Feast of Saint Augustine, the Jesuits would do exactly the same
thing for the Augustinians, in that beautiful old San Agustin Church.
George walked from the Ateneo in Intramuros to Santa Ana, to
the Jesuit Retreat House called La Ignaciana. This was the first house
of the Society of Jesus in the Philippines when they returned to Manila
after the suppression, in 1859. It was on the Pasig River. George
looked at the Pasig River. This river was to Manila what the Thames
was to London, what the Tiber was to Rome. Everything big that ever
happened in Manila happened around the Pasig. The Rajah Soliman
came down that river in the black war boats, and stood up against the
whole Spanish Empire. Bolos and spears against the long rifles of
Spain. The Rajah Soliman died in the water. George was thinking:
―He was a man!
The Philippines has a beautiful history!
Courage. Incredible courage.‖
He visited Concordia College, which is close to La Ignaciana in
Santa Ana. The nuns showed him, with pride, the reception hall in
which Jose Rizal courted Segunda Katigbak, who was the first and real
Maria Clara. George had read about Rizal, as part of his preparation for
coming to the Philippines. Rizal was a boarder in the Ateneo, for seven
years. He was Prefect of the Sodality of the Blessed Virgin Mary. He
carved a statue of the Sacred Heart, with a pen knife, and gave it as a
gift to Father Sanchez. Rizal was “Emperor of the Romans‖.
On Sundays the boarders were let out on paseo. Rizal, at the
age of 17, would walk from the Ateneo in Intramuros to Concordia, to
visit Segunda Katigbak. He recorded it in his diary. Rizal wrote as
well, at the age of 16, as he did when he died. He describes his dynamic
courtship of Segunda.
It was in that big reception hall. There was a great circle of
chairs. Segunda sat on one side of the circle, and Rizal sat on the
opposite side of the circle, so that they were facing each other, for two
hours! To her right was her mother. To her left was her father.
32
The Battleground
Then there were about three aunties, and a couple of uncles,
and about four Nuns — Daughters of Charity. But Rizal and Segunda
would look at each other, for two hours, and then he would walk
back to the Ateneo in Intramuros, on cloud nine, dreaming of the next
Sunday, when he could sit in the circle of chairs and look at Segunda.
George read the diary of Rizal. He could feel the spirit of this boy, in
the dormitory.
When Rizal was being marched down from Fort Santiago to the
Luneta, to be executed, he looked at the towers of the old Ateneo in
Intramuros and said: "I spent many happy years there!"
They shot him in the back, and they expected him to fall and die
like a traitor, with his face to the ground. But after the soldiers fired,
with eight bullets in him, Rizal wheeled around and fell with his face to
the sky. George read this, and felt that it was a symbol of the Filipino.
The Filipino falls often….but he falls with his face to the sky.
It took George ten seconds to get permanent residence in the
Philippines. The ten seconds were taken up by the clerk, who asked:
―How do you spell your name, Fadder?‖
George felt that the Philippines had vibrations. Good vibrations.
They matched the vibrations of the Corcorans and the Willmanns. He
felt that he was home.
2.
The Ateneo de Manila
George Willmann arrived at the old Ateneo in Intramuros after
the school year had started. He was assigned to teach in College. The
Dean of the College made up for lost time by assigning George to teach
English, Latin, History, Religion, Economics and Political Science.
George was twenty-five yeas old. He was physically fit. He accepted
the teaching assignment with enthusiasm. He was accustomed to hard
work, because of his two years with that Bank on Wall Street in New
York.
He was Moderator of the Sodality of the Blessed Virgin Mary,
Director of the Ateneo Catechetical Instruction League, Moderator of
33
The Gentle Warrior
the monthly magazine, and Moderator of the Alumni Association.
His classes in English and in Latin were an adventure. The
Filipino boys were excellent in languages. Almost all of them were trilingual, at least. They spoke Spanish at home, English at school, and
Tagalog in the street. But because they were fluent in language, and not
embarrassed when they made mistakes, George was running into all
kinds of new words in their English compositions. He would be
working up to midnight, correcting the papers.
Once when he was prefecting the study hall of the boarders, a
young Tagalog boy came to him, in all innocence, and said: ―Father,
could I have permission to leave the study hall for a few minutes? I
want to kwan my kwan.‖ George looked at him, and said, slowly:
―You want to….what?‖ The boy said, happily: ―I want to kwan my
kwan.‖ George shook his head and said: ―You‘re not going to do
anything like that while I am prefect of the study hall! Go back to
your desk.‖ The boy pleaded: ―But I really have to kwan my shoes!‖
George said: ―Your shoes?‖ The boy said, eagerly: ―Yes! I have to
shine my kwan.‖ George said: ―Oh! Why didn‘t you say that in the
first place?‖ The boy answered: ―But I did! I asked permission to
kwan my kwan!‖
That was
when George discovered that “kwan” meant
anything. It could be a noun, or a verb, or an adjective, or an adverb.
George learned from the boys.
To update his History he read in the library, during all his spare
time — whatever spare time he had. This is how he learned so much
about the Philippines — it was Spanish; it was Malay; it was Chinese;
it was Muslim. He learned, little by little, to distinguish the Spanish
mestizos from the pure Malays; how to recognize a Chinese mestizo
by his accent; how to tell the difference between an Ilocano, a Cebuano,
an Ilonggo, a Waray-Waray, a Pampangueno, and a Bicolano, or a pure
Tagalog from Malolos in Bulacan.
The city itself was so rich in history! The place where he was
living was so rich! When Jose Rizal was marching down from Fort
Santiago to the Luneta, to be executed, the Jesuit faculty of the Ateneo
34
The Battleground
were on their roof, watching the procession. When Father Balaguer
was visiting Rizal in prison, he would walk home to the Ateneo in the
evening, and after supper he would tell the Jesuit community, in the
recreation room, what happened in the cell of Rizal during the day.
When Dewey was sailing across the China Sea toward Manila
Bay, on the night before the battle, Admiral Montojo went to confession
to his regular confessor, in San Ignacio. When the Admiral was
leaving, the Jesuit community stopped him at the door. They said:
―What are our chances for tomorrow?‖ Admiral Montojo, who had
long moustaches, for which he was famous, shook his head, ruefully.
He said: ―None. We are just going through the motions.‖
And Gregorio del Pilar was a student in the Ateneo de Manila, in
the classrooms where George taught! He never graduated. He dropped
out of class to join the revolution. He was killed in that battle above the
clouds when he was twenty four years old. Rizal slept in the dormitory,
where George was Prefect. Rizal ate in the dining hall. Rizal was
prefect of the sodality, of which George was now the moderator.
The history of the school went right back to the sixteenth
century. San Agustin was built in 1585. And at about that time the
Ateneo became the Ateneo Municipal — the government grade school
of Manila. The original seal of the Ateneo was the official seal of the
City of Manila. Every day, when he walked over the worn stones in
that old school, George Willmann was knee deep in history.
For religion, he tried to make his classes practical. He tried to
discover what were the real problems of his students. How deep was
their faith? Was it true that religion was forced upon the Filipinos, by
conquest, and was only surface deep? He discovered that — in his
Ateneo boys — the faith was in their blood stream. It was in the marrow
of their bones.
One day he saw a woman moving down the center aisle of San
Ignacio Church, on her knees. She went all the way from the door of
the church to the altar, on her knees! She was holding the hand of a
35
The Gentle Warrior
little boy, her son, only three years old. He was walking beside her.
George said, in wonder, to the student who was with him: ―Did you
ever see that before?‖ The college boy looked up at George and
smiled. He said: ―The first time I saw that….I was the little boy!‖
All of the Ateneo boys carried the rosary. It was their mark.
The Ateneo teams were called, even in the secular press, “the Hail
Mary Team‖. When the going was tough, on the basketball court, or
on the football field, they would kneel, all together, and pray. And then
they would come out, screaming. And, strangely enough, they usually
won! Of all the college teams in Manila, Ateneo was the hardest to
beat!
In the month of October, all of the Ateneo boys wore the medal
of the Virgin Mary. It was their mark. During October, college boys
gave talks on the Virgin, in the assembly hall, to all the students. The
boarders lived like religious. They went to Mass and Communion every
morning.
The Sodality of the Blessed Virgin Mary was the strongest
organization in the school. No student could be chosen as the captain of
a team, or be elected as President of a student organization, unless he
belonged to the Sodality. George was embarrassed at the fact that he, a
newcomer, should be the Moderator. He felt that he did not have
sufficient experience, that he was not thoroughly inculturated, that he
was not worthy. But he was proud of his boys when they marched with
their banners, when they went to Holy Communion as a body on First
Fridays, when they prayed together at the regular Sodality meetings.
He understood, now, how it was that Jose Rizal, as Prefect of the
Sodality, was the natural leader of the school.
His problem with the ACIL — the Ateneo Catechetical
Instruction League — was numbers! He had too many boys
volunteering to teach catechism. He organized them carefully, provided
transportation, and scouted for schools in which they could teach. This
was his first experience with organizing a First Communion class. He
was happy with the radiant faces of the First Communicants, and was
36
The Battleground
touched by the intense interest of the parents in their child. He tried to
gather enough funds for a first class “Communion Breakfast” after
the First Holy Communion.
It was here that George felt, for the first time, the pain of being
an administrator. He did not teach the children, himself. He did it
through his boys. The lessons were all in Tagalog. Sisters, from various
congregations, helped to dress the children. They fixed their collars,
and tied their ties, and arranged the veils of the girls, and lined up the
children at the church door. George was the organizer, the decision
maker, the planner. But there was a valley and a chasm between him
and the children. Watching them go down the aisle of the church for
their first communion, George felt like an outsider, a spectator. He
knew that somebody had to sit at a desk and organize. Somebody had
to go around the town and talk to the principals of the public schools.
Somebody had to hire a bus. Somebody had to get the funding, from
somewhere. But he wished that he could be closer to the children.
This was true of Vincent de Paul, the greatest of those who
worked for the poor. Vincent said once, to the great Cardinal
Richelieu: ―I am an administrator. I work for the poor. But I no
longer touch them. I do not know their names. I do not see the
face.‖ Richelieu was at that time the Prime Minister of Louis XIII. He
was managing all the state affairs of France. He said to Vincent de
Paul: ―I sign a paper at my desk in Paris, and a man is executed
in Marseille! Do you think I see the face? I give an order, and men
march into battle. Three hundred are killed. Do you think I know
their names? For you and me, Vincent, there is no private life.
Private life is a luxury.‖ That is the feeling that George had with the
ACIL in 1924, and it was the feeling he had when he was gathering
medicines, and arranging medical missions for the poor, fifty years later.
When he taught Economics, George tried to understand the
economic systems in the Philippines, and he began to fear that it was a
feudal society. A few people controlled all the wealth. The great mass
of the people had very little. Father Joseph A. Mulry campaigned for a
living wage in Manila. The wage he wanted was one peso a day.
People laughed at Old Joe Mulry, saying that he was a dreamer. One
37
The Gentle Warrior
peso was much too high…. But the laborers on the haciendas were
content with the system. When the wife of a laborer was having a baby,
the wife of the haciendero took care of her. When the children of the
laborer went to school, the haciendero paid for them. In any
emergency, they could go to the big house for help. To George, it
seemed very like the large plantations in the southern part of the United
States, in the days of slavery. On some plantations, the slaves were
content. But they were still slaves! George taught Economics carefully,
staying close to the prime principles, trying not to rock the boat. But
he wondered about that social structure.
It was much the same when he taught Political Science. The
Filipinos had declared Independence at Malolos in Bulacan, in 1898.
They had really defeated the Spanish conquerors. But at the moment of
their victory, the Americans invaded the Philippines, and took over the
revolution from Spain. The revolution continued against the Americans.
And the Filipinos lost more men against the Americans than they had
lost against Spain.
The articles, published by the Americans, always insisted that it
was a legal transfer of sovereignty from Spain to the United States of
America. George, thinking of the American Revolution against England
in 1776, wondered if the occupation of these islands was really justified.
America was bringing many good things to the Philippines —
principally education, and the American democratic school system. But
George looked with great compassion on that Declaration of
Independence, written in Malolos — an independence that never came.
Still, when he taught Political Science, he taught it carefully, trying not
to rock the boat. George was a quiet, careful conservative. He never
did anything on impulse.
He enjoyed his job as Moderator of the monthly magazine. Here
he learned what the boys really thought. Here he learned how
deeply they felt about many things. And it was a joy to encourage the
young writer, to praise him for a composition that was really good.
When a boy wrote about the beauty of a farm, the rice rippling in the
wind, the excitement of harvest time, the sweetness of living on a farm
— George discovered that this boy came from a farm. When a boy
38
The Battleground
wrote an agonizing story of a child dying of polio, George discovered
that the boy was writing about his own little brother.
George knew that his regency in the Ateneo was a two way
street. He was trying to teach, but he was also learning. The fact is,
when he went to an older Jesuit, who had long years of experience in
teaching, asking for advice, the old Jesuit said: ―These boys are bright!
They are restless. They all have ants in their pants. But they have
wonderful ideas! Get in there, and learn as much as you can from
them!‖ That is what George tried to do. He tried to learn, from the
students.
One day he found a high school boy sitting on the stairs, in the
morning, before the bell rang for class, feverishly doing his home work.
George watched him for a moment, and then said: ―Listen, son. That
is home work. You are supposed to do that at home!‖ The boy was
too busy writing even to look up. With his eyes still on the paper that
he was writing, he pointed with his thumb at a battered, soiled sign on
the wall above his head. The sign read: “ The Ateneo is your home.
Keep it clean!‖
The Ateneo was a boys’ school. The objective of a boys’
school is to make a man out of a boy. The main virtue of a man is
courage. God mirrored His virtues in His children. But he divided
them, between girls and boys. There is such a thing as a masculine
soul, and a feminine soul. If a boy and a girl are suddenly confronted
with a wild bull, thundering down on them, if the girl screamed and hid
behind the boy, that would be normal. But if the boy screamed, and
hid behind the girl, everyone would be ashamed of him. The virtue of a
girl is not physical courage; it is love and mercy. The virtue of a
boy is courage, and justice.
But, in our schools, there is no course in the curriculum called:
―Courage‖. There is no subject called: ―Courage‖. There is no
mark for ―Courage‖. It has to be taught in every subject, through the
whole life of the school. The Jesuits understood this, very well. And
George understood it. He began to learn the meaning of courage,
39
The Gentle Warrior
himself, when he was five years old, sitting on the curbstone on Putnam
Avenue, when the wheel of the garbage truck crushed both his feet.
In the old Ateneo there was a strong tradition of ―Romans‖ and
―Carthagenians‖. Jose Rizal was the Emperor of the Romans. Every
class was competitive. The Romans would be lined up on one side of
the class, the Carthagenians on the other. The first question went to
the Romans. If the Romans answered it correctly, the questioning
stayed with the Romans. If any Roman missed, the question went to
the Carthagenians. Then the Roman boys would growl and grumble at
the Roman who missed. It was competition, to teach courage.
And the battle cry of all the teams was: ―Animo, Ateneo!‖
You could translate that as: “Let‘s go, Ateneo!‖ or ―Spirit, Ateneo!‖
or ―Fight, Ateneo!‖ — but in practice it meant courage. Never give
up, no matter what the odds. ―Go, get ‗em, Ateneo!‖ Never say
die. This was obvious, in everything that the boys did.
But it never degenerated into: ―Win, at all costs!‖ The second
masculine virtue is justice. This means honesty, integrity, fair play.
Both at once — courage and fair play. The verse that every athlete in
the school knew by heart was:
―If I should win, let it be by the code,
With my head and my honor held high.
But if I should lose, let me stand by the road,
And cheer as the winner goes by!‖
It was a tremendous amount of work — teaching night and
day, running the Sodality, the ACIL, and the magazine — but George
loved it.
And his students loved him. The friendships that he made
during those three years of regency, from 1922 to 1925, lasted more
than fifty years.
40
The Battleground
3.
The Knights of Columbus
It was with the Alumni Association that George first met the
Knights. Many of the Alumni belonged to Council 1000, of the Knights
of Columbus — the only Council in the Philippines. Many of the
fathers of the boys he taught in class belonged to the Knights. And
then George remembered a conversation he had, seven years ago, in
1915, when he was about to leave his job in the Bank, in Brooklyn.
He was already accepted in the Society of Jesus. He was saying
goodbye to his old friends.
―I went to say goodbye to a few old friends.
One gentleman was a Knight of Saint Gregory, and
a wealthy man. He was like an uncle, rather than a
friend. I went to his business house to say goodbye.
He said: ‗Wait a minute, George. When you come
back as a priest, try to be a chaplain of the
Knights of Columbus. The Knights of Columbus in
Brooklyn are doing a lot of good, but they would do
more good if they had a chaplain who was active.‘ I
said: ‗I will try to do that.‘‖
When he met the Knights in Manila, in 1922, he could not
possibly be a chaplain, because he was not yet ordained. He was a
Jesuit Scholastic in regency, still in training for the priesthood. He
would not be ordained until six years later, in June of 1928.
George felt very close to this group of men — not only because
they were good men, and reminded him of the good Catholic men he
had met on Wall Street — most of the active leaders of the Knights
were from Ateneo families! Many of their sons would later enter the
Society of Jesus! The first Filipino Grand Knight, elected in 1918, was
Gabriel la O, a young lawyer, who took office at the age of thirty-two.
The Knights of Columbus was established in the Philippines in
1905, by thirty one Irish-American military men. As the faith came to
the Philippines with Magellan, in 1521, together with conquest, so did
the Knights come to the Philippines, with the American occupation.
41
The Gentle Warrior
But by 1918 the Americans were moving out, and the Filipinos
were taking over. The men whom George met at their meetings were
all closely associated with the Ateneo: Angel Ansaldo, Gregorio
Araneta, Jose Maria Delgado, Antonio Escoda, Felicisimo Feria,
Juan Guerrero, Julian la O, Maximo Paterno, Claro Recto,
Gregorio Singian, Jaime de Veyra, Jose P. Bengzon, Emeterio
Barcelon.
The Grand Knight during his first year at the Ateneo, 1922 to
1923, was Angel Ansaldo. The Grand Knight during his second year,
1923 to 1924, was Felicisimo Feria. The Grand Knight in his last year
of regency at the Ateneo, 1924 to 1925, was Jaime de Veyra.
When he met these men, at their meetings, George was
impressed by their seriousness. They were thoughtful, and deeply
interested in the Knights. They wanted the organization to grow, in
numbers, and in strength. They talked about their trips to the province,
to establish new centers: San Pablo, Cebu, Cagayan de Oro, Laoag
and Vigan. They talked about an amazing priest in the north, Isaias
Edralin, who was organizing the Knights in Vigan, and in Baguio. That
was the first time that George heard the name of this man — Edralin.
He was a secular priest, campaigning for the Knights of Columbus, in
the North of Luzon. In 1933, Father Edralin applied for entrance into
the Society of Jesus, and was accepted. He and George became good
friends, when George came back to the Philippines as a priest.
The Knights, in general, were philosophic about the American
seizure of the Philippines. One of them, who was enamored of history,
had a hobby of collecting original documents. He had rescued, from
somewhere, the thoughts of President McKinley when the United States
was ―annexing” the Philippines. He showed the document to George.
President McKinley said:
―The truth is I didn‘t want the Philippines, and
when they came to us as a gift from God I did not
know what to do with them.… I sought counsel
from all sides — Democrats as well as Republicans
— but got little help… I walked the floor of the
White
House
night after night until midnight;
42
The Battleground
and I am not ashamed to tell you that I went down
on my knees and prayed Almighty God for light
and guidance more than one night.
And one night, late, it came to me this way — I don‘t
know how it was, but it came.
1. That we could not give them back to Spain – that would
be cowardly and dishonorable.
2 . That we could not turn them over to France or Germany
— our commercial rivals in the Orient — that would be
bad business and discreditable.
3. That we could not leave them to themselves — they were
unfit for self government — and they would soon have
anarchy and misrule over there worse than Spain‘s was.
and
4. That there was nothing left for us to do but to take them
all, and to educate the Filipinos and uplift and
civilize and Christianize them, and by God‘s grace do the
very best we could by them as our fellowmen for whom
Christ died. And then I went to bed, and went to sleep,
and slept soundly, and the next morning I sent for the
chief engineer of the War Department (our map-maker),
and I told him to put the Philippines on the map of the
United States, and there they are, and there they will stay
while I am President.‖
The Filipino Knight said: ―I think they did it in good faith. It
was probably a mistake. But it
was the Providence of God.
Without the Spanish conquest, we would never have had the faith.
The Knights came to us with the American occupation. God draws
straight, with crooked lines.‖
The Knights were not only thoughtful — they were realistic!
They knew that they were ―elitist‖. In the popular perception, in the
language of the people, they were not known as the ―Knights of
Columbus‖. They were known as the ―Caballeros de Colon‖. The
language of the K of C was English — because of their Irish-American
origin. But, at home, most of the Filipino Knights spoke Spanish.
43
The Gentle Warrior
One of the Knights said to George: ―We were established in
this country as a counter-attack. A counter-attack against Masonry.
A counter-attack against Aglipayanism. A counter-attack against
Protestantism, a counter-attack against the general lawlessness of
bandits and robbers. We do that very well. We stand on the
ramparts, and we defend our Church. We stand on the ramparts,
and defend our Faith. But we are always
reactionary! We
respond to a crisis! Could we not attack?‖
His thoughts on the power of Freemasonry were valid. Freemasonry
came to the Philippines as a brotherhood of men, fighting against
oppression,
fighting for freedom! The Filipinos who embraced
Masonry, and championed it, were incredibly powerful with the people:
Jose Rizal, Marcelo H. del Pilar, Graciano Lopez Jaena, Antonio Luna,
Pedro Serrano Laktaw, Andres Bonifacio, Apolinario Mabini, Emilio
Aguinaldo, Baldomero Aguinaldo, Ambrosio Flores, Mariano Llanera,
Vicente Lukban, Trinidad H. Pardo de Tavera, Felipe Buencamino,
Ramon Diokno, Manuel L. Quezon. Freemasonry was the recognized
status symbol of the time.
William Fox, Supreme Director, wrote about this in his diary,
dated January 29, 1920:
―The Archbishop gave a dinner for me this evening.
The Archbishop asked
that
the
Order
be
extended in the Philippine Islands and it was the
consensus of opinion among those present that
membership in the Knights of Columbus would be
the salvation of Catholicity in the Philippines,
among the men.
It was said that the Masonic
Fraternity is making great inroads against the
Filipino people and it is necessary to save them from
themselves.‖
The Knights certainly were an answer. Not only to
Freemasonry, but also to Aglipayanism. A young priest from
Batac, Ilocos Norte, named Gregorio Aglipay, led a revolt
against the Spanish clergy, especially against the Spanish
religious orders, which were called: ―Friars‖.
44
The Battleground
Aglipay did not mean to rebel against the Church, or against the
authority of Rome. In his Manifesto of October 21, 1898, Aglipay
said:
―Now that the Revolution is about to emancipate us
from the political domination of Spain, we must
also endeavor to throw off the yoke with which
the Spanish clergy is still trying to enslave us.
In this way we shall become worthy followers of
those Filipino priests who immolated themselves in
defense of our clear rights, which have been usurped
high-handedly by the Friars, who have made themselves
masters of our dear land.
At the first meeting of the Council, a special
Commission shall be appointed to declare to the Holy
See, in the name of the entire Filipino clergy, its
unshakeable allegiance, and to obtain from the
Holy
Father
the
canonical appointment as
Archbishops and Bishops of those Filipino priests
whom the Council shall nominate for these dignities.‖
Obviously, Aglipay did not mean to rebel against the Catholic
Church. But another leader, Isabelo de los Reyes, born in Vigan, and
educated in the Vigan seminary, led a real rebellion on August 3, 1902.
He launched the Aglipayan Church, the Philippine Independent Church.
Out of seven million Catholics in the Philippines, at that time, one
million followed Aglipay and de Los Reyes. They identified the
Church with Spain. Revolting against the unjust oppression of Spain,
they thought that they had to revolt against the Spanish clergy.
This was a weird historical mistake. At that time, in some
places, the governor was also the Bishop. The Commandant of the
Spanish garrison was also the Bishop. The Bishop represented not only
the Church, but also the political domination of Spain. The poor
people felt that they had to rebel against the Bishop! And that is how the
Independent Church began.
45
The Gentle Warrior
The Knights said to George: ―We were established in the
Philippines as the defense force of the Catholic Church. Could we
not….sometimes….attack?‖
George brooded over that. The Knights were really a strong
defensive force. When they picketed a theater that was screening
objectionable films, the objectionable films were removed. When they
protested Masonic domination in the appointment of government
officials, at least the Government listened. They were really trying to
campaign against poverty. They proclaimed the principle that those
who were blessed with this world’s goods should share these with the
poor. But they did not know how to do this. The campaigns really
ended with a package drive — giving food and clothing to the destitute.
It was a stop-gap. But it did not change the climate of poverty. It did
not remove the squatters shacks.
The men said: ―We have to expand! We are about 700 Knights
now, but there are thousands of men who would join, if we
could accept them! New Haven will not allow us to set up a new
council. They think that we are too far away, too remote,
inaccessible! It takes a month for a letter to go from Manila to New
Haven, and another month for the answer to come back!‖
One Knight, the historian who found the thoughts of
President McKinley, said: ―I think that they consider us as a colony.
The Philippines is a colony of the United States. And Manila
Council 1000 is a colony of the Knights of Columbus in the United
States. We are called an ‗associate‘ council! We are still under the
jurisdiction of California! Sometimes I get the impression that they
regret setting us up, at all! They feel that we are too far away to
control.‖
The men spoke of a wonderful young secular priest who was
organizing the Knights of Columbus in the north . His name was Father
Isaias Edralin.
“But we can only establish Centers!‖ the Knights said. “There
is a need for the Knights all over the 7000 islands, and there is a
hunger among our men for an organization like this.‖
46
The Battleground
In 1925, when his three years of teaching at the Ateneo were
over, and he was about to return to the United States, the Knights said
to him: ―Please, when you get home, try to contact the Supreme
Knight in New Haven. His name is Flaherty. Please tell him that
you were here. That you saw us with your eyes. That we are
serious, and responsible. We want to grow. We need permission to
set up new councils of the K of C, at least in the big cities, like Cebu
in the Visayas, and Cagayan de Oro in Mindanao‖
George said: ―I will do that!‖
And he did.
4.
The Poor
George had the chance to go out of the City of Manila, down to
the large island of Mindanao. There the Jesuits had mission stations in
the mountains of the north, and in the Muslim areas of the great
Zamboanga peninsula. The Ordinary in the north, in Cagayan de Oro,
was a Jesuit — Archbishop Santiago Hayes, S.J. The Ordinary in the
south, in Zamboanga City, was a Jesuit—Archbishop Luis del Rosario.
He passed through the cities, the towns, the little towns, the
villages, the barrios, out into the rural areas, into the mountains. He
was touched by the poverty of the people. They did not have the
normal comforts of civilization — no roads, no schools, no hospitals,
no churches. They worked hard on their little farms, but they could
not bring their crops to market, for lack of roads. For the most part,
their food consisted of what they themselves could grow, or raise, or
catch. Their clothing was scanty, and sometimes ragged. The children
found it hard to go to school, because the school was too far away.
And when they fell sick, there was no doctor, no nurse, no medicine.
They were not only poor in material things, but even in the
things of the spirit. If they lived in the poblacion, they could go to
Mass on Sunday. But if they lived in a remote barrio, they had Mass
once a month, or once every three months, or once every six months, or
once a year, on the occasion of the town fiesta.
47
The Gentle Warrior
Even at fiesta time, they had to go down the mountain to the
town, through footpaths. There were no roads. They would stay in the
town all day. The priest — who came to the town once a year – would
hear confessions for as long as he could. Then he would baptize the
babies. Then he would solemnize the marriage of all those who wanted
to be married. Then he would say Mass. Before Communion he would
give General Absolution to all those whose confessions he was not able
to hear. Then everyone would go to Communion.
Every house was open at fiesta time. You were welcome in
every home. You could eat with anybody. In fact, the host family
wanted you to eat. It was a sign of friendship. George was a little
surprised when his guide said: ―Father, you have to eat in every home.
If you don‘t eat, they might be offended.‖
There was a band playing, sometimes. And sometimes there
was dancing. And games — basketball, volley ball. If there were
enough young men — a football game, soccer. And then the people
who lived in the mountains would start for home, through the
gathering shadows, winding their way through the mountain trails.
Finally, in the dark. But they knew the mountains. The mountains
were friendly. The mountains were their home.
The poverty in the rural areas was real, but in a way it was
beautiful. The simplicity of the people — their patience and their
cheerfulness — made it beautiful.
George was travelling through the mountains in a rickety
automobile. The car broke down. It took some time to do the repairs.
The people from the little homes on the mountainside gathered around.
It was high noon, and they offered lunch to George and to the four boys
with him. They accepted, gratefully, because they had breakfast very
early, and all of them were hungry.
They went into one of the little homes, and the family served the
four boys with roast chicken. The chicken looked good. It smelled
good. The four boys ate it with relish. But they did not serve George.
The daughter of the house, who could speak English, said: ―Father, for
48
The Battleground
you we have something special!‖ George wondered what could be
more special than the roast chicken, at that moment. He said: ―Oh,
I‘m very willing to take the chicken!‖ The host family would not
have it. They said: ―Wait! We have something special!‖
After some time the runner whom they had sent to the next
town came back, out of breath, panting, exhausted. He delivered his
package to the host family. And then they served George….sardines.
The chicken was ordinary. They grew the chicken themselves. The
chickens were clucking all around the back yard…. But the sardines
were imported! They were special… The family believed that anything
imported must be better than what they had at home.
George ate the sardines, and thanked the family for their
magnificent hospitality. George was always courteous. He was the
original Don Quixote, from the old school. He treated everyone with
reverence.
In the City of Manila, the poverty was more painful. George
saw the shacks of the squatters, everywhere. A squatter was someone
who built a shack on land that he did not own. Sometimes these shacks
were built out over the water, by the seashore, or over tiny streams
that were called esteros. Sometimes they were jammed all together in
dark little alleys. In one tiny room there might be eleven people -father, mother, children, relatives, friends. When they slept, they had
to lie on their side. If they all lay flat, they would not fit on the floor of
the room.
One of the campaigns of Old Joe Mulry, S.J., who was deeply
involved in social work, was for ―the moral division of a house‖.
By this, Father Mulry meant that the mother and father should have a
room of their own. And there should be a separate room for the boys,
and separate room for the girls. Everyone agreed that a house should
be that way, but….money. Money to buy the land. Money to build the
house. Money to maintain it…. Father Mulry was a dreamer.
What hit George hardest was the effect of this poverty on the
children. On occasion he would see a pimp leading a young girl out of
49
The Gentle Warrior
a squatter area, and putting her into a vehicle, and taking her away. The
girl was clean, and well dressed. George wondered how a child could
come out of that squatter area so clean! And he knew the motive of the
girl — to buy food for her family, to send her sisters and brothers to
school, to go to school herself.
George shivered at this. Men were selling girls, for money!
Judas Iscariot sold his God for thirty pieces of silver. But George saw
Calvary in every squatter area in Manila. Older, quieter Jesuits said to
him: ―George, you can‘t do everything! God gave you a job. It is
teaching boys. If you do that well, you are serving God. You are
serving Man.‖ But George could not forget the eyes of the little child,
sitting on the floor of the squatter’s shack, and looking at him through
the open doorway. He could not forget the girl in the yellow dress —
no more than fourteen years old — getting into the vehicle, on the road.
The abysmal depths to which poverty in the city can go, George
saw only when he returned to Manila, years later, as a priest. One of
the Sisters, who was helping him with the First Communion classes of
the Knights, took him under a bridge to meet her special squatter
community. George had heard of houses being built under a bridge.
But his imagination of it was relatively romantic. He imagined a river
flowing along, with grass banks on either side. The river passes under a
bridge. Someone builds a nipa shack on the ground where the bridge
arches over the stream.
It was poverty, but graceful romantic
poverty.
But, the reality!
The nun took him to a broad highway, with trucks rumbling
along, both ways. They stopped at a rise in the road. There was a
stone wall on one side, and a wire fence on the other. George did not
know that it was a bridge. They went down a steep set of steps, almost
a ladder. Now they were about twelve feet below the level of the road.
Just below their feet was a dirty little stream, an estero.
They turned and went into a narrow tunnel which ran under the
road. George could not walk straight forward, because the channel was
50
The Battleground
too narrow. It was pitch black . On both sides were the great cement
girders, holding up the road. The trucks were rumbling over their heads.
Below his waistline, about every ten feet along the channel, on both
sides, were openings — about eighteen inches wide — like the opening
into a dog house. When George bent down and looked through those
openings — there were the squatters. Sitting on the floor, because the
ceiling was so low that they could not stand up. Without light, without
air, without furniture, without anything!
Tiny rooms, with a whole family in each room. Sometimes half
dressed. Sometimes sleeping. After looking into three of these rooms,
George was embarrassed to look anymore. He was in the middle of
their lives! Sometimes the room split into two, with one family on the
right, another family on the left. Sometimes it split up and down, with
one family above, and another family below.
The whole place was damp. The footing was wet and muddy.
Half way through the tunnel, the Sister turned and said: ―Father, can
you see?‖ George answered: ―Of course I can not see!‖ He was
feeling his way along, with his fingers on the walls, on both sides. The
Sister said, cheerfully: ―Well, be careful! There‘s a hole!‖ If George
fell through that hole, he would be in the estero!
At the end of the tunnel was a young girl, almost nineteen
years old, pregnant, and bathing. She bathed the way they do it in the
provinces — scooping water out of a big tin can with a small tin can,
and pouring the water over her head. She was wearing a dress. George
thought: ―The poor child! She is trying so hard to be clean!” He
wondered where the water came from. When they came closer to the
girl, he saw that the water was from the estero! And the estero was a
sewer! It was filled with garbage. The only bathroom those people
under the bridge had was that estero!
The Sister introduced him to the children. They were barefoot,
looking up at him with big eyes. They were not baptized, most of
them. They were not registered with the government. They were
delivered under the bridge, by a street vendor. Their parents were not
married — most of them — because a marriage costs money. They did
51
The Gentle Warrior
not go to church, because they had no shoes. They did not go to
school. None of them could read or write.
They kissed the hand of George, pressing the back of his hand to
their foreheads. They were very respectful. One good looking little
boy was named: ―Yagit‖. That is the Tagalog word for “Garbage”.
He had another name, but he liked ―Yagit‖. That was the name he
answered to.
The Sister said: “We work on the survival level. We feed the
undernourished children, between their birth and the age of six,
once a day, five days a week. We have a little clinic to which they
can go, free. We try to teach a livelihood skill to the parents —
sewing, baking, carpentry. And we teach them, hoping that some
day, somehow, we will get them into a regular school.‖
It was hard to get these children into a regular school. Take
Yagit. He was seven years old. If you put him where he belongs in
school, nursery, to learn how to read and write, he would be with four
year olds, totally out of place. If you put him with his peers — the
seven year old children in Grade Two — he would be lost entirely.
Because all those children could read, and write, and count. You had
to teach Yagit privately, until he was capable of surviving in Grade
Two, and then send him to school. But then, he might run away. He
is not used to discipline.
The Sister said: ―We do not ask the mothers if their children
are baptized, because we are feeding the children. If we ask that,
they will think that they must have their children baptized, or we will
stop feeding them. Then they become rice Christians! So we wait
until they ask! When they ask us, then we marry the parents, and
baptize the children.‖
―How many people live under this bridge?‖ George knew
that there were many. There were two tunnels under the bridge, with
squatter homes on both sides of each tunnel. There were seventy
children in the feeding program. The nun answered: ―Five hundred.
About fifty families. And an average of ten people in a room.‖
52
The Battleground
George visited one of the homes under the bridge where they
had lost a little baby. The mother and father were sleeping. The baby
fell through a hole in the floor, into the estero, and drowned.
When George was packing his bags for the boat trip back to the
United States, to Woodstock, and to Theology, his thought was:
―Courage! These people have courage! Like I have never seen!‖
There was no doubt in his mind about what he wanted to do
after his four years of Theology at Woodstock, and after his final year of
Tertianship at Saint Andrew’s on the Hudson.
He wanted to come back to the Philippines.
*
*
*
53
* *
CHAPTER THREE
Boot Camp
1. Theology
“I
maintain that Negroes do not have souls!‖
This statement, coming from a young Jesuit who was studying
theology with him at Woodstock, startled George Willmann. The
Scholastic who said it came from the deep south. His family had been
slave holders, generations ago. His family had suffered much from the
Civil War. Before entering the Society of Jesus he had been involved
in agonizing, brutal race riots. The whole issue of “No discrimination
against the blacks‖ was painful to him.
George could not believe that the Scholastic really meant what
he said. George never confronted anybody, head on. He never tried to
prove a person wrong, and humiliate him in public. John Henry
Cardinal Newman said that a gentleman was ―a person who would
never cause pain‖. George was that way. He did not contradict the
passionate Scholastic, in the recreation room at Woodstock.
But he walked around the mile path with him, in the evenings,
talking quietly. George felt that it is obvious that all men were
54
Boot Camp
created equal, and that the Negro was a man. He did not fight with the
southerner. He listened to him. He heard him out. And then he
spoke about the history of the Negroes, in Africa, in the United States,
before and after the Civil War.
George persuaded the young man more by his sympathy with the
Negroes, his empathy, his compassion, than by intellectual reasoning.
Conviction rarely comes from a syllogism. It comes from the
convergence of five thousand probabilities.
George used as examples the Negroes who were working for the
Jesuits, in the kitchen at Woodstock. They were cooking for 300 men,
serving table, washing dishes, keeping the kitchen and the dining room
clean and beautiful. The natural leader of the Woodstock Negroes was
Gabe Bennett, a dignified, white-haired old man who had been working
with the Jesuits since his youth.
Finally the southerner admitted that George was right. He
granted that people in the south were saying wild things, out of
emotion. Thinking of Gabe Bennett, he agreed with George. Gabe
was a hard working, refined, gentle old man. George felt that he had
made a convert, that this man could fall in love with the hard working,
laughing, destitute Filipinos — just as George had fallen in love with
them.
There was a bus that came from Baltimore to Woodstock. It
carried the Jesuits who were coming to Woodstock from other places.
The train stopped in Baltimore. The last lap to the theologate was
always by bus.
One night the southern Scholastic came bursting into the room
of George, exuberant, pleased with himself. He said: ―I got into the
bus, in Baltimore. And there, sitting in the back, was Gabe Bennett!
And you know what I did? I went to the back of the bus, and I sat
down beside Gabe Bennett, just as if he were my equal!‖
George swallowed hard, and congratulated the southern
Scholastic. At least that was a step forward. But, when he was
55
The Gentle Warrior
alone, George thought: ―Just as if he were your equal!…. He is
your equal!‖ It was a chastening thought for George. He said, later:
―Maybe I was not as persuasive as I thought I was!‖
The incident helped him, in many ways. He was always
considerate with the blacks. He never raised his voice with any black
waiter. He treated them with reverence, as friends….. The workers in
the Philippines noticed this, later, when he was working with the
Knights. He always greeted them by name. He never lost his temper.
He never caused pain.
George kept in contact with the Knights in the Philippines.
Antonio Opisso was elected Grand Knight of Manila Council 1000 in
1925. Bienvenido Tan was Grand Knight in 1927. And Jose Maria
Delgado was Grand Knight in 1928, when George was ordained.
He got permission to go to New Haven, and he was able to
meet the Supreme Knight, James A. Flaherty. He presented the
request of the Manila Knights, to open new councils, at least in the big
cities: Cebu in the Visayas, Cagayan de Oro in Mindanao.
The
Supreme Knight was kind, and listened carefully; he really presented the
request to the Supreme Council, but it was refused.
George wrote:
―The Supreme Board of Directors were reluctant in
granting this permission. Their fixed policy had been to
refuse growth of the Order in foreign countries. They
maintained that since the Knights of Columbus was
organized specifically to meet the American way of life,
its regulations and traditions might prove to be
unacceptable in countries in other parts of the world.‖
Another Supreme Knight said, much later:
―On account of the difficulties of transportation and
communication we had very little contact with Manila
Council for many years and there was serious
56
Boot Camp
question as to whether it had not been a mistake to
extend the Order into the Philippines even for that one
council.
―The feeling that the Philippines were hopelessly
remote from our Order‘s headquarters seems to have
been accepted simply as one of the unalterable facts of
life and this acceptance continued even beyond the time
when travel and communication by air had been fairly
well developed.‖
So George came back from New Haven to Woodstock, mildly
disappointed. He tried, but he did not succeed.
The life of a young Jesuit theologian at Woodstock was as
regular as a clock. George did almost the same things, at the same
time, every day.
This appealed to him. It suited the German
―sitzleden‖ that he had inherited from his father, from his grandfather.
and from all the Willmanns.
Studying theology at night, in Latin, in his little room on the
third floor, underneath the eaves. Going down the hall to the
washroom, now and then, to splash cold water on his face, so that he
would stay alert. Looking up the exact meaning of the words in the
Latin dictionary, to be sure that he really understood the text.
Kneeling in the chapel, in the early morning, his eyes on the
tabernacle, praying for the light to understand and to remember all the
things that he was learning. Praying for the grace to love the subjects
and the books. Praying for the courage and strength and energy to
stay with it. Praying for his family, praying for the friends that he had
left behind in the Philippines.
Going to class in the morning, with an armful of books.
Taking notes while the Professor was lecturing, so that he would
remember. Most of the professors in Woodstock had written their own
textbooks. They knew their subjects, inside and out. And they kept
abreast of advances in the science, studying all of the periodicals on
57
The Gentle Warrior
theology, in English, in French, in German.
The professor in history, whom they called ―Honest Abe‖
Ryan, who knew so much that he could hardly ever make an absolute
statement. He would say: ―This is true‖…. Then he would think a
little, and say: ―Though you could say that this‖ — which
contradicted the first statement — ―is also true‖. Then he would
think a little more and say: ―Though you could also say….‖ And it
would end with a weak statement trickling down the middle.
Once Honest Abe Ryan said in class: ―The Jesuits are accused
of inventing Baroque. Of course, that is not true. The Jesuits did not
invent Baroque.‖ At this, he stopped, and thought, and then said:
“Though you could say that the same spirit which produced Baroque
also produced the Society of Jesus.‖
George was intrigued by this. At the end of the class, when
Honest Abe said: ―Are there any questions?‖ George asked: ―What
do you mean when you say that the same spirit that produced
Baroque also produced the Society of Jesus?‖
Honest Abe was always best when you questioned him. He
said: ―It was an impatience with time and space. If you go into a
Baroque church, you will notice that somehow it is foreshortened.
All the lines of the church lead to the altar. You feel that you want to
run down the aisle to the altar.
―In all other eras, when they painted the conversion of Paul
the Apostle, they had Paul kneeling on the ground, blind, his
face turned up to the light, static. But the Baroque painting of that
conversion has the horse rearing up, breaking the frame of the
picture. If it were a photograph, and taken a moment later, the
horse would be out of the picture. And in the Baroque painting Paul
is falling down to the ground, his arm outstretched to break the fall.
It if were a photograph, taken one moment later, Paul would be out
of the picture. Both the horse and Paul are breaking the frame.‖
58
Boot Camp
―In all other periods, when they painted the crucifixion of
Peter, you have Peter crucified, upside down, static. In the Baroque
painting, the executioners are throwing up the cross. The cross is in
motion. If it were a photograph, taken one moment earlier, the cross
would be out of the picture, on the ground. If it were taken one
moment later, the cross would be gone, through the upper corner of
the frame. It was an impatience with time and space.‖
―And it was this spirit that produced the Society of Jesus.
Christopher Columbus had just discovered America, a new continent.
Magellan had circled the globe. Vasco de Gama had gone around
Africa to India and the East. The world had broken open, like an
egg. That was the spirit of Loyola — sending men to Germany,
sending Xavier to India, sending Jesuits all around the world.
Founding colleges. Sending theologians to the Council of Trent.
Trying the impossible, always. Trying to break the existing frame of
the world. An impatience with time and space.‖
Going into the big dining hall at noon. Standing in silence,
waiting for the Minister of the House to say grace. Eating in silence.
Listening to the reading at table…. After lunch, sometimes, on the
kitchen crew, washing dishes, scrubbing pots and pans, setting the tables
for the next meal, mopping the floors.
Going out into the woods in the early afternoon, with the long
cross-cut saw over his shoulder. Sawing down trees with Vince
Kennally, his close friend, who went with him to the Philippines and
who taught with him in the Ateneo de Manila. Coming home soaked
with perspiration, listening to the birds singing in the trees. The
freshness and vitality that came with a cold shower! Hot coffee in the
kitchen. And back to class.
The morning was usually dogma. In the afternoon it was moral
theology. George concentrated on moral theology, because he felt that
this was what he would use most when he went back to the Philippines
— the application of the law of God to the actions of men. The
science of right and wrong. The study of good and evil.
59
The Gentle Warrior
Walking around the mile path at night, through the quiet trees.
Talking about the things he heard in class, the things he had read in
books. Talking about the Philippines. Listening to the problems of his
friends, their trouble with some professors, their trouble with the
discipline of a religious house of studies. George understood what
they were saying. He felt these hardships himself. But he also felt that
they were inevitable, that they were bearable.
One evening, coming in from the mile path after the period of
recreation, he found two young Jesuits at the water fountain on the third
floor. One was saying to his friend, who was obviously in deep
desolation: ―Now listen, Willy. God would never give us all this, and
Hell too…. God would never do that!‖
Litanies at night in the chapel. The prayer coming in waves.
Calling on all the Saints of the last two thousand years: ―Saints Peter,
James and John….Saints Paul and Barnabas….Saints Augustine,
Benedict, Dominic and Francis….Saints Ignatius Loyola and
Francis Xavier…. Saints Jean de Brebeuf and Isacc Jogues….‖
Saints from Europe and North America, Saints from South America
and Asia…but never any Filipino saint! George wondered about this.
Vince Kennally said, casually: ―Well….I guess it‘s hard to become a
saint when you live in the tropics.‖
Going to bed at night. Opening the window a little, so that he
would have fresh air. This was taught to him by his mother, who
learned it from her mother. It was a Corcoran tradition. Only now,
when he looked out the window, he did not see the night lights of
Brooklyn. Only trees, their leaves rustling, swaying in the light
breeze. And no sound of the Brooklyn traffic. Only the rustling
leaves, the cheerful murmur of the crickets, and the peaceful song of
the chickadees. The night sounds of Woodstock. No neon signs,
flashing blue and red and yellow, but over the trees, the stars. The stars
were so close that he felt he could almost reach out and touch them.
George went to sleep, dreaming of the stars.
He was ordained to the priesthood on June 20, 1928, by
60
Boot Camp
Archbishop Curley of Washington, D.C. It was a special privilege of
the Society of Jesus that the Jesuit Scholastics, studying theology,
could be ordained after their third year. They still had to study one
more year of theology, but this was done as a priest. At Woodstock
the fourth year theologians, already ordained, were called: “Fourth
Year Dads”.
It was thirteen years after George had entered the novitiate at
Saint Andrew’s on the Hudson. The observation of other religious
orders was: ―In the Society of Jesus, ordination is the reward of a
life well spent.‖ George received the Sub-diaconate on June 18, the
Diaconate on June 19, and the priesthood on June 20, 1928. It was
nine days before his thirty-first birthday.
His family came to Woodstock for the ordination.
It was
always an important time for all the three hundred Jesuits who lived and
studied and worked at Woodstock. The whole three hundred were
marshalled to make the event beautiful for the men to be ordained, and
for their families. The house was cleaned and decorated. Lodgings
were prepared for all the guests — priests in Woodstock itself, the
families in friendly homes close to the college. Transportation was
organized. All the meals. Entertainment for the nuns who came to
the ordination. Ushers. The whole procedure, after seventy five years
of experience, was so smooth that it was idiot-proof.
George’s father came with the new wife whom he had married,
Elsie. His eldest sister, Miriam, the quiet one, who was thirty five years
old, and not married. Agnes, the affectionate one, thirty-two at this
time, and already a religious, a Franciscan Missionary of Mary. His
sister Dorothy, whom the family called their “Gift of God”, twentyseven, and not married. And the baby sister, Ruth, the bright one. She
was preparing to enter the Franciscan Missionaries of Mary, and was
having trouble with their father, who thought that she was too fragile
and frail. And his brothers — Ed and Bill. Bill was seven years old.
They were all very supportive. George said his first Mass only
for them, in one of the little chapels at Woodstock. He gave
Communion to them all — his father, his sisters, his brother Ed.
61
The Gentle Warrior
When he did this, he was very conscious of that prayer in the Mass,
before Communion: ―Domine, non sum dignus‖ — Lord, I am not
worthy.
He prayed that he would be worthy of his family, and worthy of
all those whom God would send to him, through the long years.
When he stood at that little altar at the end of the Mass, and
turned to bless his family in that tiny chapel, and then came down to kiss
each one — his sisters wept, and kissed his consecrated hands.
When Ruth kissed both his palms, and her tears fell on his hands,
the realization came to George — he was a priest.
He was a priest, forever.
2. The Priesthood
The life of the Jesuit students at Woodstock was deeply
spiritual. Their study of philosophy and theology was systematic and
solid. It was really an excellent training ground for the priesthood.
But the young Jesuits loved to laugh at themselves. In one of
the musical dramas which the theologians presented for themselves and
for the philosophers only — when all of the professors and
administrators were not allowed to attend — a Scholastic summed up
the long course of studies in a song. The melody came from a popular
professional composition. The lyrics were written at Woodstock.
“What do you do in the Noviceship?
You sweep! You sweep! You sweep!
What do you do in the Juniorate?
You sleep! You sleep! You sleep!
What do you in Philosophy?
Well, sometimes I wish I knew —
And what do you do in the Regency?
You stew! You stew! You stew!
What do you do in Theology?
You stall! You stall! You stall!
62
Boot Camp
What do you do as a Fourth Year Dad?
You answer every call!
What do you do in the Tertianship?
You pray that your nerves won‘t give!
And what do you do for the rest of your life?
You live! You live! You live!‖
As a Fourth Year Dad, newly ordained, in his first year as a
priest, George was sent out on week ends — about once a month — to
say Mass in a parish church, to hear confessions, to baptize, to assist
the Pastor in whatever the Pastor needed. At Woodstock, these were
known as “calls‖.
When George began to preach, he was as nervous as a kitten.
He wrote out every word, of every sermon, and memorized it. He
tried to make sure that he was not preaching heresy, that his homilies
were ―relevant” to the lives of the people, and that they satisfied the
pastor.
Satisfying the people was not hard. George was young, slender,
good looking, and vibrant. The men who were taking up the collection
during Mass would say to him, in the sacristy, when the Mass was over:
―Father, that was a good sermon! I liked it!‖ Women would come
around to the sacristy, and take his hand, and say: ―Father, what you
said was so true! I loved every word!‖
But satisfying the Pastor was sometimes difficult. When he
was assigned to the Cathedral in Washington, D.C., the Bishop said:
―Now the Mass begins exactly on the hour. When the hand of the
clock in the back of the church reaches 25, I want you to stop
preaching! The next Mass starts on the hour!‖
George tried to do this. But his first Mass at the Cathedral got
off to a slow start. He had to come down the middle aisle from the
back of the church, in procession. And something delayed the altar
boys. Then there was the “Asperges‖. He had to go around the side
aisles of the church, and then down the middle, sprinkling holy water.
His sermon ended at 8:30 instead of 8:25.
63
The Gentle Warrior
Between Masses the Bishop brought him to the window of the
parlor in the rectory, and pulled back the curtain, and showed him the
total confusion in the parking lot. The cars from the 8 o’clock Mass
trying to get out, and the cars coming to the 9 o’clock Mass trying to
get in. He said: ―Do you see that? Do you see that mess? Do you
know who caused it? You! I told you to stop preaching at 8:25!
Now, in this next Mass, at 9:25, even if you are in the middle of a
word, stop!‖
George said: ―Yes, Your Excellency. I am sorry, Your
Excellency.‖ When George told this story to the other Fourth Year
Dads — because they always compared notes on all the calls — he
said: ―What the Bishop was saying to me, loud and clear, without
saying it, was: ‗You idiot! Look what you are doing to my
church!‘‖
Still, the calls were a great adventure. In confession, George
tried to remember the way Christ Our Lord forgave sins when He was
on earth. They brought that girl to him, taken in the act of adultery.
They threw her down before Him. The men were carrying stones, and
with these stones they meant to kill her. It was a Jewish game. It was
what they knew how to do. They were going to drag her through the
streets with a sign on her breast, saying “Adulteress‖. And everyone
would come out — every man, woman, child and dog.
They would kneel her in the plaza, and throw sharp stones to
cut the flesh, to make her bleed, to cause pain. And if she fell, she
would get up on her knees again, because if she stayed down, they
would kill her. When she had borne all the pain she could bear, when
her flesh was in ribbons, then they would throw bigger stones, to break
the bones. When the ribs were broken, and the blood gushed up
through the mouth, and she fell — then a man appointed to it would
stand over her with a great stone, and crush the skull. Then they would
put all the stones over the body, and a new sign on top of it, saying :
―Adulteress‖. It was their way of encouraging girls to be good.
Our Lord wanted to forgive her sins. He did it with the
gentleness of God. He bent down and wrote upon the ground the sins
64
Boot Camp
of all the bystanders. Then he said: ―Let him who is without sin
among you cast the first stone.‖ They began to steal away, beginning
with the eldest, until the girl was left alone. Then Our Lord said:
"Does no man condemn thee?‖ She said: ―No man, Lord". He
said: ―Then neither do I condemn thee. Go, and sin no more.‖
She walked out of that temple in the love of God — without
one embarrassing moment, without one harsh word. And Our Lord
was always that way — with the woman at the well in Samaria, with
Mary Magdalene, with Peter when Peter denied him three times before a
serving maid. Our Lord would have forgiven Judas, if Judas had asked
for pardon.
George tried to be that way, in confession. He knew that
confession was not supposed to be a torture. It was meant to be a
sacrament of peace, a sacrament of love. He was trying to be like God,
as gentle as Our Lord was, in the temple, with that girl.
When he gave out Holy Communion, he was emotionally
moved, always, in that first year of his priesthood. The children knelt at
the altar rail, their hands crossed over their breast. They looked up at
him. Their innocent eyes. The children of God. At every Mass,
George felt as he felt with his own family during his first Mass at
Woodstock: ―Domine, non sum dignus!‖ Lord, I am not worthy!
At every baptism, George was supposed to give a little homily.
Looking at the babies he was baptizing, he would say: ―No event,
happening anywhere, is more important than this. This baby is
worth more than all the buildings in this city, put together, edge to
edge, including all the banks, and all the money in the banks.
Either you see the world that way, or you see it wrong. Five thousand
years from now, this city will be a hole in the ground. And pythons
will be moving up and down, where Main Street is now. All the
buildings will be gone. There will not be left a stone upon a stone.
The money will be gone. All the gold will be melted. All the paper
will be burned. But five thousand years from now, this baby will be
beginning to live with God. Here we are dealing with the life of a
child. Nothing is more important than that!‖
65
The Gentle Warrior
Once, when he had finished saying Mass, the altar boy said:
―There is a woman here, who wants to be churched.‖ George said:
―What is that?‖ The boy said: ―I don‘t know. But it is in the book.
The priest reads prayers out of this book. The lady is kneeling at the
altar rail, with her baby.‖
George took the book of blessings, and opened it to ―The
Blessing of a Mother after Childbirth‖. Somehow, during the liturgical
classes at Woodstock, they had never taken this one. George
remembered that, in his own home, when Ruth was born, he was
eleven years old. He went to Mass with his mother, on a week day, just
after Ruth was born. After Mass, his mother said to him: ―Go and tell
the priest that I am kneeling at the altar.‖ George was mystified.
He said: ―But what shall I tell him to do?‖ His mother said: ―Never
mind. The priest will know. Just tell him.‖
So, in fear and trembling, George went into the sacristy, where
the priest was unvesting, and said: “My mother is kneeling at the
altar.‖ To his amazement, the words were like a charm in a fairy tale,
like ―Open, Sesame!‖ The priest said: ―Oh!….Okay.‖ He took a
book, and went out into the sanctuary, and blessed Julia Corcoran
Willlmann, who was kneeling at the altar.
George, watching this when he was eleven years old, realized
that his mother was being “churched‖. Somehow, it was like the
Virgin Mary going to the Temple forty days after Our Lord was born,
to be blessed. The thoughts of George at that time were: “My mother
just had a baby. And there seems to be a lot of mystery about having
a baby. Nobody wants to talk about it. Maybe there is something bad
about having a baby, and this blessing is to drive out the devil, so
that my mother can come back to church again.‖
At eleven,
George had this blessing mixed up, in his mind, with exorcism.
But when he read the prayer, in Latin, it was beautiful! It was
the mother, thanking God with all her heart, for the gift of her baby.
Asking God to bless the baby, and take care of the baby, and help the
baby to grow up in the love of God. It was the mother asking God to
touch her mind and her heart, and to give her the grace to be a good
wife to her husband, and a good mother to her baby.
66
Boot Camp
When George went out into the sanctuary, with the book of
blessings, to ―church‖ a woman for the first time, the mother kneeling
at the altar rail was a young Polish girl, about 23 years old, holding her
new baby in her arms. George said the prayers in Latin, because they
were printed in the book of blessings in Latin. At the end, he bent over
the young girl and tried to explain, in a few words, what the prayers
said, and how beautiful they were. She looked up at him, and smiled,
and said: ―Thank you. That is what I wanted to do. I wanted to
thank God for my baby, and I wanted to be blessed. Thank you!‖
George was very happy, some years later, when these blessings
began to be given in English, or in French, or in German, or in Tagalog
— in the language of the people — so that everyone would
understand exactly what was happening.
The last year of theology — 1928 and 1929 — was difficult.
He was preparing for the ―ad grad‖ exam. This was the hardest exam
in the whole course of studies, for a Jesuit. It was an oral exam, in
Latin, on four years of theology. Four examiners did the questioning.
It went on for two hours, with a small break for coffee in the middle. In
a way, it is like the board exam for doctors, the Bar Exam for lawyers.
It is gruelling.
Between Theology and Tertianship George was assigned to
Welfare Island in New York City. This is an island in the middle of
the East River. You enter it from the bridge. It shelters the poor and
the destitute of the Big City. Those who are sick, those who are
poverty stricken, and those who have gotten into trouble. One of the
Institutions on the Island was a correctional home, for girls.
It was here that George discovered what a ―Chronic Hospital‖
is. Goldwater Hospital, on Welfare Island, is one of the largest hospitals
in the world. It has twenty-one wings. The main building is a
quarter of a mile long. They needed young priests there, to help the
chaplain, because just giving out Communion in the morning was an
endurance test. The priest walked, literally, for miles.
No patient was admitted to Goldwater unless they had been sick
67
The Gentle Warrior
for five years, and were incurable. There were no private rooms, only
wards. All the patients were charity patients, because — when you
have been sick for five years — you are destitute. No matter how much
money you had when the sickness started, after five years you are
destitute. There were very few real nurses in Goldwater. Most were
nurse’s aides. And most of the nurse’s aides were black.
No patient ever left Goldwater. At least no patient ever left
through the front door. All went out through the back door, through
the morgue. All the patients were terminal.
It was here, also, that George discovered how much the doctors
did not know. All of the diseases in Goldwater were incurable. Multiple
sclerosis. Arthritis. When George was young, he thought that arthritis
was a discomfiture for the elderly. Your hands grew stiff. But he found
out that it was a killer! Your backbone calcifies. It becomes rigid.
The patients lie in bed, unable to move. They have a rack above their
heads, holding a book. But they can not turn the pages unless someone
comes by, to turn the pages for them.
Many of the doctors in Goldwater were excellent! They were
doing research, on incurable diseases. They were experimenting. They
needed the chaplain, and they used the chaplain, to persuade the patients
to undergo operations. At first, when they were new in the hospital,
the patients would sign for the operation. But after one failure, two
failures, three — they would not sign anymore. They would say to
George: ―They are experimenting! They are trying out new things,
to see if they will work! I don‘t want to be an experiment. No
more!‖
But some of the patients were really saints. George found a
Jewish girl, in the arthritis ward, who could not move her back, or her
arms, or her hands. And she was in pain. But, lying in her hospital bed,
she composed poetry — beautiful poems! She would repeat them in her
mind, over and over, and then dictate them to a friend, when the friend
came to visit. George never tried to convert anybody, in Goldwater.
He respected their religion. He respected them! He was finding out
that you did not have to be a Catholic, to become a saint.
68
Boot Camp
One black girl, in the arthritis ward, about thirty-three years old,
was visited by her husband on Sunday afternoon. The husband was a
big, strong, black man. He said to his wife:
―You in this
hospital….And you ain‘t comin‘ out….And I‘m still young.‖ The
wife, rigid in her hospital bed, said, softly: ―And you have found
somebody else‖. The black man hung his head and said: ―Yeah‖.
―And you want your freedom?‖…. He looked at her, and said:
―Yeah.‖
She did not fight it. He had brought the divorce papers with
him. She could no longer sign, but she did the best she could — she
gave her thumb print. The man went out of the hospital, with the
divorce papers.
George made his rounds, of all the wards, at night. And every
night, for the next month, when he went through the arthritis ward in
the dark, he could hear this black girl, sobbing. Her bed was in the
far corner. But he could hear her clearly, sobbing. She loved this
man, and she thought that he loved her, but he didn’t. George,
listening to the agonizng sounds of this poor girl, in the dark, had a new
vision of the words that the bride and groom say in the wedding
ceremony:
―From this day forward,
for better or for worse,
for richer, for poorer,
in sickness and in health,
until death do us part!‖
One morning, when he was giving out Communion, he came to
a bed where the woman was ready to receive — propped up in her
bed, her hands folded, the rosary in her hands. But she was dead. He
continued to distribute Communion, to the other patients. On the way
out of the ward he said to the head nurse: ―The patient in Bed 37 is
dead.‖
All of the things that he had learned in Theology suddenly
became real. The way Goldwater Hospital was built, the male ward
69
The Gentle Warrior
stretched out from one side of the main corridor, and the women’s
ward stretched out from the other side of the corridor. Two
paraplegics, in wheel chairs, met in the corridor, between the two
wards. A girl and a boy. They fell in love. They wanted to be
married. They presented their case to George.
George discussed this with the Chaplain, who was an old man, a
Jesuit priest, weighted with experience. He said: ―No. For two
reasons. One, they are both impotent, and impotence is a diriment
impediment to marriage. The marriage would be invalid….Second,
we have no private rooms, where they could live together. It would
upset the discipline of the hospital…. Be kind to them. Counsel
them. But say no.‖
George was kind to them. He counselled them. And he said:
―No.‖
In Tertianship at Saint Andrew’s on the Hudson, he felt that he
was coming home. The old wooden buildings were exactly the same as
they were when he was a novice, fourteen years ago. The same wide
river, rolling along. The ocean liners plowing slowly up the middle of
the river. The great waves that the ocean liners produced, breaking
on the shores. The snow in winter. The Christmas carols. The chapel,
where he had prayed as a boy. Now he was praying as a man. The
friends, who made Tertianship with him. Old friends, whom he had
known for fourteen years. The long retreat. Thirty days of prayer.
Meditating on the deep truths which he had known as a boy. They
were still valid. ―What doth it profit a man if he gain the whole
world, and suffer the loss of his immortal soul?‖ The wisdom of the
Tertian Instructor, pointing out how close the life of Inigo Loyala was
to the life of every Jesuit. Loyola was a soldier. He was a warrior, a
successful warrior. But he chose to fight on the fields of eternity,
rather than on the fields of time. And he chose to fight with the gentle
weapons of God.
During Lent he was sent out to give retreats to Sisters, and to
preach at the novena of Ignatius and Xavier, the Novena of Grace. He
went to the Tertian Master and made a mild protest. He said: ―Father,
70
Boot Camp
it is too much! I have never given a retreat to Sisters! I have never
preached the Novena of Grace! I have to prepare!‖
The Tertian Master listened patiently, and then said: ―Now,
look. You are a young priest. People like to see a young priest.
They like to listen to a young priest…. They know that you do not
know anything! Just do the best you can. It will work out alright.‖
So George did the best he could, and it worked out alright.
What he remembered most from Tertianship was the meditation
on the nativity, at Christmas time. The Tertian Master said: "Loyola
says that you should imagine that you were there in the stable, as a
serving maid. This would be hard for you, because you are all
men.… You could imagine that you were Saint Joseph, but this
would be hard for you, also, because Joseph was very good….So,
knowing you as I do, I think that it would be best for you to imagine
that you were….the donkey!‖
George meditated on this, and was happy with it. The donkey,
carrying God and His Virgin Mother to men. The donkey, with all his
faults and failures, his stubbornness, his stupidity. This was the priest.
With all his faults, he carried God to men.
In the last months of his Tertianship, the market crashed. There
were so many suicides on Wall Street that the New York newspapers
could not record them all. Men turning on the gas, in their bedrooms.
Men jumping out of windows, on the fourteenth floor. Men shooting
themselves through the head. Men drinking insecticide.
George knew Wall Street better than most of the Tertians. He
understood the panic, the terrible depression, the despair.
But he
agreed with all the other Tertians: money is not the main thing in
the world. The main things in the world are life, and love. And
these will go on, with or without the money. But the newspapers were
filled with the terrible news of this disaster, and its effect on the people
of the world.
71
The Gentle Warrior
In that last winter at Saint Andrew’s, George revelled in the
snow. He was thinking: ―If I go back to the Philippines when my
Tertianship is over — this might be the last snow that I will see!‖
But he was not sorry for that. He looked forward to the
Philippines. He dreamed of the Philippines.
He would go back there, as a priest.
3. The Quartermaster
But, when he finished Tertianship in June of 1930, George
Willmann was not sent back to the Philippines. He was assigned to the
Jesuit Seminary and Mission Bureau in New York City. He was the
director of the Jesuit Seminary Fund, and editor of the Jesuit Seminary
News.
George accepted the assignment cheerfully, and without protest.
He would not be on the missions, but at least he was working for the
missions. He was the liaison between Manila and New York. He was
the Quartermaster, in charge of supplies. He was the Supply Sergeant.
His office was at 51 East 83rd Street, and there he lived with the
Jesuit community — some working with the church, some working with
the school. It was an area a little more elite than Brooklyn. To the
left of his office was Park Avenue. To the right of his office was
Central Park. He was one quick bus ride from the musicals on
Broadway. He was within striking distance of Radio City.
George was grateful for these amenities, but he found it
necessary to buckle down seriously to his job. The United States was
in the grip of a terrible depression. One of the big musicals of the day
featured a song which was called: ―Brother, Do You Have a Dime?‖
Unemployment was everywhere. There were vagrants sleeping in
Central Park, on the benches, under the trees. It was not easy to send
supplies to the missions, when people were hungry at home.
72
Boot Camp
George was fund raising, for the missions. But he was doing
more than that. He was raising awareness of the Jesuit missionaries in
the field. His ―Jesuit Seminary News‖ had a circulation of 35,000!
And he was constantly printing small pamphlets, and sometimes holy
pictures — which in the Philippines were called: ―Stampitas‖ — which
made a strong stand for the value of foreign missionaries.
He printed a little four page pamphlet precisely for the people of
New York, who felt that American priests had more than enough to do
at home. On the very first page, George began this way:
Why send priests to the Foreign Missions
when we need them here at home?
Why ―exile‖ them from home and loved ones?
Why collect funds for them,
When the funds are needed here for the poor and starving?
Then came a picture of Christ on the cross. The caption under
the picture read:
S I T I O — I thirst
He thirsted for Souls — That is why.
In the body of the pamphlet he has an article called : “The Way
of Foreign Missions‖. George was not only the publisher of these
articles. He was also the writer, the editor, the business manager, the
public relations officer, and the collector of funds, if there were any.
In this article he wrote:
“I prefer to help the nursery for children down the
street,‖ said a gentleman recently when asked to aid the
Jesuit missionaries in the Philippines.
And on
countless occasions we meet with similar objections.
―The Philippines are too far away; our own poor are
starving,‖ they tell us.
73
The Gentle Warrior
Others lament that so many fine priests are sent to wear
their lives away under the blazing heat of the tropical
sun, forever exiled from friends and loved ones. And
some who are acquainted with Jesuits‘ work in this
country and who know that they are far from sufficient
for schools, parishes, chaplaincies, etc., grieve that so
many able-bodied young Jesuits are ―stolen‖ (as they
say) for Foreign Missions.
Starvation of Body — of Soul
These various difficulties could be answered in detail.
It could be shown that the ―starving‖ at home nearly
always have other agencies to care for them, that the
parishes most generous to Foreign Mission support are
usually most helpful to their own poor. And are those
starving in body as much to be pitied as the poor
sufferers from soul-starvation, the thousand million
souls who know not Christ, and for whom He died just
as truly as for our own wonderful people here at home?
Back at Jerusalem itself there was keen need for the
Apostles. There were widespread moral evils to be
corrected. But Christ commanded: ―Going, therefore,
teach ye all nations ….‖ The Apostles were not to
evangelize merely the people near at hand. They must
cross to Greece and Italy, to Spain and Gaul and the
Barbarian races to the north. They must go south to
Carthage and Africa, and East to the India of fable and
story.
Thank God they did go, and converted our ancestors,
Teutons, Gauls, and Celts, from savagery and idolatry.
And thank God the Catholic (meaning universal) spirit
was handed down by these converts. What would the
American Catholic Church be today if European
Catholics had not sent missionaries to the United
States with such reckless abandon during the last three
74
Boot Camp
centuries, from the Jogues and Junipero Serra of the
seventeenth century down to those glorious priests and
Sisters of European origin who still adorn like priceless
gems the diadems of many American dioceses? Europe
has given us an example of truly Christ-like mission
spirit which we must imitate now that the Church in
the United States has reached maturity.
Much could be said, too, about the comparative
scarcity of priests in the missionary countries. In the
Philippines there is one Jesuit pastor whose parish
limits are as large as Belgium; many others who
single-handed must guide from ten to fifty thousand
souls. In the entire Philippines, there is on the average
only one priest to every nine thousand Catholics —
and here at home, although decidedly there is enough
work for all of our priests, the burden is far less
overwhelming since we have one priest for about every
nine hundred souls.
The Principal Answer
Such are some of the answers that can be given to the
frequent, well meaning inquiries —―Why the Foreign
Missions?‖
But the principal answer is —―Christ Wills It!‖
Christ died on the cross for all people.
Christ told His Apostles: ―Going, therefore, teach ye
all nations!‖
Christ‘s Vicar, Pope Pius XI, said in his recent
encyclical on Foreign Missions, ―When I think of the
thousand million pagans who know not Christ, there is
no peace in my soul.‖
75
The Gentle Warrior
Xaviers in the Field Today
Francis Xavier and two companions sailed for the
Orient in 1541. They were the first three Jesuits
assigned to Missions. Today there are 3,900 Jesuits
engaged in missionary endeavour.
Of 23,000 Jesuits in the world, 7,000 are in their
studies, and 16,000 are in active apostolic work. Of
these 16,000, almost 4,000 are Foreign Missionaries,
and 202 are in the Philippine Islands, the particular
Mission of the Maryland-New York Province of the
Society of Jesus.
One out of every four Jesuits in active service is a
missionary. They need your help — your alms and
your prayers. Can you, perhaps….
Make remembrance in your will?
Send an offering, large or small?
Give an annuity (5% interest, write for details)?
Adopt a missionary, (one dollar a day, five dollars for
five days, 30 dollars for 30 days), adopt a catechist,
(five dollars a month), adopt a Mission station or Leper
Chaplain, (100 to 1000 dollars a year), adopt a
seminarian, (180 dollars a year)?
Jesuit Philippine Bureau,
New York, N.Y.
51 East 83rd Street
Tel. Butterfield 8-5747
Rev. George J. Willmann, S.J., Director
In his holy picture, George used the same picture of Christ on
the cross, and the same initial caption: Sitio — I thirst.
76
Boot Camp
But he added: gasped our Saviour as He hung dying on the
Cross. He thirsted for Souls.
Below this, George said:
There isn‘t a person in the world who can‘t help to
bring the world to Christ by prayer. Put this card in
your prayerbook and say daily Xavier‘s prayer for
unbelievers found on the other side.
On the other side was Xavier’s prayer for unbelievers, with these
annotations:
Saint Theresa, the Little Flower of Jesus, recently was
made co-Patron with Saint Francis Xavier of the
Foreign Missions. Yet she never set foot on Mission
soil. She was a missionary at home, ceaselessly by her
prayers and sacrifices obtaining the graces which the
missionaries so sorely needed…. Say each day Xavier‘s
favorite prayer to help all missionaries. And add if you
can a Hail Mary for the 3900 Jesuit missionaries to
whom the Pope has entrusted 200,000,000 pagans, 1/8
of the world‘s population.
George always added his address, in the hope that the holy
picture would inspire the reader to contact him:
Jesuit Philippine Bureau
51 East 83rd Street, New York, N.Y.
Rev. G. J. Willmann, S.J., Director
Many people did contact George! They were impressed by him
— his simplicity, his honesty, his obvious sincerity. They gave to the
Philippine Jesuit Mission because they felt that if George believed it
was a good investment, it probably was. And they were sure that
whatever they gave — no matter how small — it would get to the place
for which it was destined, and be used for the purpose for which it
was given.
77
The Gentle Warrior
George was very orderly. Whenever he received any donation,
he recorded it — the amount, the date, the purpose for which it was
given, the name and address of the donor. And he acknowledged every
donation! He did this all through his life, even with the Mass stipends
sent to him in the Philippines by his sisters in the United States.
After five years in this job, George had a powerful, substantial
list of donors, who were giving to the Jesuit missions in the Philippines.
His Jesuit Seminary News went out, regularly, to 35,000 people. With
this little magazine he was not only the publisher. He was the author,
the editor, the photographer, the layout man, the typist, the proof
reader, and the one who mailed the 35, 000 copies.
In 1935 a Jewish business man, who had known George for
many years, since their days together on Wall Street, offered him
50,000 dollars for his mailing list. That was a lot of money, in 1935.
And the Philippine Mission could have used the money. But George
would not sell the mailing list. It would be unfair to all his good
friends, who were trying to help the apostolate of the Catholic Church
in the Philippines. If he sold that mailing list, George felt that he would
be like Judas Iscariot, selling Our Lord for thirty pieces of silver.
But the offer was a tremendous tribute to George! He started
his job as Director of the Mission Bureau, and as Director of the Jesuit
Seminary Fund, with absolutely nothing! No money, and only a
poverty stricken populace in the United States, from which to beg.
And in five years his mailing list alone was worth 50,000 dollars to a
business man who was not particularly interested in religion, but who
understood finance. George was a hard working, efficient, systematic,
responsible, organized laborer. Whenever he was given a job — even a
job that no one else wanted, like this one, raising money — he did it.
He was an obedient Jesuit. He was a determined, driving man.
George organized all the departure ceremonies, for the Jesuits
who were being sent to the Philippines. Each year he watched them
go, with a small twinge of envy. They were going into battle, and he
was in charge of the supply depot, at home. They were the front line,
fighting in the trenches, and he was working at a desk on 83 rd Street.
78
Boot Camp
But he knew that his work was necessary. He had the blessing of
obedience. That kept him going. The fact is, it kept him going with
energy, with creativity, with enthusiasm.
In 1936, the Provincial Superior of the Province of New York
agreed to let him go back to the Philippines. The motivation of the
Provincial was double: first, he knew that George wanted to go back to
the Philippines; second, the Mission really needed him there. George
had done so well on the financial front, in New York, that Superiors
felt he would be the best man to straighten out the finances of the
Jesuits in the Philippines. And George had never studied economics,
or finance, or business administration, in any school! He had learned
it on his own, from a kind old man on Wall Street!
In October of 1936, when George was settling his affairs in
New York, and was preparing to go to the Philippines, his father
wrote him a letter. It is the only letter to George, from his father, that
is extant. It was one page, hand written, on lined paper.
N.Y. Oct. 27, 1936
Dear George
Your card dated Oct. 22, postmarked Missoula Mont.
Same date received in yesterday‘s mail. General letters
from you may be preferable as all will want news from
you.
Partings are always more or less painful, but it may be
that after 50 years a person becomes calloused (my
Father died Sept. 15, 1886). Hard to recall everything
but Aug. 1915 parting with you seemed harder
because at that time there was a feeling that you were
going to be needed to assume the reins for the
remainder of the family.
My Father died at the age of 51, his Father died age
of 35 and on Grandma‘s side, her Father passed away
79
The Gentle Warrior
of old age 70. In August 1915 your Father having
attained the age of 50 assumed his expectancy of life
was only another year or so. It has transpired that was
needless worry.
When it became known in April 1932 that Ruth was
leaving for Rome June 17, 1932 it struck harder than
the others and felt like a final earthly farewell and
really prompted our trip to Italy in August 1933.
You know my purpose was that you should all pursue
your vocations or calling and it is satisfying to know
that you all have achieved and are contented in your
present environments. A fellow should feel chesty in
being called ―the head of a distinguished family‖.
Your Father is proud of the good Catholic work that
you are all devoting your lives to.
God bless and speed you in your work.
Affectionately
Your Father
William F. Willmann died the next year, in 1937, on March 14,
while George was in the Philippines.
4. The Teacher
When he was re-assigned to the Philippines, George himself
described it this way:
―In the latter part of 1936, I was relieved from my work
as Director of the Jesuit Seminary and Mission
Bureau in New York, and allowed to return to the
80
Boot Camp
Philippines. At the time, Father Joseph Murphy, the
Provincial of the New York Province, mentioning that
all Jesuit Provinces would have an extraordinary
Revisor Arcarum Et Domorum, asked me to take that
work upon my return to the Philippines. At that time
the Philippine Jesuit Mission was under the New York
Jesuit Province.
―Arriving in Manila November 26, 1936, I was assigned
to the Ateneo de Manila.‖
That job — Revisor Arcarum Et Domorum — meant that
George would visit every Jesuit residence and school and institution in
the Philippines, to audit their books and to analyze their financial
position. He would then make recommendations to the local
Superiors, and to the Superior of the Mission, on what this particular
house, or school, or institution should do, on the financial front. It
was a carry-over from his work in New York as the Director of the
Jesuit Mission Bureau.
This task, alone, would be more than enough for any ordinary
man. But Father Joe Murphy had said, explicitly, ―an extraordinary
Revisor‖. The work given to George Willmann was certainly
extraordinary.
In the official archives of the Society of Jesus, his assignments at
the Ateneo de Manila are listed this way:
1936 - 37
Jan - Dec 1937
1937 - 39
1937 - 40
1938 - 63
1938 - 40
Revisor Arcarum of the Philippine Mission
Dean of Discipline
Treasurer
Professor of Economics and Sociology;
Moderator of the University of the Philippines
Student Catholic Action
Chaplain of the Manila Knights of Columbus
Dean of the College of Commerce and
Moderator of the Law School Sodality
81
The Gentle Warrior
1938 - 53
1936 - 44
Managing Editor of the magazine Filipinas
Director of the Social Apostolate and
Moderator of youth clubs in Sampaloc, at
Padre Faura, at San Ignacio and at some
Manila schools (Arellano and Mapa).
He was Revisor of the entire Mission; Treasurer of the Ateneo;
Professor of Economics and Sociology; Dean of Discipline; Moderator
of the Sodality in the Law School; Moderator of Student Catholic
Action at the University of the Philippines, which was right across the
street from the Ateneo; Managing Editor of a national Catholic
magazine; and Moderator of Youth Clubs all over the city. And then
— just to be sure that he had enough to do — they made him Dean of
the College of Commerce!
As soon as he came down the gangplank from the boat at the
pier in the Port Area of Manila, George could see why the Ateneo de
Manila, itself, was having financial trouble. He did not go from the
Port Area to Intramuros, because the old Ateneo in Intramuros had
burned down.
A devastating fire swept through the Walled City in 1932. It did
not start in the Ateneo. But it crept, remorselessly, from building to
building, until it engulfed the Jesuit school. By the grace of God, all of
the boarders had enough time to get out of the building, so none of
them were killed, or injured.
It happened in the evening of Friday, the thirteenth, in 1932. It
was a holiday. The boarders were playing basketball in the patio. The
fire started in the corner of Real and General Luna Street, but leaped
across streets, from roof to roof, until it was bursting out of the
windows of the College of Santa Isabel. It ate up the Public Works
Building, and then the Ateneo. The students ran out of Intramuros
through the Santa Lucia Gate, across the grass covered hollow where
the moat once was, to a sloping bank of grass at the edge of Bonifacio
Drive. From there, they watched the drama of the fire.
There was a bridge across the street, from the school to the
82
Boot Camp
Mission House, the headquarters of the Superior of the Mission. Father
John F. Hurley came out on that bridge with the Blessed Sacrament, and
blessed the fire. Father Hurley had deep faith, but he backed up the
Blessed Sacrament with a couple of fire hoses. The fire did not leap
across the street, or run across the bridge. But it burned the Ateneo to
the ground.
When George saw the site of the old school, where he had
taught as a Regent, the building was gone. There were plans to build a
new Ateneo Grade School in that area, but the Grade School was not
built yet. The whole student body — Grade School, High School,
College, Law — was now at Padre Faura, which used to be San Jose
Seminary. The buildings were different, but the spirit of the students
was the same.
George visited the Jesuit stations in Mindanao. Many of the
missionaries had schools. Armies of children, running around, many of
them barefoot. The schools never had enough text books, and the
teachers were underpaid, but the schools were the pride of the little
towns in which they were.
George realized why a revisor was needed. The poor parish
priests were expected to be zealous missionaries, walking long hours
through bad roads and flooded rivers to say Mass in a mountain barrio.
They were expected to be spiritual guides for everyone — from the
educated Belgian nun to the old man of the village who never learned
to read or write. They were expected to be educators — capable of
teaching the brilliant, and the retarded, on all levels. They were
expected to be masters of oratory, on Sunday mornings in the pulpit,
speaking in a language that was not their own. And they were expected
to be financial wizards, able to administer a parish, able to organize a
school, able to make the school a self-sustaining operation — though
their parishioners and their students were almost destitute.
Accounting came easy to George, because he always loved
math. Even when he was a boy, at Brooklyn Prep, his average in math
over three full years was 97. George tried to put order into the
accounts of the missionaries. The priests liked the way he did it. He
was never threatening. He was always trying to help. And in his
83
The Gentle Warrior
reports to the Superior he always started with all the things about the
Mission that were good. Then his observations on what could be
improved.
At the Ateneo de Manila, where he was the Treasurer, they
were losing funds. They knew that there was a hole in the bottom of
the boat, somewhere, but they could not discover where that hole was.
George found it within two months. In the office of the Treasurer
there was an old employee who was trusted, implicitly. He had been
working for the Jesuits, for many years. George discovered that he
was a thief. He was siphoning off funds, from the Ateneo,
systematically. He had been doing this, constantly, through the long
years. He was apprehended, tried in court, and sentenced to jail in the
New Bilibid Prison, in Muntinlupa.
George visited him, in prison. He liked George, and respected
him. He had been able to out-think all the other Jesuits, but he could
not out-think this one. They remained friends, in spite of the agony of
discovering his crime, the confrontation in court, and the sentence to
prison.
Of all the jobs that were given to George Willmann at the
Ateneo, the hardest was being Dean of Discipline. George had a
strong sense of justice, but he was soft-hearted. He found it difficult
to impose the penalties, prescribed by the regulations of the school, on
the juvenile delinquents he was handling at the Ateneo.
The saving grace was the ancient Ateneo tradition that, after a
punishment, the boy who was punished and the Prefect of Discipline
who punished him would shake hands, and part as friends. This was
the ritual, even when the boy chose “wack wacks‖. For some crimes,
the student could choose either post, or jug, or wack wacks. Post
meant that he would march up and down, on the parade ground, in the
sun, for an hour or two hours or three hours, on a Saturday morning.
Jug meant that he would be kept in the study hall during the normal
hours for recreation, and write 100 or 200 or 500 times what the
prefect prescribed. For instance, “Knowledge maketh a bloody
entrance‖. Or he could choose “wack wacks‖. This meant that he
would be whacked on the seat of his pants 5 or 10 or 15 times, with a
84
Boot Camp
bamboo rod. The boys preferred wack wacks, because that punishment
was faster.
But after wack wacks, sometimes with tears in their eyes, the
little boys would shake hands with the Prefect of Discipline, and walk
out like a man. No hard feelings. When the Prefect of Discipline met
these boys, later, in the school yard, he would always call them by their
first names, and smile. They were friends.
As the boys grew bigger, this tradition became harder to keep.
When Father John F. Hurley was Prefect of Discipline, he was forced
to suspend an athlete — to bar him from the team — because he had
broken the training rules. They were in the office of the Dean of
Discipline, alone. The athlete was emotionally upset, angry, and he said
to Father Hurley: ―You are hiding behind that Jesuit soutana!‖
Father Hurley understood this. He rose from his desk, and said:
―Well, I shouldn‘t do that! If I am hiding behind this soutana, I
better take it off!‖ He took off the soutana, and he and the boy went
at it — bare fists. When the athlete went down for the fifth time, he
stayed down. But before he left the office, he shook hands with Father
Hurley.
When he was back in the dormitory, and his best friend was
putting a patch on the little cut under his eye, the athlete said, with some
reverence: ―You know….that‘s not the first time Father Hurley did
that! He‘s done that before! … .He‘s good!‖
With Father Willmann, it was the justice approach. He would
say to the boy, dispassionately: ―Now this is the rule…. And this is
what you did….You broke the rule…. The penalty is this….Okay?‖
The boy, invariably, would think about it and say: “Okay!‖
And when he left the office of Father Willmann, he would
shake hands. George would smile, and the boy would smile.
He came out of the office, feeling good. He was ―friends‖. He
was ―friends‖ with this gentle, organized, disciplined priest.
* * * * *
85
CHAPTER FOUR
The Knights of Columbus
1. Chaplain
T
eaching at the Ateneo, George was a little restless. It was
not that he did not have enough to do. He had more
work than any normal man would dare handle.
But he felt that his most effective place was not the school. This
is how he himself described it:
―I asked to be relieved of my work in the Ateneo in
order to help a little the ghetto work with the poor of
Manila. My reason for requesting this was the uneven
distribution of spiritual attention to the hundreds of
thousands of poor people in Manila. For 2000 students
at the Ateneo de Manila, they had about 30 Jesuits and
Scholastics and many laymen. Whereas a single parish
in Tondo had only two or three priests for perhaps a
hundred thousand parishioners.
―I felt that the best way to help the poor in Manila
would be to work in a parish in a poor neighborhood.
―Auspiciously,
about
that
time,
Archbishop
O‘Dougherty of Manila spontaneously asked me to start
a new parish in Tondo and allocated 5000 square
meters of church property in Tondo for this purpose.
That was about one kilometer from the old Tondo
parish church. When I broached the offer to my Jesuit
Superior, he answered that it could not be accepted for
lack of personnel.
86
The Knights of Columbus
―Another offer was received, asking me to start a farm
school . The offer was made by Mr. Vicente Araneta.
He said that the Araneta family would donate a
hundred thousand pesos and 50 hectares of farm land
for the projected new school and that the Jesuits would
have absolute control of the school with only one
condition, that it be named Araneta-Zaragoza School in
memory of deceased parents. However, this project was
also turned down by my Superiors for the same reason,
namely, lack of personnel.‖
This was a characteristic mark of George Willmann —
obedience. He certainly wanted the Tondo parish, and he always was
concerned with the poverty of the Filipino farmer, but he would never
act without permission.
One permission which his Jesuit Superiors did grant was the
request from Archbishop Michael O’Dougherty for a marshall, to
organize the crowd of spectators at the International Eucharistic
Congress which was held in Manila in 1937.
His Superiors detailed George for that job. The size of it can be
gauged from this: George arranged one million folding chairs, in the
shape of a fan, around the altar in the Luneta, under the open sky. He
was in charge, not only of the physical arrangements, but of handling the
crowd. This was done as an extra-curricular activity, at the same time
that he was Dean of Discipline at the Ateneo, Treasurer, Revisor of the
whole Philippine Mission, teaching two subjects in college, and
moderating Catholic Action at U.P.
His blood sister, Ruth, was a nun in Mindanao at that time — a
Franciscan Missionary of Mary, based in Oroquieta. She came up to
Manila at that time, and wrote this about her brother, who was in charge
of everything in the Luneta.
―Imagine the details! The ushers, programs, music,
marching order, police regulations, route planning,
singing in unison, moving in lines of eight without gaps
87
The Gentle Warrior
between rows — and at least a million people!
―Father Willmann was behind the scenes, darting up
and down the back streets near the line of march, in the
sidecar of a motorcycle, helping everybody, finding
transportation for visitors, like the Australian Cardinal
and Bishops, traveling incognito.
―It was a miraculous accomplishment. Father
Willmann was finding time to meet nuns at the boat
from Mindanao, sending escorts to travelling clerics,
dressing the children, bringing order out of possible
disaster every inch of the way!‖
It was true. That Eucharistic Congress was a masterpiece of
discipline and order. When Father John F. Hurley, S.J., the Jesuit
Superior of the Mission at that time, chose George Willmann for that
job — he knew what he was doing!
The other permission which the Jesuit Superiors were very
willing to grant — when George asked for it — was that he should
become the Chaplain of Manila Council 1000, of the Knights of
Columbus. The previous Chaplain of the Knights was also a Jesuit —
Father Avery — who later became Rector of the Ateneo de Manila.
The Jesuits knew the Knights of Columbus all over the Philippines, and
had deep respect for them. For George himself, it was his concern for
the poor, for the underprivileged, for the young men of Manila who
were like sheep without a shepherd, that led him to the Knights. He
was initiated into Manila Council 1000 on June 30, 1938 — one day
after his 41st birthday.
―Some of my old friends came to see me and asked me
to join the Knights of Columbus and become a
Chaplain of the Manila Council. I asked, ‗For what
particular reason did you ask me?‘ And they said,
‗Father, we think our Council needs somebody to
crack the whip on us, and we are asking you to come
and do it.‘ So I said, ‗All right. I will try‘.
88
The Knights of Columbus
―And after the proper initiations I became Chaplain of
the Council. All was not smooth sailing. Externally we
seemed to be getting along together, but when I read
the constitutions of the Knights of Columbus I did
some thinking, and at a meeting of some of the officers
and older members I told them I thought I would have
to resign from the Knights of Columbus.
―They said ‗What‘s the matter? We seem to be getting
along all right‘ and I said, ‗Well, I have been reading
the constitutions of the Order. Apparently the only
thing the Chaplain is to do in the Knights of
Columbus is to say the prayer if he happens to be
present, and that is not my concept of what a
Chaplain should be.‘
―And they said, ‗Father, will you agree to be an
unconstitutional Chaplain?‘ I told them I did not
want to go too far in that, but that we would try.‖
George was looking for the place where God wanted him to be,
for the place where the potentials God had given him could be used to
the full. He was looking for his corner of the sky. He found it in the
Knights of Columbus, in Manila, in Council 1000. It happened
simply, casually, undramatically. It was a logical move, after all his
previous experience in Brooklyn, in Wall Street, in Saint Andrew’s, in
Woodstock, in the Philippines.
It was new blood for the Knights. It was a turning point in their
history. It was new vitality, a new vision, a new direction, new life.
He came to the Filipino Knights of Manila the way Miguel Pro
came to the Catholic people of Mexico. He came like a clean, fresh
breeze off the face of the sea. The old problems were still there, but
suddenly they seemed surmountable. The man was a leader. He had
courage. He was not afraid to attack.
89
The Gentle Warrior
2. Editor
From the day he was initiated into the Knights of Columbus,
George Willmann was the Managing Editor and Business Manager of
a Tagalog monthly called: ―Filipinas‖. It had a circulation of only
10,000 but it was the voice of the Catholic Church in Manila, to the
masses of the poor.
George believed in communication. He felt that — if you were
going to do anything which required the cooperation of all the people
— you had to make it known! Your voice must sound in the streets —
clean and clear, in the language of the people.
He was not a spectacular media man. He was not a showman.
He was not an expert in show business. He was never sensational.
But, in everything that he did, he felt that there should be written
records. And not records buried in a file, hidden in a store room.
Popular records. Stories for the people, so that they know what you
are trying to do, how you are trying to do it, your objective, your time
schedule. If you want the people to do something, you must tell them
what you want them to do! And you must present it simply, clearly.
And if possible, you must present it as beautiful, and true, and good.
In 1969,George was asked by the Society of Jesus to catalogue
his experience in media, and this is what he submitted:
Apart from ordinary high school education plus
ordinary studies in the Society, without any special
studies, I have had some experience in a small way
with the medium of the printed word, as follows:
1922 to 1925 – Moderator and Business Manager of
the Ateneo monthly school publication.
Also, the Ateneo Year Book.
1930 to1936 – Editor and Business Manager of the
Jesuit Seminary News in New York City
with a circulation of 35,000.
90
The Knights of Columbus
1938 to 1958 (excluding the war years)
–
Managing Editor and Business
Manager of the Filipinas Tagalog
Monthly— circulation of 10,000.
1946 to1969 – Managing Editor of Cross Magazine
with a circulation of around 15,000.
Wrote or published several pamphlets or books such as
the ―Isles of Gold‖ (pamphlet published in New York
in1929), the ―Mystical Body in Action‖, (a book reprint
in 1967) the ―Manual for Retreats or Spiritual
Conferences for Laymen‖ (a book I published in
Manila assisted by several others in 1968.)
Also, for about 20 years, I have collaborated with the
Knights of Columbus Religious Advertising Bureau in
Saint Louis, Missouri, in distributing their pamphlets
and in one year in publishing 10 religious ads in the
Philippine Free Press.
Also, I have helped in the last twenty years with a
number of minor publications for the different councils
of the Knights of Columbus in the Philippines.
As to the other media, I have had a little experience —
but very, very little – with radio. Even less with drama.
He believed in media. During every period of his working life,
he was deliberately, with malice aforethought, organizing and
publishing something! His publications were quiet, but they were
regular. And they were effective! His mailing list, alone, was worth
money in New York. In the Philippines, he was up against a people
who were literate, but who did not normally read. This never
discouraged him. He kept coming out, week after week, year after
year.
He was the quiet, gentle warrior. And his weapons were the
91
The Gentle Warrior
weapons of the mind, of the heart, of the soul. The weapons of the
spirit.
3. Youth
In the official records of the Society of Jesus, George Willmann
is listed as ―Director of the social apostolate and Moderator of youth
clubs‖ in Sampaloc, at Padre Faura, at San Ignacio, and at some
Manila schools (Arellano and Mapa). This began in 1936, when he
arrived in the Philippines, and continued until 1944, when he was
interned by the Japanese in the prison camp at Los Banos.
In the records of the Knights of Columbus, Father Willmann is
recorded as Chairman of the Youth Committee of Manila Council
1000, from the moment of his initiation into the Knights, on June 30,
1938. Father Willmann, as Chairman of the Youth Committee of the
Knights, reported that “We were asked to promote the Catholic Youth
Organization, by His Grace the Archbishop of Manila, Michael J.
O‘Dougherty‖.
George went at this, with all his heart. He organized a
basketball league, with games played at the K C Gymnasium in
Intramuros, in the Ateneo court in Ermita, on the second floor of Santa
Rita on Taft Avenue — on whatever courts they could beg, borrow or
steal.
The league was a smash. Boys came to it from all over — rich
boys, poor boys, beggar boys, canto boys. George did this the way he
did everything — he did it himself, personally, hands on. He went to
the games. He was sitting at the ringside, in back of the players’
bench, while the games were going on.
One night he brought a very young Jesuit Scholastic, just
arrived in the Philippines, to a game between two teams called
“Keystones‖ and “Ricarte‖. The Keystones were Filipino-American
mestizos from La Salle. Ricarte was a tough group of canto boys from
the slums of the city. George explained to the Scholastic that they
92
The Knights of Columbus
called themselves “Ricarte‖ because Ricarte was a Filipino hero of the
Revolution, who had never surrendered to the Americans.The game was
rough, almost vicious. The Keystone players were trained, and were
out-manoeuvering the Ricarte boys. The Ricarte team was sullen
and angry, roughing up the Keystones whenever they got the chance.
George Willmann watched peacefully, smoking his cigar. He
said to the Scholastic: “Don‘t mind the rough stuff….Even if they belt
each other, don‘t mind…. Their riots are nothing compared to the
fights we used to have, in Brooklyn.‖
He was on the wave length of both teams. He congratulated
the Keystones when they won, and consoled the Ricarte team when
they lost. He said: ―Boys, you are playing very well! Keep it up!
You‘ll make it to the finals!‖
Years later, one of the Ricarte players, who became a basketball
star in college, met the Jesuit Scholastic, who was then a priest. The
player threw his arms around the Jesuit, and wept. He said: ―Father,
you started me! The Jesuits started me! I got to college on a
scholarship. Everything good in my life started with you!‖
Actually, everything good in his life started with George
Willmann, who understood boys.
It would be best to let George tell his own story. In 1948 he
wrote an article for the Columbia magazine which is published in New
Haven, Connecticut. The article was called: “The Knights Stayed on
the Job‖. This is what he said:
―Did you say you‘re from Manila, Father?‖
This question, or one like it, has been put to me often.
It usually continues, ―Maybe you have met my cousin,
who is in Africa. That‘s out near there, isn‘t it?‖
Or they will vaguely mention China, Australia, some
other distant place or far-flung foreign mission,
93
The Gentle Warrior
indicating they have some hazy, long forgotten mental
impressions of cannibals or unwanted babies being
sold by heartless pagan parents.
You don‘t think this is so? Just ask someone of your
friends (ask yourself, perhaps), what is it like in the
Philippines?
The priest, who after a decade there, returns to his
native shore, gradually comes to realize that except for
the G.I.‘s who were there during the recent war, his
fellow American Catholics still have no — or very little
— knowledge of these 7000 islands which until a year
or so back were under American rule and still are
closely allied to us.
Answering with statistics, such as, for instance, the
simple fact that there are two thirds as many Catholics
out there as in the United States, telling them that these
Isles of Gold were Christianized 300 years ago, might
help a little. But it is doubtful if many would listen.
Well, at least get this: the Philippines are definitely not
a pagan country. But there is only one priest for every
10,000 Catholics!
This might serve as an outline of the stage dimensions
where Manila Council 1000, Knights of Columbus,
performs, taking quite literally the Holy Father‘s
mandate on Catholic Action, as of course, being the
active participation of the laity in the Apostolate of the
Hierarchy. They decided they could be a good right arm
for the Archbishop.
―Battling the Devil‖ — they called it.
Distance has
never lessened their devotion
to
Columbian ideals. Although it is the Order‘s most
94
The Knights of Columbus
remote group, being more than 10,000 miles from New
Haven, Manila Council, I think, possesses Columbian
fraternity among its Brother Knights to a marked
degree.
And through intelligent and enthusiastic
cooperation with the Bishops and priests in many
forms of religious endeavors, it has shown in a practical
way its unity, charity, patriotism, and a truly
Columbian apostolic spirit.
As Chaplain of the Council for ten years, I have had
ample opportunity to witness this — before and after, as
well as during, the terrible war years when the going
was toughest.
Back in 1938, by far the greatest need was for a youth
program. Fifty thousand Catholic boys were being
more and more exposed to the lawlessness and
immorality typical of every busy port. Manila had no
Catholic orphanages, no neighborhood clubs. The
clergy, sadly undermanned, could do very little for
these children, almost untouched as they were by any
religious or spiritual influence.
The stark picture staring us in the face was appalling.
But our Knights saw a job to do — and went to work.
If there had been only a handful of boys, say a few
hundred, and plenty of funds, perhaps we could have
considered approaching the problem in a manner
something like the plan at Boystown. But with fifty
thousand children, and a pitifully small budget, such a
solution was impossible.
In the emergency, we decided to ―spread it thin‖ in
order to reach the largest possible number. Our plan
was to form clubs in various key neighborhoods, not
unlike those of the C.Y.O.(Catholic Youth
Organization) in many United States dioceses.
95
The Gentle Warrior
As a test ―warm-up‖ we started a few vacation
basketball leagues. On the Ateneo court in Ermita and
in the densely populated districts of Tondo and
Sampaloc, referees‘ whistles shrilled all summer long,
while the ―dead end‖ kids played and scrambled to
their hearts‘content. It was a good beginning.
His Grace, Archbishop O‘Dougherty of Manila, heard
of our endeavors, and promptly encouraged us:
―My dear Members of the Knights of Columbus:
―May I take this occasion to congratulate you upon
your recent basketball leagues and to urge you if
possible to continue this work for the poor during the
coming year.
―I am most anxious that you do something to make it
permanent. If perhaps you could help any of our parish
priests to conduct permanent clubs for their poor boys,
it would be a splendid achievement. And if perhaps two
or three large playgrounds could be established in
strategic parts of the city, I would be deeply happy.
Yours devotedly in Christ,
M. J. O ‗Dougherty
Archbishop of Manila‖
We proceeded to make it permanent, as the Archbishop
so warmly asked. Our idea was simple.
A basketball….a court to play on, poor though it might
be ….a handful of boys….then more boys….Soon a
league would be organized….This would attract larger
numbers. The league would flourish, the group ever
increasing.
96
The Knights of Columbus
Then the Religious Instruction would begin. Special
sports privileges would be given to those attending the
classes or Open Forum. If possible, a reading room
would be
arranged, with books and pamphlets.
Perhaps also an indoor games room. Swimming
excursions were very popular. Our boxing and other
sports gradually became known in the neighborhood,
and usually some financial assistance was received
from generous older people.
Attendance at Sunday Mass was, of course, insisted
upon. Reception of the Sacraments, while strongly
urged, was not compulsory, to prevent any possible
sacrilegious participation in the holy rites.
Within a short time, clubs were started in six sections
of the city — Intramuros, Trozo, Ermita, Ayala–Paco,
Santa Ana and Sampaloc. Facilities usually were not
fancy. In Ayala–Paco, however, we had first class
bowling alleys and, with our rate of two games for a
nickel, cheapest in the city, they attracted big crowds.
At Sampaloc we developed a fairly full-scale social
center. Here the playground was thronged daily with
boys from the nearby slums. In the ruins of the former
―convento‖ (rectory) we conducted a small elementary
school by day and an Adult Education class at night.
We had vocational classes, too, where auto-mechanics
was taught to ambitious youngsters.
And here it was
that we experimented with
Cooperatives, as an economic help for the poor. The
Knights of Columbus Cooperative Committee had
printed some pamphlets on the subject.
The
Government Cooperative Bureau liked these pamphlets
so much that it asked permission to reprint them by
the thousands.
97
The Gentle Warrior
But this was only theory.
Sampaloc was a good
testing ground to practice in. As an example of a
Producers‘ Cooperative, we organized an embroidery
Co-op for the women of the district. In the field of
marketing, we started a Co-op store where the poor
could purchase their food and household commodities.
In all these activities we felt we were making a little
progress. We couldn‘t pretend that we had actually
licked the busy Devil of these various districts. But
definitely he was no longer in the driver‘s seat. The
boys and young men were more friendly to the priests.
The anti-clerical lies that ―The Church doesn‘t love the
poor‖ were stopped. Attendance at Mass improved in
the churches. In the playgrounds, honesty, and fair
play and clean living were taught.
Our work began to attract public attention. The
Honorable Eriberto Misa, Director of Philippines
Prisons, wrote to us:
―I have heard of the work of your organization and I
congratulate you for what it is doing for the poor boys
of the City….
―If there were more organizations like yours, we would
never have the problem of overcrowding in our
prisons.‖
The Catholic Youth Organization (CYO) , established by
Father Willmann in Manila in 1938, carried the same name as the youth
program organized in the United States in 1930 by Bishop Bernard J.
Sheil of Chicago, Illinois. But the local C.Y.O. in Manila was never
meant to become an adjunct of the C.Y.O. in America. Father Willmann
was trying to set up an independent organization, to meet the local
needs of the Philippines.
The C.Y.O. in the U.S.A. was primarily a preventive measure,
98
The Knights of Columbus
for youngsters who — because of broken homes or parental neglect or
abandonment or boredom — were prone to criminal tendencies.
Father Willmann felt that this was valuable — he constantly
spoke of ―Battling the Devil” — but he hoped that the Philippine
CYO, primarily, would promote the spiritual health of its members. He
hoped that this would be achieved in five ways:
1. By assisting young people to keep near to the Church and
the pastor, and by encouraging them further to participate
in its sacramental life.
2. Positively, by keeping them wholesomely occupied.
3. Negatively, by keeping them out of trouble.
4. By associating them with proper companions.
5. By assisting their normal development — spiritual,
intellectual, emotional, physical,
social, aesthetic and
vocational.
The CYO program had two basic components: religious and
recreational. The religious activities were catechism classes, religious
lectures, conferences, open forums, study clubs, corporate Masses.
The recreational activities were basketball, volleyball, softball, boxing,
and indoor games like table tennis and chess.
Father Willmann intended the CYO to be essentially a parish
organization, from the beginning. But it also was supported by the
government, through the Community Chest of Greater Manila. Mayor
Arsenio Lacson, who had been a football coach at the Ateneo de
Manila, was one of its strongest supporters.
The number of Knights involved in the CYO was incredible.
George himself singled out, for special honorable mention: “Brothers
Justo Arrastia, Enrique Albert, Jesus Galan and Benjamin
Arcenas; Brothers Benavides, Bulatao, DyBuncio, Gabriel, Infante,
99
The Gentle Warrior
Jamora, la O, H. B. Reyes, Manuel Lim, Vicente Diaz, Lopez,
Lorenzo, Martinez, Opisso, Pineda, Priower, F. Reyes, Sumabat,
Tamayo, Jimenez, Tonogbanua, M. Valero, Mutuc, Jorge de Leon,
Johnny de Leon, J. Tan, Vinluan, Bustamante, Jose Gutierrez,
Sison, Valenzuela, Turla, W. Guerrero, Campos, Celedonio
Francisco, Albert Cruz, Ataviado, Millar, Balagtas, Manahan,
Ramos, Father Vicedo”.
The first National President of the CYO was Doctor Ramon
F. Campos. He led the organization for twenty-two years, from 1938
to 1960. He was the Grand Knight of Manila Council 1000 from 1946
to 1948.
When World War II broke out in 1941, the number of existing
CYO units was twenty. It had drawn an amazing number of boys and
young men closer to God. George himself wrote:
―Our Council may well feel that they have assisted
substantially in bringing countless hundreds and
thousands of young men a little closer to Christ.
Without accomplishing anything very great in the eyes
of the world we can sincerely say that we have given
explicit religious instruction and spiritual counsels to
very many — (spiritual works of mercy); and to a far
larger number we have practiced corporal works of
mercy in the form of wholesome supervised recreation
under the banner of Christ. These under-privileged
people whom we have helped surely must feel a little
closer to Christ‘s Church when they see that Christ‘s
followers are thus interested in their spiritual and
material welfare.‖
When Father Willmann launched the Philippine CYO , in 1938,
another youth organization came into being, spontaneously, at the same
time. It was known as the Knights of Columbus Junior Auxiliary.
George was involved with the Junior Auxiliary, inevitably,
because most of the young men in the organization came from the
Ateneo, and most of their activities took place in Jesuit institutions.
100
The Knights of Columbus
It was a group of young boys and girls, mostly high school
students, from Ateneo and Assumption, from Holy Ghost and Letran. It
was organized in February of 1938 by Manila Council 1000 to develop a
solid union of young Catholic Actionists, and to promote social
activities in a truly Catholic atmosphere. It was very popular — the
only group ever to be affiliated with Manila Council 1000 composed of
both boys and girls.
Their spiritual activities were strong: a corporate Mass and
Communion, every month; a recollection with the Nocturnal Adoration
of the Blessed Sacrament, at La Ignaciana in Santa Ana, every month;
an apostolate among the poor, to encourage mothers to have their
babies baptized, to encourage husbands and wives who were ―living
together”, or who were only civilly married, to be married in the
Church.
They adopted poor families, bringing them food, clothing and
medicines. They presented plays, to raise funds for the poor, in the
Ateneo Auditorium, which had been beautifully designed by Father
Henry Lee Irwin, S.J.
The Junior Auxiliary of the Knights dissolved when World War
II broke out in 1941 — but their very existence was an inspiration to
George Willmann. Here was a group of young people — boys and
girls — organizing parties and dances and picnics and plays, in an
atmosphere that was soaked with the grace of God! Their dances were
joyous occasions, but also religious events! They ended their dances
with prayers before the statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary!
When the war broke, and George was trying to help the soldiers
of the American Army, he remembered the popularity of the Junior
Auxiliaries. Basketball and boxing were attractive to young men, but
so were parties and dances. It dawned on Geroge that young men
could be drawn to God by any healthy, wholesome, human acitivity.
And this included dancing. The company of a good girl, and the
conversation of a good girl, in a place that was religiously agreeable,
and agreeably religious, could be a stepping stone to God!
101
The Gentle Warrior
He remembered this, when the shadows of war were closing in
on the Philippines.
4. The Soldiers
Horacio de la Costa S.J., who was twenty-five years old at
that time, and a Scholastic in Regency, was living in the same Jesuit
community with George at the Ateneo de Manila. Late one evening,
when George was in the community recreation room, smoking his cigar
and reading the newspapers, Horacio trailed in, sank into a chair, and
sighed.
George looked up, and said: ―What‘s the matter?‖
Horacio said: ―We‘re getting all kinds of flak in
newspapers….Hartendorp.‖
the
A. V. Hartendorp, at that time, was a powerful editor and an
excellent writer, with a real talent for vituperation. He was attacking
the whole Chesterton Evidence Guild, on the grounds that they were
young schoolboys, immature, inexperienced, and arrogant in their
ignorance.
Father Russell Sullivan, S.J., who was the Moderator of the
Chesterton Evidence Guild, rejoiced in these attacks.
The
Commonweal Hour, in which the Chesterton Evidence Guild starred,
was all over the newspapers. And Father Sullivan believed that there
was no such thing as bad publicity. He reveled in conflict. The other
Jesuits at the Ateneo felt that Russell must have been Irish for the last
fourteen generations. He was the living example of that little poem
which G .K. Chesterton himself wrote:
The great Gaels of Ireland
Are the men whom God made mad,
For all their wars are merry,
And all their songs are sad.
102
The Knights of Columbus
But Horacio was a Filipino, and Filipinos normally do not
enjoy confrontation. They would rather be friends with everybody.
And Horacio was acutely aware that he was only twenty-five years old,
that he had graduated from college at the Ateneo only a few years ago,
that he was still in his period of formation as a Jesuit. And he realized
that Hartendorp was a rough, tough, commercial, sophisticated,
veteran American writer.
So he was depressed.
George Willmann put down his newspaper, took the cigar out of
his mouth, leaned toward Horacio, and said: ―Now listen, son. You
are doing good work. You have written a beautiful book. Your
broadcasts are superb. Everybody listens to them. Even the President
treats everything you say with reverence….And, remember!
Anyone, who tries to do anything well, gets into trouble! Look at
Dan Lord! Look at Robert Bellarmine! Look at Saint Ignatius
Loyola! Look at Christ Our Lord! He was doing everything right,
and they crucified him! When you are in trouble¸ son, that is a
good sign. It means that you are really doing something!‖
Every word that George said was true. Horacio de la Costa had
just completed “Light Cavalry‖ — a history of the Jesuits in the
Philippines from the moment of their return to Manila in 1859, after
the suppression of the Society of Jesus, to 1941. The book was
scheduled for launching at Christmas time, that year.
The Commonweal Hour, on radio, was truly the most popular
radio program in the country, in a day when there was no television. It
came off at seven in the evening, prime time, on Sundays, over KZRM,
in English. For the next hour, eight to nine, it was broadcast in
Tagalog. Horacio de la Costa was the principal writer for this, both
English and Tagalog. On this program, Kwentong Kochero was born.
Horacio created it. Almost everyone in the Philippines knew Mang
Teban, the kochero, and his intelligent horse, Tarzan.
The performers were really the best radio actors in the country:
Leon Maria Guerrero, who had played King Lear in college, and who
103
The Gentle Warrior
was the outstanding newscaster in Manila, under the name of Ignacio
Javier. Narciso Pimentel, Jr., who had played Cyrano de Bergerac in
college, and who had formed his own dramatic stage company. Jess
Paredes, Jr., who was recognized wherever he went because of his
warm, spontaneous, genuine laughter. Soc Rodrigo, whose Tagalog
was the smoothest in the city; he translated Cyrano de Bergerac into
Tagalog, in rhyming couplets. Manuel Colayco, the thoughtful,
vigilant editor of a newspaper.
But the Commonweal Hour, and the Chesterton Evidence Guild,
were in constant conflict with Masonry, with a divorce bill being
introduced into the Senate, with the policies of the government on
education. It was a tribute to all of them that President Manuel
Quezon, who was himself a Mason, appeared very willingly on the
Commonweal Hour.
He would listen to the program at home, in Malacanang. Then
he would come on the air, live, from his easy chair in his living room.
Once Horacio dramatized a story of a Filipino revolutionary who
escaped from his Spanish captors by cooking adobo, and offering it to
them. After listening to this, Quezon came on the air, laughing, and
said: ―That was me!‖ Then he told the real story, as it actually
happened, with names and dates and places.
President Quezon came to the Ateneo often, to review the
troops of the R.O.T.C., and to consult with Father Joseph Mulry, S.J.
It was old Joe Mulry who inspired Quezon to launch the movement
whose battle cry was: ‖Young man, go to Mindanao!‖
Horacio de la Costa was really doing all things well. His
campaign of laughter against the divorce bill, through Kwentong
Kochero , was so effective that Quezon withdrew it from the Senate,
saying: “There is no public support for this bill!‖
But Horacio drew more strength from the quiet encouragement
of George Willmann than he did from President Quezon. The support
of his fellow Jesuit, an older Jesuit, in positions of heavy responsibility.
It was Ignatius Loyola who said: ―A brother backed by a brother is
like a stone wall.‖
104
The Knights of Columbus
George was a blessing to everyone in the community.
He
never said a harsh word, about anyone. And he went out of his way to
congratulate even the Scholastics for anything that they did well.
Horacio left the recreation room smiling, and slept well that
night.
American soldiers and sailors began to pour into Manila, to
protect the Philippines against the invasion from Japan. George
remembered the glorious record of the Knights of Columbus, helping
the American soldiers in World War I. George himself, and most of the
Knights, did not expect a declaration of war. But they felt that they
should do something to help the military men. The soldiers and sailors
gravitated toward unwholesome sections of the city, to the bars and bad
houses, where they were victimized.
Father Willmann and Monsignor Rufino Santos, who had just
been appointed Auxiliary Bishop of Manila, were named members of
the Army-Navy Morale Committee. The Knights of Columbus rallied
around Father Wilmann, organizing activities for the military men that
would be not only wholesome, but more attractive to them than the
bars and the bad houses.
Clubs for military personnel were started at Sampaloc and at
Santa Rita Hall. The Knights arranged many small social affairs, and
dances. Father Willmann and Monsignor Santos watched these
dances with interest. They seemed to bring out the very best in the
American military man. Most of them were hardly men — they were
still young boys. But they were courteous, polite, gentlemanly —
even gallant. They treated the girls not only with great respect, but
with reverence. The military men never gave any trouble to the
Knights, or to the clergy, or to the Morale Committee.
So George and Monsignor Santos and the Knights arranged a
grand reception in the Palm Garden of the Manila Hotel. George had
experience with dances and receptions like this, from his history with
the Junior Auxiliaries of the Knights of Columbus. He knew that
young men, when treated with dignity, rise to the occasion and prove
worthy of trust. The American military men were deeply grateful to
George. They were not treated this way, very often.
105
The Gentle Warrior
The men of Manila gave a magnificent example to the
American military in the great procession of Christ the King. This was
a procession for gentlemen only. They marched to the assembly in
Tondo, six abreast, with heads high and trumpets blaring. Most of the
bands in the city were in that parade. Identified by parishes, with
banners flying. The Mass had to be in the open, because they were too
many to fit inside any Catholic church. They were too many even for
the Rizal Stadium. The altar was set up outside the parish church of
Tondo, by the Tondo pastor, Monsignor Jovellanos. The men filled
the plaza, all the streets surrounding the plaza, flooding down into the
side streets.
The principal address was given by a layman, a Congressman,
named Benito Soliven…. Benito Soliven was a Knight of Columbus,
strong in Catholic Action, married and the father of ten children. He
had a reputation in Congress — he could not be bought. He spoke
over a loud speaking system, set up precisely for this assembly. His
voice echoed over the plaza, and down all the side streets. It was
carried live on the Commonweal Hour, so it was heard all over the
nation.
George was happy with this. All of the Knights of Manila
Council 1000, who lived in the city, were in the procession. They
were standing in the street, before the altar, proud to be Catholic men.
And Soliven preaching the gospel, to all the men of Manila — that was
a symbol. It was the Knights of Columbus in action, the Knights
sharing in the apostolate of the Hierarchy. It was the priesthood of
the laity.
It was the Filipino man, giving good example to American men.
That night, in the chapel of the Ateneo, George thanked God,
on his knees. The world was torn by war. Violence and hatred were
sweeping through Europe, and through the United States. But the
grace of God was falling on the Philippines. The Hand of God was
touching Manila.
The Knights were really on the job!
* * * * *
106
CHAPTER FIVE
The War Years
1. Invasion
D
ecember 8 was the Feast of the Immaculate Conception
of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Mary, on this Feast
Day, was the patron saint of the Ateneo de Manila,
and the patron saint of the whole Philippines.
So, at five o’clock in the morning, a band began to play in
the quadrangle of the Ateneo compound — the musicians
marching around the grounds, waking up the boarders. The whole
school was decorated with bunting — streamers floating in the
wind over the school yard. It was a bright, cheerful, joyous day.
It was a holiday.
Later in the morning there was a Mass in the auditorium — in
the beautiful new auditorium that Father Irwin built. The whole school
was there — Grade School, High School, College, Law. The Jesuit
Scholastics were singing in the balcony. The Mass was in Latin. The
altar was on the stage.
George Willmann was no longer directly
connected with the school. He was now based in Saint Rita’s Hall.
But he was at the Mass because it was a Jesuit event. Most of the
Jesuits in Manila were there.
107
The Gentle Warrior
Halfway through the Mass there was a ripple of excitement
among the Jesuit Scholastics in the choir. A murmur of whispering.
Small, excited motions. The ripple spread through the congregation
— from the back to the front. Finally to the altar boys in the
sanctuary, and to the three priests who were celebrating the High Mass.
Pearl Harbor had been bombed!
That day, bombs fell on Clark Field, in Pampanga. Then on
Nichols Field, on the outskirts of Manila. Then on Cavite, across
Manila Bay. And bombs fell on Baguio.
The boarders, most of them, came from the provinces. They
began making arrangements, at once, to go home. Many left that day.
They left the school so suddenly that they neglected to pick up their
laundry. This was a blessing, in some ways, to the Jesuit Scholastics,
who were destined to be interned in the Ateneo on Padre Faura for the
next two years. They used the laundry left by the boarders, when their
own clothing ran out.
And then bombs fell on Manila. The City really had a siren,
which was supposed to alert the people when an air raid was coming.
But the system never worked! George, working away at Santa Rita
Hall, would hear the bombs falling. Boom!….Boom diddy boom boom
boom!…. Boom!…. Then, about thirty seconds later, the siren would
go off….. If ever the siren sounded before any bombs were falling, you
could be sure that there would be no air raid.
George investigated this. He discovered that the system of air
raid detection was this: three Boy Scouts were stationed in the tower
of the City Hall, only two blocks away from Santa Rita on Taft
Avenue. When they sighted Japanese planes, they were to notify the
city official, who would sound the alarm. The Boy Scouts never sighted
any Japanese plane until after the first bombs had fallen…. If they
sounded the alarm, and the official set off the siren, it was always a
mistake. The Boy Scouts had seen an American plane, flying low over
the city, trying to get out.
108
The War Years
Manila never had any defense. When the Japanese bombed,
they did it leisurely, gracefully, without effort. They flew in a figure
8. When the first plane was directly over the target, the bomb fell.
When the second plane was over the target, more bombs fell. They
flew in that figure 8 until all their bombs were delivered, and then flew
back to their base.
At the first bomb, George would move to the safest part of the
building, and lie on the floor. These first moments were always
adventurous, because he never knew what the Japanese target was, at
that time. But after the first few bombs, it was clear what they
were trying to hit. All the buildings in the City trembled with the
bombing, but the Japanese never bombed indiscriminately. They always
had a target. They did not want to waste ammunition.
Santo Domingo Church, at that time, was in downtown Manila,
close to the Pasig River. There were ships in the Pasig River, and the
Japanese bombed these ships. A couple of the bombs landed on Santo
Domingo Church, missing the ships in the Pasig River by a hundred
yards.
This was the occasion for much passionate oratory from the
Philippine newscasters. One announcer said: ―The Japanese claim
that they are bombing only military objectives. Bombs fell on Santo
Domingo Church! Is Santo Domingo Church a military objective?
One bomb landed on the high altar, the altar of the Blessed Virgin
Mary! Is the Blessed Virgin Mary a military objective?‖
George was philosophical about this. He said: ―We should
not get excited about a near miss. At least they are not trying to
bomb innocent civilians!‖
But many innocent civilians were killed, even though the
bombing was controlled. Trucks went around the city. Bodies were
piled on street corners. The trucks took them away. George went with
the trucks to give conditional absolution, to look for the living among
the dead.
109
The Gentle Warrior
The heaviest destruction was in the shipping yards, at Cavite.
There were so many dead, and so few able to take care of the bodies,
that they burned them, for the sake of sanitation. Row of tires, row of
bodies, row of tires, row of bodies. Soaked with gasoline, or kerosene,
and burned. The pillars of black smoke went up for days. There was a
pall over the city.
The American Armed Forces decided to evacuate. They burned
the oil tanks. They threw open their bodegas to the people. When the
oil burned, it billowed over the city in great black clouds, and it rained
oil on the people in the streets. George was wearing a white soutana.
It was stained with oil. And the oil would not come out, when the
soutana was washed.
The poor of Manila rushed to the storehouses of the Americans,
when they heard that the military was giving away everything, free!
What the people wanted most was food — turkeys, sides of beef,
canned goods, cereals.
The Jesuits went to the store houses also, in a truck. But they
wanted only two things: wine and flour. The soldiers offered them the
turkeys and the beef, but they preferred the wine, in huge wooden
barrels. And all the flour that they could load onto the truck.
This was amazing foresight! Many people were prophesying a
short war. It would be all over soon. They were saying: ―Apple pie,
by the fourth of July!‖ But the Jesuits had the terrible premonition that
it would be a long war.
The excursion they made, in the truck, to the American
storehouse, was providential. They were able to supply hosts and wine
for Mass to priests and religious — to all who came and asked – for
the next three years and three months. The Jesuits themselves, rationed
the flour. The priests said Mass with a small host. The people
received a fragment of a small host, in Communion. The altar boy put
the wine into the chalice with an eye dropper. Seven drops of wine.
And then the water with another eye dropper. Two drops of water.
But the hosts and the wine lasted through the long years of
concentration, through the days of starvation in the prison camp, until
110
The War Years
the paratroopers jumped on the American Jesuits in the prison camp at
Los Banos, and they were liberated from the Japanese.
During those stormy days — just after the Declaration of War,
and before the Japanese invaded the Philippines — when Manila was
in a state of total confusion, George Willmann and the Knights of
Columbus were doing an orderly, systematic job in the headquarters of
the Knights, at Santa Rita Hall on Taft Avenue. When the city was in
panic, and when everyone was thinking of himself, George and the
Knights were thinking of the American soldiers.
The soldiers were trapped in an Open City. The war had fallen
on them, suddenly. They were not really prepared for it. They were
doing their best. They were following orders. But their morale was
low. They were depressed.
George wrote, in his article ―The Knights Stayed on the Job‖:
―Setting aside our youth program, we developed Santa
Rita into a feverishly active Coffee Canteen, open day
and night. With the aid of many K of C brothers and
other Catholic friends, this center became extremely
popular.
The location was magnificent, and the
aroma of our Chase and Sanborn became famous.
Throughout the foxholes and air raid shelters of the
beleaguered forces, the cry was ‗Go to Santa Rita for a
cup of real American
coffee.‘ Needless to say,
‗Everybody Welcome!
Everything Free!‘ was the
rule.‖
But Santa Rita was more than a Coffee Canteen. It suddenly
became a refugee center. An inter-island boat, hopelessly overloaded
with passengers hoping to get out of Manila and back to their homes in
the provinces, struck one of our own mines in the middle of Manila
Bay, at night. It went down. Hundreds were lost, and there was no
record even of their names. But the survivors were drawn out of the
water, covered with oil, some of them badly burned, some wounded by
the explosion of the mine.
111
The Gentle Warrior
Father
Willmann’s sister, Ruth, who was a Franciscan
Missionary of Mary, wrote of this:
―Three hundred survivors were sent to the Knights of
Columbus building under Father Willmann‘s care. He
had to supply, out of nothing, food, shelter, occupation,
peace and order. He brought order out of chaos and
survival out of imminent disaster, for all 300.‖
George himself wrote of this:
“Before
the Japanese entry into Manila, the
Archbishop had entrusted to the Knights the entire
operation of Santa Rita Hall. A large concrete building
on Taft Avenue, one of Manila‘s principal
thoroughfares, Santa Rita now became a haven for
fire refugees from burnt-out sections of Manila, for
students and other provincianos unable to return to
their provinces, and for marooned sailors or survivors
of ships lying in the bottom of Manila Bay. At one
time it was sheltering refugees of ten nationalities.
―Displaced persons, they would call such refugees now.
We had all the usual problems of a DP refuge.
Especially poverty. Most especially, lack of food.‖
At Christmas time, in 1941,the book of Horacio de la Costa
S.J.: ―Light Cavalry‖ was scheduled for launching. The book was
printed, and the copies were piled high in the Good Shepherd Press in
Ermita. But the launching never came off. A bomb fell on the Good
Shepherd Press, and most of the copies were burned. A few were
rescued by the young Jesuit Scholastics who were working on the index.
When the Japanese invaded the city, they used the metal type for
bullets. Horacio had worked on the book for two full years.
George said to him: ‖Never mind, son. Look at all the good
things you learned, when you were writing that book! Maybe, in the
years to come, you‘ll get another chance!‖
This was prophetic.
After being ordained, Father de la Costa was sent to Harvard, for a
112
The War Years
doctorate in history. His dissertation was a history book: ―The
Jesuits In The Philippines‖. When Horacio was assigned to graduate
studies in history, George smiled and said: ―There! See? God draws
straight, with crooked lines!‖
At Christmas time, the young Jesuits went caroling in the
hospitals. The military hospitals were in deep, dark desolation. They
knew that the Japanese were coming in, and they knew that the
American Armed Forces had no way to move the military patients out
of Manila. While the Scholastics were singing ―Silent Night‖ in the
military hospital wards, the bombs were booming outside.
Some of the Jesuit Superiors felt that there should be no caroling
on that Christmas, because it was too dangerous to be out in the
streets. But Father Hurley, who was Superior of the Mission, made
the final decision. He said to the carolers: ―The soldiers need this.
They feel pretty low. If you get into a bombing while you are on
the road, get out of the car and dive into a ditch. You‘ll be safe, in a
ditch.‖ The carolers did this.
But even while they were singing at Midnight Mass in the
Ateneo, the bombs were booming, all around.
The city was filled with the premonition of disaster.
Disaster struck at midnight, of January 1, 1942. At that time
the Japanese troops were in Padre Faura, between the Ateneo de
Manila and the University of the Philippines, singing. It was a song of
triumph. They had been outside the city, all day long. The city was
defenseless. They could have come in. But they waited. They did not
want to come in during the daylight, for fear of snipers. They came in
when it was dark. And at midnight they were singing, on Padre Faura.
They took the building, and they took the Jesuits. George was
a prisoner, for the next three years and three months.
There was chaos in the city. Panic. A tremendous amount of
anarchy, stealing, looting. The Japanese soldiers restored peace and
order. They did this with violence sometimes, brutally. But they
113
The Gentle Warrior
restored peace and order. To George, it was an amazing thing to see
the Japanese soldiers preventing Filipinos from looting a Chinese
store.
Across the entrance to the Ateneo de Manila, on Padre Faura,
were sandbags. Japanese guards were posted at the gates, with rifles,
on the alert. Everyone inside the Ateneo was interned, subject to
examination and identification. The Ateneo was American, and
therefore the compound was enemy territory. Everyone inside it was
presumed to be the enemy, or at least friendly to the enemy.
Sister Ruth Willmann, F.M.M., speaks of the ―pass‖ given to
her brother, George. She says:
―The invaders thought the Knights of Columbus
represented their enemy, the United States. So when
they found the American chaplain there, at Saint Rita‘s
Hall on Taft Avenue, they seized him as their first
prisoner for the Santo Tomas concentration camp.
―The next morning the prisoner, Father Willmann,
faced the Camp Commander. He convinced the captor
that he had nothing to do with war of any kind, and
was dedicated to helping those in need of help. There
was a long, soul-searching look on both sides before
Father Willmann was released with a pass for travel
within certain limits within the city, for religious and
humanitarian work.‖
George certainly had a “red arm band‖. This allowed an
enemy alien to move around the City of Manila. It identified the wearer
as an enemy, to be watched, but granted permission to be outside of his
place of concentration. The ―pass‖ probably put into Japanese script
the limit of George’s mobility. It was a help, but it did not protect him
from humiliation and insult.
Sister Ruth writes:
―He was stopped for questioning, taken to a small
military post and treated most rudely. He was
114
The War Years
carrying an attache case. His captors opened it and
were infuriated to find only a comb and a banana. I
asked if he was tortured. He admitted that they were
most insulting, and that they usually concentrated on
the soft parts of the body. But he hastened to add, in
their favor, that he was near the perimeter allowed by
his pass.‖
The initial days of the Japanese occupation were dangerous, in
many ways. In the Ateneo de Manila there were 460 refugees. One
American wife and mother, Mrs.Lippe, whose husband had been killed
by the bombing in the first days of the war, was interned in the Ateneo
with her four little children and a maid. The maid had explicit
instructions not to appear before the Japanese guards, who were
stationed at the gate, but one afternoon in a hurry to get water, she
passed by the Japanese guard house. A Japanese Lieutenant stopped
her, and said: ―You will come here tonight, at eight o‘clock.‖
The maid told this to Mrs. Lippe, in fear and trembling. She
knew exactly what this meant. Mrs. Lippe told Father Hurley. At
7:30 that evening she piled all her furniture against the classroom door,
of the classroom where they were living. She chose a chair that she
could handle. She was prepared to break this chair over the head of
the Japanese Lieutenant, if he was able to come through the door.
But Father Hurley felt responsible for every one of his 460
refugees. He went down to the classroom, where Mrs. Lippe was
living with her four children and the maid. He stood in front of the
classroom door. At eight o’clock, when the maid did not appear at the
guard house, the Japanese Lieutenant came to the classroom. Father
Hurley said: ‖I am responsible for these people. You can not go in.‖
The Lieutenant slapped him in the face, hard. Father Hurley
was bigger than the Japanese, and in a fair fight would have had no
trouble with him. But this was not a fair fight. Father Hurley did not
raise his hands. The Japanese slapped him again, and again, and again.
Frontwards and backwards, hard. Then he drew his Samurai sword,
115
The Gentle Warrior
and began to beat him with the sword. But Father Hurley would not
move out of the doorway.
Upstairs in the Ateneo, Father Sullivan called the religious
section of the Japanese. A Captain answered him. Father Sullivan
begged the Captain to come, at once. And the Captain came. When
the Captain saw the situation, he spoke to the Lieutenant, quietly,
alone. The Lieutenant came back to Father Hurley and bowed, in
apology. He said: “Sorry…..I am sorry!…..Sorry!‖
It was this kind of thing that George remembered. He was
always positive. He tried to see the best side of everybody, even of the
Japanese. He wrote:
―I saw plenty of Japanese ruthlessness and atrocities,
even personally experienced a little…. But perhaps
enough has been written of that side of the picture, and
too little of the Japanese Good Samaritans who, in one
way or another, helped the suffering.
―For instance, one day the usually busy street in front
of our Santa Rita K of C clubhouse, Taft Avenue,
became ominously quiet. The Jap military had stopped
all traffic, placed guards at strategic points. We knew
something would happen, and it did. Along the other
side of the broad avenue shuffled into view the long
line of Corregidor‘s survivors. Emaciated, limping, in
rags, they passed directly in front of our building.
―Galvanized into action, our committee rushed out
with cooling drinks. It was a courageous thing to do.
Would the Jap guards, so cruel and ruthless in other
places, allow them to help? Or would they be slapped
down? Surprisingly, no objections were made, and
they were allowed to allay the thirst of the half dying
soldiers.
―Even more. One American prisoner was dragging
himself along in obvious distress. Finally he fell,
prostrate, in the road, unable to proceed. In the
116
The War Years
Bataan Death March, the guards had killed those who
collapsed. We held our breath, as a Jap soldier,
bayonet on rifle, approached the poor fellow.
―But no. Not brutal in the least, the guard bent down,
and half- lifting, half-supporting the American, trudged
together with him down the street out of sight.‖
George saw good, even in the Japanese, when he was suffering
under the Japanese!
It was true that the Japanese were making an effort to convince
the Filipinos that they were friends, that this was not a religious war.
The religious section of the Japanese Army came in with the second
wave — some priests, some Seminarians, and some nuns. The Jesuit
Scholastics met with one of these Japanese Seminarians. He came to
the Ateneo, to the dormitory, sat on one of the beds, and talked. He did
not know English, and the Jesuit Scholastics — Filipino and American
— did not know Japanese. But they got along famously in Latin. All
seminarians, at that time, used Latin as the means of instruction! It was
a bond of union!
The Japanese Seminarian explained that he had been drafted
from the Seminary. He did not volunteer. He did not want to come.
But the Japanese government felt that Seminarians were necessary, to
convince the Filipino people that Japan was not hostile to the Church.
The Seminarian said that he had been out on the water, off the coast of
the Philippines, since October of 1941. And Pearl Harbor did not
happen until December 8!
Not only the Religious Section of the Japanese Army was
making an effort to befriend the Filipinos — the whole military
organization wanted to convince the Filipino population that the coming
of the Japanese was not a hostile invasion, it was liberation from the
tyranny of the Americans!
It manifested itself in ways like this: a young girl, the
daughter of a Filipino government official in Manila, was raped by a
117
The Gentle Warrior
Japanese Officer. The girl told her father. The father reported it to the
Japanese Command. In the office of a Japanese Colonel, the girl
identified the Japanese Officer who had raped her. The Colonel spoke
to the Officer, and gave him a pistol. The Officer went into the next
room, and shot himself through the head.
It was a definite, programmed procedure, to convince the
Filipino people that the Japanese were friends.
George went to Saint Scholastica’s, to visit wounded American
soldiers. The Japanese chose Saint Scholastica’s for this, because the
Benedictine nuns were German, and Germany was the ally of the
Japanese. In the hospital wards, George discovered that very many of
the American boys were there not because of wounds, but because of
battle fatigue! Battle Fatigue was the new word, in World War II, for
what was called ―Shell Shock‖ in World War I. The name was
changed because it was discovered that a boy could come down with
battle fatigue, or with shell shock, without hearing any shell fire. It
was insanity, brought about by the pressure of war. The boys
suffering from this did not know who they were, or where they came
from. George got their names from their dog tags, and — whenever
possible — tried to get word to their parents, or to their wives.
It dawned on George that the wreckage of war is not only
buildings and bridges — the real wreckage of war is men!
In the early days of the Japanese Occupation the Voice of
Freedom was sounding, loud and clear, every night, from the radio
transmitter of the United States Armed Forces on Corregidor. George
listened to the radio in his room, at night, with the lights out and the
door locked.
It was a crime to listen to the Voice of Freedom.
George knew that it was the voice of Leon Maria Guerrero, saying: ―It
would be so sad, so tragic, if we surrendered today and help arrived
tomorrow!‖
Then, suddenly, it was no longer the voice of Leonnie Guerrero.
It was the voice of Norman Reyes. George knew both of these
boys…. And then the Voice of Freedom was still.
118
The War Years
It was replaced by triumphant cries from the loud speakers
which the Japanese had set up in every street: ―Corregidor has fallen!
The Japanese Imperial Army has conquered Corregidor! Four
hundred Japanese paratroopers have taken two thousand Americans
prisoner, on Corregidor!‖
The figures were true. Four hundred Japanese paratroopers did
capture the island, with two thousand Americans on it. What the
Japanese did not say was that most of these Americans were the
administrative personnel, based in Malinta Tunnel — nurses, doctors,
secretaries, book keepers.
The Japanese never forgot that: four
hundred Japanese took two thousand Americans captive!
George was always trying to be positive, but — listening to the
Japanese cries of triumph over the loud speakers, in the streets, at
night — even George could taste the bitterness of defeat.
But there was worse to come. On a warm clear night in April
of 1942 the voice of General Wainwright echoed in the streets of the
city, over the same loud speakers. General Wainwright was called
‖Skinny‖ Wainwright. And on that evening even his voice sounded
skinny. He was exhausted, depressed, physically sick. The tired voice
came over the speakers, again and again and again:
―The Armed Forces of the United States of America
have surrendered to the Japanese on Bataan. I am
speaking to the American military men in Mindanao
— I beg you to lay down your arms!….I am speaking to
the Filipinos who have joined the United States Armed
Forces. We have surrendered. I beg you to lay down
your arms….‖
Over and over and over again.
The effect on the morale of the people in the city was
devastating. Even George had believed, with all his heart, that help
was coming. The Voice of Freedom gave the impression, to everyone,
119
The Gentle Warrior
that battleships and airplane carriers were steaming across the Pacific
from California, bringing aid to the poor boys who were fighting in the
foxholes of Bataan. Even George was waiting for the battleships to
stream into Manila Bay.
But no ships ever came.
Instead, the Americans and Filipinos who had been holding out
on Bataan were abject prisoners of war, being clubbed with the butts of
Japanese guns, being driven in long irregular lines over the long
mountainous route from Bataan to the prison camp at Capas.
It was the Death March.
What George said was true — when a soldier fell, the Japanese
shot him. Only sometimes they did not shoot him. They killed him
with a bayonet, to save ammunition. There were many Knights in that
Death March. The one that George knew best was Benito Soliven,
who was the orator at the Feast of Christ the King in Tondo, just
before the war.
Benito Soliven was an extraordinary man. When he ran for
Congress in the Ilocos region, his opponent was a politician named
Elpidio Quirino. There in the north, where the voters knew all the
candidates personally, Benito Soliven defeated Elpidio Quirino so badly
that Quirino retired from politics. It was Quezon who brought Quirino
back into public life. Quirino was Quezon’s white haired boy. Years
later, Quirino became President of the Philippines.
Benito Soliven fell in love with a beautiful, good little girl, there
in the Ilocos region. He was already in Congress when this happened,
and the girl was twelve years old. He was completely moral. He
waited patiently until she was eighteen. Then he courted her, and
married her. They had ten children in twelve years.
When he was in the prison camp at Capas, sick with beri- beri
and burning with fever, the Japanese offered him his liberty if he would
join the puppet government. Benito thought about it, lying on the
120
The War Years
floor, sick unto death, in the little bamboo shack in the prison camp.
He said to the Japanese: ―No. I have never been compromised. I do
not want to begin compromising now. If I accept your offer, I will
have to do whatever you say. I don‘t want to do that. I will get out
of this camp when everybody else gets out.‖
When finally he was released, he was so sick that he died.
George and the Knights buried him, from the Paco Church. The tenth
child, the youngest, died.
The doctor did not say that it was
malnutrition, but George believed that hunger had a great deal to do
with it. Food was very scarce, in those days.
Benito’s wife, Pelagia, was thirty years old when he died, and
beautiful. She had long hair, which hung below her waist. She never
married again. She worked as a seamstress, making the soutanas that
Jesuits wear. The white soutana that George Willmann wore, walking
through the war torn streets of Manila, was made by Mrs. Soliven.
Many years later, when one of Benito’s sons was about to be
married, he broke off with his fiancee. He said: ―I asked her the key
question. And she gave the wrong answer! So I broke it up! ”
George said, in wonder: ―What is that key question?‖ The Soliven
boy said:
―Well, I asked her: ‗If I die, would you marry again?‘
And do you know what she said? She said: ‗I don‘t know!‘ That‘s
the wrong answer! So I broke it up. She‘s going to be unfaithful to
me, just because I die!‖
George realized that the boy was utterly conditioned by his
mother and father. Benito died when this boy was three years old. To
the boy, his Daddy was only a picture on the wall. But his mother kept
telling her children what a good man he was, and how much he loved all
of them — and she never thought of marrying anyone else. So when
the boy asked his fiancee: ―If I die, would you marry again?‖ and
she said: ―I don‘t know!‖ he thought: ―What kind of a girl is this?
She is not like my Mommy!‖
The boy had a regular confessor, who was a Jesuit. The
confessor told him: ―You can not hold a girl to anything after
121
The Gentle Warrior
death! Marriage is ‗until death do us part‘ — only that!‖ The boy
realized that this was true. He apologized to the girl, and they were
married on schedule. Later, at their wedding anniversary, the boy’s
wife promised that — if he died — she would not marry again.
Pelagia Soliven celebrated her golden wedding anniversary,
thirty eight years after Benito died. Her grandchildren marched down
the aisle of the church, and her children, and she herself — absolutely
confident that Benito still loved her, that he was there — only you
could not see him.
George was proud of Benito Soliven, proud of his wife, and
proud of their children. He felt that the Educational Trust Fund, set up
at the Supreme Convention in Toronto, Canada, in 1944, for the
children of Knights who gave their lives for their country was wise with
the wisdom of God.
George also realized that for Benito Soliven, for his wife, and
for their family, marriage was not only ―until death‖. It was
“forever‖. Love was “forever‖.
The Death March took its toll of Knights like Benito Soliven,
who actually made the agonizing journey. But it also took some of the
Knights who came out to help the soldiers. Tony Escoda, who was very
active in Manila Council 1000, came out to the line of march. He
was helping the prisoners, giving them water, binding up their wounds.
Because he was dressed in white, the Japanese thought that he was a
doctor. When they discovered , much later, that he was a media man,
they were angry. They took Tony and his wife Josefa into Fort
Santiago. Even the Japanese soldiers and sailors were afraid of Fort
Santiago. It was the domain of the Japanese Gestapo, the Kempeitai.
Josefa was in a cell with Mother Trinita of Maryknoll. When she
was questioned about Tony, she said that she knew very little about
what he was doing. The Japanese would not believe this. They said:
―You are wife… Wife always knows what husband is doing.‖ Josefa
122
The War Years
said: ―We were really estranged. I was planning to get a divorce.‖
This appealed to the Japanese, because they introduced divorce in the
Philippines, early in their occupation.
Tony Escoda passed under the window of the cell in which
Josefa and Mother Trinita were. He was in the prison yard, for the few
moments of sunlight and air which the prisoners were allowed. Josefa
said to him: ―Tony, I am going to divorce you!‖ Tony nodded. He
understood the message.
But it did not work. The Japanese moved both Tony and Josefa
to Old Bilibid Prison. They were never seen again. The inmates of
Old Bilibid Prison were absolutely certain — both Tony and Josefa were
executed.
The Knights lost men who were actually in the Death March,
like Benito Soliven. They lost men who came out to help the prisoners
during that March, like Tony Escoda. And they lost more men who
tried to help the soldiers in the prison camp at Capas, like Enrique
Albert.
George described it this way:
―Then came April, 1942, the Fall of Bataan, and the
unspeakable Death March to
Camp O‘Donnell.
Spearheaded by our valiant, even reckless K of C
Brother Enrique Albert, later executed by the Japanese,
we joined the underground to smuggle medicines and
other supplies into the infamous prison camp. Braving
the explicit prohibition of the Jap military, many other
Brother Knights cooperated in this glorious work.
―With Brother Albert as manager, we also started the K
of C Rest House, just outside the stockade, for the
broken hearted relatives of the victims, and for the
broken bodied soldiers when they were finally released.
A new Ford station wagon, ‗borrowed‘ (without
permission, of
course)
from
our
Japanese
conquerors, was an indespensable part of these Manila123
The Gentle Warrior
Capas-Camp O‘Donnell activities.‖
The prisoners of war, who were Filipinos, were released little
by little. Their names were published in the newspaper, which was
carefully censored by the Japanese. Those who loved the boys who
were imprisoned in Capas watched the newspaper religiously, avidly,
hungrily, praying that their boy would be released. But not all of the
Filipinos who went into Capas came out of that camp alive.
Luis Pimentel was an outstanding student at the Ateneo. In
his last year in college he starred as Edmund Campion in the play:
‖Who Ride On White Horses‖. He was drafted into the army, fought
at Bataan, struggled gamely through the Death March, and was
imprisoned at Capas.
A young girl in Manila had a fierce crush on Luis Pimentel.
She followed everything that he did in college. She listened to the
Commonweal Hour on radio, to hear him play ―Lolo Hugo‖. Luis
was the original ―Lolo Hugo‖. She bought the Ateneo Guidon just to
read his articles. He was the editor of the Sports Page. She went to all
the football games, because Luis was a regular player on the team.
And when he was rehearsing for his last play: ―Who Ride On White
Horses‖, she slipped into the auditorium at night, and sat quietly in
the rear row of seats, in the dark, watching him.
While he was in Capas she bought the newspaper every day,
and studied all the names. His name never appeared. Finally, when
almost all of the R.O.T.C. cadets who had fought in Bataan were
released, and there was a reunion at the Ateneo, she approached Satur
Velasco — who was the light man in the drama guild, and goalie on
the football team. She asked: ―Do you know where he is — Luis
Pimentel?‖
Satur thought carefully, and then spoke slowly, trying to
remember. He said: ―You go up the hill from the camp, to the ridge
on the west side. It was a trench. A big trench, about two feet wide,
and three feet deep. We buried all the bodies in that trench —
124
The War Years
about fifty in each trench.‖
The girl was shaken. She said: ―He‘s….dead?‖ Satur was
surprised. He said: ―Oh!….Sorry!….I thought you knew
that….Yes….We buried him….in the trench.‖
The body of Luis Pimentel was never identified. But he was in
good company. Many families, who lost the ones they loved, had to
be content with going to the tomb of “The Unknown Soldier‖.
Ramon Cabrera was another Ateneo boy, only a sophomore in
college when the war broke. He was the left halfback on the football
team. That team was undefeated, untied, unscored upon. It is difficult
to beat that record. They won the NCAA championship from La Salle
on December 7, 1941. The war swept over the Philippines on the next
day.
The coach of that team, Arsenio Lacson – who later became
Mayor of Manila — said to George Willmann: ―Whenever Cabrera is
knocked down, I watch him.
If, when he is getting up off the
ground, he smiles — I know he is hurt!‖
Ramon went to Bataan, when he did not have to go. He was
in the Death March. He survived Capas. When he came out of the
prison camp, he went into the underground. The Japanese picked him
up, and brought him into Fort Santiago. There, they wanted him to
give the names of those who were with him in the underground. He
said: ―I don‘t know any names.‖ To make him talk, they beat him in
the mouth with a gun butt. They broke out all his teeth. They
smashed his jaw. They crushed the nose. But still he would not talk.
So they brought him to the cemetery, and gave him a shovel. They
said: ―Dig your own grave!‖
Ramon said: ―Dig it yourself!‖
So they bayonetted him. He dropped to his knees, looked up
at the guard who had bayonetted him, and smiled. It was a strange
smile, because he was bubbling blood, and the blood was black. Then
he fell.
125
The Gentle Warrior
Arsenio Lacson was there. He saw Cabrera die. He said,
later: “But even when he fell, you could tell who was the winner!
The Japanese had to dig the grave themselves.‖
At the Communion breakfast, after Liberation, Jess Paredes
said: ―I‘m very grateful to Mon, because one of the names that he
would not give was mine!‖…. Another boy, Cabrera’s classmate, held
up his hand and said: “One of the names he would not give was
mine!‖ Little by little, hands went up all around the room. The boys
said: ―Mine!….Mine….Mine.‖
Jess Paredes was emotionally moved. He said: ―I think that
Mon Cabrera was a martyr of charity. Greater love than this no
man hath, that he lay down his life for his friends.‖
George was thinking of the Rajah Soliman, of Jose Rizal, of
Gregorio del Pilar. His private reflection was: ―When the chips are
down, the Filipino has courage!‖
There was deep emotion, heartbreak and tears all around him,
and George really mourned for the dead. But he felt that he should do
whatever he could for the living. He wrote:
―Although concentrating on this work for the refugees
and prisoners, we realized that the Devil was still active
in Manila. Practically no schools were functioning.
Tens of thousands of adolescent boys were roaming the
streets; the idle mind, always the ‗devil‘s workshop‘ was
delivering
them into sin. Law and order were
forgotten.‖
This was true. The bravery of the boys was incredible. The
Japanese had set up a barracks in Araullo High School, then on the
corner of Taft Avenue and Padre Faura, near Saint Rita’s Hall. The
compound was surrounded by a barbed wire fence. At meal times the
Japanese soldiers would get their food inside one of the school
buildings, but they would come out into the open yard, and sit down on
the benches or on the ground, to eat. The hungry canto boys would
126
The War Years
line up outside the barbed wire, looking longingly at the food. This
disturbed the Japanese soldiers. So — to protect themselves from
these hungry, staring eyes — they built a sawali fence inside the barbed
wire fence, so that the street urchins could not watch them while they
were eating.
They set up this sawali fence on Friday afternoon. When the
sun came up the next morning, the barbed wire fence was gone! The
street urchins of Manila stole the barbed wire fence of the Japanese,
from around the Japanese barracks, and sold it for money! George
thought: ―This could only happen in the Philippines!‖
Because everything was disrupted, and there was no more
regular work, things became precious. In normal times, a thief would
hold up a pedestrian at night, and take his money. But in these days of
the Occupation, the thief wanted things! A Dominican priest, clad in
the voluminous folds of the Dominican religious garb, went for a walk
in the evening. Three thieves held him up, and took all his clothing!
The poor priest ran home, through the streets, stark naked!
A man died and was interred in the usual way, in Manila — the
body was placed in a coffin, and the coffin was inserted into a crypt, in
the cemetery. The body was not buried in the ground. It was in a
crypt, about two feet above the surface of the cemetery. A nephew of
the dead man, walking through the streets of Manila, saw a man in a
suit. The suit seemed very familiar. He went to the burial plot, with
his family, and found the body of his uncle in the coffin, stark naked!
Thieves had stolen all the clothes!
George wrote:
―With the actual outbreak of the war, December 7,
1941, we had been forced to discontinue our boys‘
work. But it was apparent that the youth problem now
was greater than ever. His Diabolical Majesty was
taking no vacation during the war. Indeed, war
conditions helped him.
127
The Gentle Warrior
―We decided to reopen our clubs, try to keep at least
some of these boys busy with sports and reading and
catechism and study clubs.
The Japanese military
professed a policy, in those days, of allowing Catholic
priests, as well as Protestant ministers, to continue
spiritual activities. But our foes were very suspicious;
at first they restricted gatherings and made special
trouble for me since I was an American (enemy) priest.
―On one occasion a squad of Kempeitai (Jap Gestapo)
raided our Ayala Club. I was reading my Breviary in
a corner, when suddenly, startled out of my quiet, I
looked up to face a furious Kempei threatening me with
a drawn revolver.
Together with the others, I was
forced out on the basketball floor. There was much
questioning, demanding of identification papers, rough
jiujitsu in which Jap soldiers were so adept. I received
an unusual amount of questioning.
Why, they
repeated, should a priest be found in such a place?
For what good purpose was I in a sports club? It must
be a subversive gathering. But we held our ground and
finally were allowed to continue.
―By mid-1942, six months after Pearl Harbor, we
again had more than 2000 boys in our clubs in the
enemy-occupied city. Also, we reopened the Sampaloc
School for the poor.‖
The spirit of George was contagious. The Superiors of the
Society of Jesus also reopened classes for the young Jesuits who were
still in the process of formation. Philosophy and theology were taught
in the Padre Faura compound, although the place was crowded with
refugees, no one had enough to eat, there were Japanese guards at
every door, and sandbags across the front gate.
By 1943 the refugees, interned at Padre Faura, were desolate.
It looked as if the war would never end. There was no mail. No
communication with those they loved at home. Morale was low. The
people in the compound were miserable.
128
The War Years
The Jesuit Superiors, knowing that the Jesuits were good at
self-entertainment, asked the Scholastics studying theology to put on a
play, especially for the 460 refugees. Their purpose was clear: cheer
them up! Make them smile! If possible, make them laugh!
The young Jesuits understood this situation very well. It was
precisely what they did at Woodstock. Horacio de la Costa wrote a
play called: ―Fiesta‖. It was in the style of Kuwentong Kochero —
―A Psychopathic Drama Having One Horse, Three Acts, Six Scenes,
And Plenty Singing… The characters will be discovered at the back,
because nobody knows yet who are the characters.‖
It was the story of the little town of San Belarmino — because
the new Jesuit theologate was called after Saint Robert Bellarmine.
Napoleon, the mad genius of crime, is stealing intelligent animals —
including Tarzan, the intelligent horse of Mang Teban, and the
intelligent rooster of Badong, the sailor home from the sea. The local
pulis call in the F.B.I. from the United States, and these Irish F.B.I.
agents come to San Belarmino thinly disguised as a Coney Island side
show.
Just the preparation of this show was a blessing to everyone.
At every rehearsal the young Jesuits laughed until they cried.
Hernando Maceda, a very quiet young man, and sick with tuberculosis,
lying flat on his back on the stage, with his arms and legs up, like a
puppy dog, laughing. When the cast is enjoying the show, the
audience enjoys it. The refugees loved every minute of it.
During rehearsals, the Scholastic who was stage manager came
to Horacio de la Costa and said: ―Skeezix, we have a problem. You
have two big scenes, back to back. We can do it, but we need time.
And the show should not stop, for that scene change.‖ Horacio said:
―How much time do you need?‖ The stage manager said: ―Three
minutes‖.
So Horacio de la Costa went back to the cubicle in which he
was billeted, in the Manila Observatory. There were four young Jesuits
in a room built for one. It was night. Everyone was hungry. The
129
The Gentle Warrior
Japanese were patrolling outside. He sat down at his desk, and wrote a
three minute piece, to cover the scene change.
―There is a thought that comes to me sometimes, as I
sit by my window in the evening, listening to the
young
men‘s
guitars,
and
watching
the
shadows
deepen on the long hills, the hills of my native land.
―You know, we are a remarkably poor people. Poor,
not only in material goods, but even in the riches of the
spirit . I doubt whether we can claim to possess a truly
national literature. No Shakespeare, no Cervantes has
yet been born among us to touch with immortality
that which in our landscape, in our customs, in our
history, is most memorable, most intimate, most
ourselves.
If we must needs give currency to our
thoughts, we are forced to mint them in the coinage of a
foreign tongue; for we do not even have a common
language.
But poor as we are, we yet have something. This
pauper among the nations of the earth hides two
jewels in her rags. One of them is our music. We are
sundered one from another by eighty-seven dialects; we
are one people when we sing. The kundimans of
Bulacan awaken an answering echo in the lutes of
Leyte. Somewhere in the rugged north, a peasant
woman croons her child to sleep; and the Visayan,
listening, remembers the cane fields of his childhood,
and his own mother singing the self- same song.
―We are again one people when we pray. This is our
other treasure: our Faith. It gives, somehow, to our
little uneventful days, a kind of splendor; as though
they had been touched by a King And did you ever
notice how they are always mingling — our religion
and our music? All the basic rites of human life — the
harvest and the seed-time, the wedding, birth and
130
The War Years
death— are among us drenched with the fragrance of
incense and the coolness of music.
―These are the bonds that bind us together; this is the
soul that makes us one. And as long as there remains
in these islands one mother to sing Nena‘s lullaby, one
boat to put out to sea with the immemorial rowing
song, one priest to stand at the altar and offer God to
God, this nation may be conquered, trampled upon,
enslaved, but it cannot perish. Like the sun that dies
every evening, it will rise again from the dead.‖
At Santa Rita Hall, George was also making heroic efforts to
keep his refugees happy:
―We attempted a vegetable garden to help fill our
stomachs. Everybody cooperated, digging, planting,
watering, weeding. But the cinder-filled back yard
turned out to be an agricultural fizzle. We found it
more suitable for pig-raising, which soon developed into
one of my personal chores.
―Just north of us was a building which, because of its
pretentious nature, had been taken over for the
residence of a Japanese Major General. Overlooking
our yard was his penthouse, and there his staff reclined
at their leisure in the late afternoons. How these Japs
enjoyed this spectacle of the hated American Padre
feeding slops to the pigs, and pulling water lilies from
the nearby muddy canal to give them their needed
roughage. They would laugh and nudge each other as
at a huge joke.
―I enjoyed it too, strangely enough. It was good
exercise for body and distraction for mind. Before long
we were able to build up a large brood of blooded
stock; their sale brought substantial financial return
that was sorely needed.‖
131
The Gentle Warrior
Sister Ruth Willmann, F.M.M. records a spectacular thing that
happened in George’s piggery:
―It was during a meeting of the K of C in Our Lady of
Loreto abandoned school that Muriel, the sow, over in
Intramuros K of C refugee center, was making history.
Someone kept phoning Father Willmann during the
serious meeting: ‗Muriel has six babies!‘ …. ‗Nine,
now!‘…. ‗12‘…. ‗15‘…. ‗17‘…. ‗19‘…. ‗20‘…. ‗21‘…
‗Muriel is dead!‘‖
About the middle of 1943 the Japanese decided that they
wanted to use the Ateneo compound on Padre Faura. They relocated
the refugees, and the Jesuits. Some of the Jesuit Scholastics, who
were not overflowing with Christian charity toward the Japanese,
decided to make the place as uncomfortable as possible, for the new
Japanese occupants. They went through the buildings with monkey
wrenches, removing the water faucets, the fixtures in the showers, the
doorknobs, the electric light bulbs — everything that was removable.
The Japanese discovered this, and became very angry.
It was precisely at this time that Father Anthony Keane —
who was called ―Micky‖ — discovered two boxes of bayonets in the
old armory of the R.O.T.C. There had really been no effort at deceit.
No one was trying to hide the bayonets from the Japanese when they
took the Ateneo in January of 1942. It was just that the bayonets were
overlooked. No one realized that they were there.
It was the judgement of Father Keane, at that time, that he
should not declare these bayonets to the Japanese military, because they
were so angry at that particular moment. He thought: ―They will
use it as a pretext to slam us all into Fort Santiago. Or they might
shoot us all, in the quadrangle!‖
So he placed the two boxes of bayonets on a push cart, covered
them with mattresses and bedding which was being moved to La
Ignaciana, and dispatched two Scholastics who pushed the cart through
the streets to Santa Ana. Father Vince Kennally S.J., the close friend
132
The War Years
of George Willmann, was the Superior of La Ignaciana. At first he did
not know what was in the boxes. When the Japanese were inspecting
La Ignaciana, Old Joe Mulry was sitting innocently on top of the boxes
of bayonets, not knowing that the boxes contained bayonets!
When Father Kennally found the bayonets, he did not know
what to do with them. So he wrote a note to Father Keane, saying:
―What do we do with the bayonets?‖ He gave this note to Jaime
Neri, a young Scholastic. But before Jaime could deliver it to Father
Keane, the Japanese picked up Jaime and the note, and brought them
both to Fort Santiago.
Father Kennally consulted with the priests in his community.
He did not know that Jaime Neri was apprehended. He did not know
that the Japanese had his note. He decided to throw the bayonets into
the Pasig River. So, that night, they opened the boxes and threw the
bayonets into the river, one by one.
The next day, the Japanese came to La Ignaciana, and asked:
―Where are the bayonets?‖ When they found that the Jesuits had
thrown them into the river, they tied ropes around the waists of the
Jesuit Scholastics, and threw them into the river, with orders to ―find
the bayonets!‖ The ropes were not to keep the Scholastics from
drowning. The ropes were to keep them from swimming away. The
young Jesuits dove all night, but the bottom of the Pasig River was
twelve inches deep with mud. They did not find a single bayonet.
One of the young Scholastics whom the Japanese threw into
the Pasig River, to find the bayonets, was Freddie Escaler. He later
became Bishop of Kidapawan, and then of Ipil, in Mindanao.
What followed was disaster — Vince Kennally was brought to
Fort Santiago. Micky Keane was brought to Fort Santiago. Even Old
Joe Mulry, who had nothing to do with it, was brought to Fort
Santiago. There they were questioned, and beaten, and kept sitting on
the floor, in silence, for long hours. They thought that the hearing aid
of Old Joe Mulry was a radio, so they took it away from him.
133
The Gentle Warrior
Father Kennally and Father Keane were never released, really.
They were kept in Fort Santiago for months, and finally were
transferred to the concentration camp for civilian internees, at the
University of Santo Tomas.
When George saw his friend, Father Kennally, in the Philippine
General Hospital, Kennally was literally skin and bones. He was so
weak that — when George asked for his blessing — Father Kennally
could not lift his right arm. He took his right wrist with his left hand,
and blessed George that way.
Father Mulry was released from Fort Santiago. He walked to
San Ignacio, to the Jesuit community there, in the Mission House.
They fed him. It was the first real meal that Father Mulry had eaten,
in months. After supper, talking to his fellow priests, Father Mulry
said: ―Thomas a Kempis says: ‗Cellula continuata dulcescit!‘ ‗Your
little cell, if you stay in it long enough, becomes sweet.‘ I want to
tell you, brothers, it‘s a damn lie!‖
Jaime Neri, S.J., was also taken into Fort Santiago. Nothing
was heard from him. Months later, a young man rode up, on a bicycle,
to the Paules’ Seminary, where the Jesuit Scholastics were studying
theology. He asked for Father Neri: ―Is he here?‖ The Scholastic
who spoke to the young man said: ―No! He‘s in Fort Santiago!‖
The boy with the bicycle was quiet. He hung his head and said:
―No. He was taken out of the cell. I was in the cell with him. He
was taken out. I thought he might be here.‖
And then he told the story of that cell in Fort Santiago. He said:
―We were like animals, before Father Neri came. We were fighting
over the food. The strongest got the most. The sick ones got almost
nothing. But when Father Neri came, everything changed! He
would say grace before meals, and then the Japanese guard would
come in, and beat him with his sword. But Father Neri always said
grace. Then he would divide the food. He would give the most to
the weak ones. And he himself took the least…. He taught us all to
pray…. This was dangerous. The Japanese did not like that. They
134
The War Years
thought that we were praying against the Japanese….. I told Father
Neri that I had not been to church for a long time. My father left
the Catholic Church, because the priest was always talking about
money. Father Neri said the priest was wrong to always talk about
money — but that did not make the Church wrong! God, in the
gospel, does not talk about money! And that was true! So I wanted
to confess my sins to Father Neri, but he said he was not a priest
yet, and could not give me absolution. So we stood by the window
of the cell, and when Father Keane came by, in the prison yard,
Father Neri signaled to him, and Father Keane gave me
absolution.‖
The boy was nervous, standing beside his bicycle. He kept
looking around, to see if he was being followed. He said: ―Then they
took Father Neri away. When they took him, it was like death.
Everyone in the cell was silent. But when they served the food, we
all said grace, and the guard came in and beat all of us, so then we
felt better.‖
He said: ‖I was released yesterday. I came here, to look
for Father Neri. I hope they didn‘t kill him. I hope he isn‘t dead.‖
Then he climbed on his bicycle, and rode away.
Actually, Jaime Neri was taken to Old Bilibid Prison, tried, and
sentenced to Muntinglupa, the national prison. He was there with
Monsignor Rufino Santos, who later became the first Cardinal of the
Philippines. Monsignor Santos took all the blame for the help that
Archbishop O’Dougherty was giving to escaped prisoners of war. He
accepted his sentence to Muntinglupa without complaint, though he
was not guilty. He was heroic, in his defense of the Archbishop.
Jaime Neri led the prison break from Muntinglupa, in the last
days of the war. He escaped with Raul Manglapus, who later ran for
President, and served Cory Aquino as Secretary of Foreign Affairs.
Jaime was decorated, by the government of the United States, for
bravery.
There was real hardship in Manila, for the Jesuits, in those
135
The Gentle Warrior
days. But it was not all bad. George wrote:
―For the record, we were greatly assisted at this time by
Father Gregorio Tsukomoto, former Japanese parish
priest of Tokyo, on special duty as religious liaison for
the Nipponese Army.
Father Gregorio was so
enthused about our work with the boys of Manila that
he expressed a desire to start similar youth work back
in Tokyo.
―Another time, one of our Japanese conquerors put me
in an embarrassing spot by asking to join the Knights
of Columbus. An exemplary Catholic, he would have
seemed a fine candidate — in normal times. We felt
sure he was sincere, a man of good will. Fortunately
we were able to tell him, truthfully, that we were having
no initiations at present.
―The Japanese military, of course, did not view the
Knights of Columbus with as great esteem as did these
Japanese Catholics.
The military tried hard to
persuade our Filipino Knights, especially prominent
members, to participate in radio propaganda and to
cooperate in other ways with the Japanese ‗Greater East
Asia Co-prosperity Sphere‘.
But our Knights
steadfastly refused, and finally the Japs gave up in
disgust with: ‗You call yourselves Filipinos — but you
are really pro-American, just as pro-American as the
Archbishop.‘
―The Knights were highly honored by the comparison.‖
George always said: ―Times are hard…. Things are pretty
tough….But they are bearable.‖
George never seemed to get to the point where he would admit
that anything was unbearable!
136
The War Years
His sister Ruth said: ―His hair became white, and his body
became emaciated, but he kept his equilibrium.‖
The Jesuits were moved from the Paules’ Seminary on San
Marcelino Street to the Monastery of San Agustin in Intramuros.
There, early in July of 1944, they were gathered into the dining room,
to be counted, and identified.
George was sitting beside Horacio de la Costa. Horacio was
white, and trembling. During his stay in Fort Santiago, he had seen the
Japanese Officer who was counting the Jesuits. Horacio whispered:
―Be careful of him! I saw him beating a prisoner, with a wire whip.‖
At four o’clock the next morning all the American Jesuits were
assembled in the courtyard of San Agustin. It was still dark. Military
trucks rolled up to the gate. They were covered with canvas. The
Japanese did not want people to see the American Jesuits being taken
away. They were loaded into trucks.
George ventured to ask the Japanese in charge: ―Where are we
going?‖ The Japanese was reluctant to answer this. But finally he
said: ―To a safe place.‖
The trucks rolled off through the streets of Manila, in the dark.
2. The Prison Camp
The trucks brought the American Jesuits to the University of
Santo Tomas, which was the big main concentration camp for
civilians from countries which were at war with Japan. But U.S.T.
was only a stop-over! The Jesuits were brought to the big beautiful
gymnasium of the Glowing Goldies, the basketball team of Santo
Tomas.
When he walked out onto the basketball court, George realized
what was happening. All of the foreign missionaries — from countries
that were at war with Japan — were being rounded up, men and
women, Catholic and Protestant. Some were there already — sitting
137
The Gentle Warrior
on the floor of the basketball court: the Maryknoll Sisters, the Dutch
priests of the Missionaries of the Sacred Heart, the little Dutch Sisters
from Saint Joseph’s College, French Canadian nuns from the
Missionaries of the Immaculate Conception, Redemptorists from
Australia, American Brothers from La Salle.
All day long they kept coming in. The basketball court was
crowded. Each religious congregation chose a little section of the
floor, and settled there, in a small circle. Protestant missionaries came
in: Anglicans, and Seventh Day Adventists. They came in families —
husbands, wives, children — carrying bags and boxes and bundles.
The religious missionaries were kept apart from the civilians
who were already interned in U.S.T. Father Hurley was in that camp,
and Father Kennally, and some Jesuit Scholastics from Mindanao —
but the Japanese did not want any interaction between the old
prisoners, who were already there, and the new prisoners, coming in.
Late in the morning Frank McSorley, who was a priest, and an
Oblate of Mary Immaculate, began to prowl around the outside of the
gymnasium. He was dressed in shorts and chinelas — nothing more.
No shirt. He was conspicuous, with his red bushy hair, and red hair on
his chest. He was trying to see his younger brother, Dick McSorley,
who was one of the Jesuit Scholastics locked in the gym.
A Japanese guard intercepted Frank, and told him to go away
— back to the quarters of the regular U.S.T. internees. Frank resisted,
raising his voice, and calling out: ―I only want to visit my brother!….
I only want to see my brother!…. I only want to talk to my brother!‖
Dick McSorley, in the gym, recognized that voice and came to
the open gateway. They saw each other — the two brothers — and
waved. The visit was conducted that way: Dick standing in the
gateway, which was as far as he could go, and Frank calling to him,
over the shoulder of the Japanese guard: ―I want to say hello to my
brother!‖
George saw this and smiled, saying: ―They are all crazy — the
McSorley boys. They come from Philadelphia, from a family of
138
The War Years
fifteen children. Five of the McSorley girls are nuns, and three of
the boys are in religion — two Oblates of Mary Immaculate and one
Jesuit.‖
Later, the mother of Frank and Dick became the ―Catholic
Mother of the Year‖, in the United States. And Frank himself
became the Bishop of Jolo. He was loved by all the Muslims. Frank’s
school, in Jolo, had a student population that was 95% Muslim. One
Muslim boy, whom Frank sent to medical school at U.S.T., moved to
the United States and practiced there as a doctor. He had seven
children, all boys. He called them: Francis I, Francis II, Francis III,
Francis IV, FrancisV, Francis VI, Francis VII. Then he had a girl. He
called her ―Francine‖.
George had a beautiful reunion in that gym, and his was much
more peaceful than the meeting of Frank and Dick McSorley. Sister
Ruth was brought in by the Japanese, in the early afternoon, with other
Franciscan Missionaries of Mary.
She sat on the floor of the
basketball court, with George, and they visited together, happily.
That night all of the missionaries slept on the floor. It was
crowded, tight. The Maryknoll nuns — like all the other Sisters — did
not remove their veils. But their veils were rigged with wires, so that
they looked like an American soldier’s overseas cap. One nun, who
found it hard to sleep in that cap, said in the morning: ‖If ever I
become the Mother General…. I am going to remove these wires!‖
The missionaries were taken by train to Los Banos — to the
University of the Philippines at Los Banos. There they were confined in
a special section of the compound — the area that used to be the pig
pen, and the piggery. There were about ten long bamboo barracks in
that area — each barracks capable of holding about a hundred people.
The bamboo building was extremely simple — one floor, no
furniture, a long empty space, like the Indian ―long houses‖ in
American history books. An open path ran down the middle, on the
dirt floor. The floor was bamboo, on both sides, about six inches
above the ground. The floor on each side was divided into cubicles by
a thin sawali wall. Each cubicle could hold six people. It was wide
139
The Gentle Warrior
open to the dirt path running down the middle. This was George’s
―home” for the next eight months.
The Jesuits were billeted in Barracks 19 – ninety five men. The
Sisters were billeted in Barracks 20, the barracks closest to the three
rows of barbed wire surrounding the camp, next to the road. The
priests and nuns wanted it that way, so that the Jesuits would be a buffer
between the nuns and the rest of the camp.
The whole area, in which the missionaries were confined, was
called: “Vatican City‖.
The train arrived at Los Banos about noontime. By three
o’clock in the afternoon most of the missionaries had found the
barracks assigned to them. They were dividing the space, and
unpacking bags. But the Anglicans stayed out in an open field, in the
sun, for three more hours.
Some of the barracks were assigned to Catholics. Some were
assigned to Protestants. Walter Damrosch III — grandson of the great
conductor of the Philadelphia Philharmonic Orchestra — was the head
of the Anglican group. He explained to the Japanese very carefully,
that their group was Catholic. He said: ―There are three branches of
the Catholic Faith — Roman, Greek, and Anglican. We are the
Anglican branch of the Catholic Faith. We are Catholic.‖
The Japanese Sergeant marched over to the Jesuit barracks
and said: ―They are Catholic. We will put them in this barracks.‖
Father Francis Dowling Burns, who had been elected head of Barracks
19, said: ―No way! They are not Catholic! They are Protestant!‖
The Sergeant marched back to the Anglican group in the field.
But they insisted that they were Catholic. Finally the Sergeant appealed
the case to a Japanese Lieutenant, who understood English. The
Lieutenant went to Walter Damrosch and said: ―Do you have wives?‖
Damrosch thought about this, because he knew it was a dangerous
question. Finally he said: ―Yes! We do have wives. But….‖
That was enough for the Japanese Lieutenant. He pointed to the
proper barracks and said: ―Protestant!‖
140
The War Years
Very early, after the arrival of the missionaries in Vatican City,
the Japanese announced that they would allow a certain amount of self
government in the prison camp. They said: ―Please elect a Central
Committee. Fifteen persons. This Central Committee will be your
liaison with the Japanese Command.‖
The election interested all of the internees. There were
excited conversations. Some of the internees began to campaign for a
position on the Central Committee. The Jesuits had no trouble. They
nominated Father Francis Dowling Burns, who had already been
elected head of the Jesuit barracks. All of the Jesuits voted for him.
They felt that one Jesuit on the Committee was enough.
When the fifteen men were elected — no women — they
appeared before the Japanese Commandant, with a certain amount of
pride. They said: ―We were elected. Now, what are our obligations,
and our privileges?‖ The Commandant looked at them — the
inscrutable Japanese look — and said: ―If anyone tries to escape
from this camp, we will execute you fifteen.‖
Never was an exhortation for peace and order so effective! The
Central Committee returned, each to his own barracks, and said: ―Now,
boys….nobody try to escape…. This won‘t last long…. The war will
end, soon…. Let‘s just wait it out!‖
George knew that his Knights were suffering in Manila.
wrote:
―I was imprisoned in Los Banos concentration Camp
early in July, 1944. Bombing of Manila began in
October of the same year. Until the Liberation of
Manila the following February, starvation and terror
reigned over the city. Untold thousands
were
slaughtered, or died in misery and destitution during
those indescribable days.
―Amidst such bloodshed and chaos the Knights were
scattered to the four winds, and ceased to exist as an
organized body.”
141
He
The Gentle Warrior
The hardship in the prison camp was hunger. Standing in line,
with a tin plate, waiting to be given a ladle full of lugao. Sitting at the
wooden tables in the pig pen, eating with the other prisoners. At first
it was three times a day — seven in the morning, noontime, six in the
evening. But then it became twice a day — ten in the morning, four
in the afternoon. Then the rice became less and less, until it was two
ounces in the morning, and two ounces in the afternoon. Then the
system was changed — one container allotted to each barracks. The
container of rice was delivered at ten in the morning, and again at four
in the afternoon.
Salt was a luxury. Sugar was out of this world. Women were
standing at the barbed wire, talking to the guards, trading their jewelry
for a small bag of rice. All of the internees tried to grow vegetables,
of any kind. Pechay seemed to be the easiest to plant, the easiest to
take care of, the most durable. The young Jesuits learned to eat
things that they had never eaten before — banana skins. The bananas,
of course, if you could get them! But if you fry the skins, you do not
need oil. The skins have an oil of their own. And they become
crisp. When you chew them, they go down. They taste like potato
chips.
And corn cobs. The corn, of course, if you could get it! But the
corn cob, if you chew it thoroughly, goes down. And it tastes sweet.
It was necessary to have something in your stomach, or you came
down with beri-beri.
Stealing food, within the prison camp, was a crime. There was
a prison, within the prison — solitary confinement. One poor man,
whose legs were swollen with beri-beri, stole half a coconut. The
men, from whom he stole it, beat him up. He was given fifteen days in
solitary.
One little Canadian Sister, French speaking, from the
Missionaries of the Immaculate Conception, was put on trial for
stealing onions. The Japanese had a vegetable garden, inside the area
of the prison. The camp was surrounded by barbed wire. This garden
was inside the barbed wire, adjacent to the little hospital of the
internees. The Japanese harvested all their vegetables, and then threw
142
The War Years
the garden area open to the internees. The Sisters went there, to glean
what they could from the remnants of the Japanese vegetable garden.
The Canadian Sister discovered a patch of onions. She was
overjoyed! She thought that the Japanese had overlooked that patch,
and failed to harvest it. So she gathered up all the onions, and brought
them home to her community, and they had a feast.
But the onion patch belonged to Doctor Dana Nance, the head
of the hospital, himself an internee. He had been a Protestant medical
missionary in China. He accused the Sister of stealing his onions, and
she was put on trial, by the Central Committee. Her defending lawyer
was Father Francis Dowling Burns, S.J., who was the close friend of
George. George went to the trial, to give moral support to the nun,
and to Father Burns.
The Central Committee questioned Doctor Nance. How did he
acquire this patch of ground? He said: ―From the Japanese! I
treated a Japanese Officer, and he gave me the ground!‖ How did
he acquire the onion seedlings, which he planted? Doctor Nance
said: ―From the same Japanese!‖ The Central Committee asked:
―Your treatment of this Japanese Officer — was it surgery?‖ Nance
said: ―No! It was medicine!‖ Where did he get the medicine?
Nance said: ―From the hospital!‖ The Committee said: ―Aha!
You used the property of the internees to get this patch of ground,
and to get the onion seedlings! So the ground, and the onions, really
belong to the internees! And this Sister is an internee! She was
really taking what belonged properly to the internees of this camp!
Not guilty!‖
George said, later: ―The trial was not fair, really. The little
Sister looked so frail, and so helpless. And she could only answer in
French! And Dana Nance — in chinelas and shorts, and his big
hairy chest — the poor guy never had a chance!‖
George became the spiritual Father
of the Franciscan
Missionaries of Mary, who were right next door to the Jesuit barracks.
These Sisters were strict observers. It was their custom to have
143
The Gentle Warrior
reading at the table, at every meal. When lunch was abolished, because
they had no food at lunch, their reading at table continued! They would
assemble religiously at noon, sit around the wooden table George had
built for them — the empty table — and they would listen to spiritual
reading. One of the Sisters would read aloud from a spiritual book.
They believed in food for the soul, even when there was no food for
the body.
George gave them spiritual conferences, periodically. Other
Jesuit priests did this, too — Old Joe Mulry, Francis Dowling Burns,
Leo A. Cullum. But George was the most fatherly, and understood
them best. He had two blood sisters in their Religious Order.
He said Mass for them in the barracks that was used for a
chapel — consecrating a small host, and giving each one a fragment of
a small host at Communion. The Sisters filled the eye droppers with
wine and water each morning, reverently.
Sister Ruth was on the kitchen crew. This was a group of
women who went down to the camp kitchen each morning, poured the
raw rice out on the wooden table, and then picked the gravel and the
woolly worms out of the rice. Not only was the rice scarce. Water
was scarce, also. There were faucets in the wash rooms — one wash
room between every two barracks — but the water oozed out drop by
drop, and sometimes stopped entirely. Drinking water was available
only in the kitchen, from one tap. The Sisters carried little brown
jugs, when they went down to the kitchen. They would line them up in
front of the faucet — the water was precious, and did not run all the
time. When they went home to their barracks, they brought the filled
jugs home with them.
This gave rise to a song, composed by the irreverent Jesuit
Scholastics, who could not resist singing, even in a prison camp. This
was the song:
Six little nuns live all alone
In a bamboo room they call their own —
And if you were a little bug
You‘d find in every room – a jug!
144
The War Years
Yah, ha, ha! You and me!
Little brown jug, don‘t I love thee!
Yah, ha, ha! You and me!
Little brown jug, don‘t I love thee!
When they go toiling in the kitchen
Little brown jug — it goes right wichem!
They line them up there, two by two,
And fill them when the work is through!
They till the soil, when day is done —
You‘ll find them there at set of sun…
Just look at all the ground they‘ve dug —
You know what makes them strong? The jug!
Yah, ha, ha! You and me!
Little brown jug, don‘t I love thee!
One of the women working with Sister Ruth in the kitchen was
a tough night club hostess named Shanghai Lil.
When one of the
Maryknoll Sisters ran out of shoes, Shanghai Lil gave her a pair of
shoes which she had saved in her trunk, from her days in Shanghai.
They were red, with high heels and no toes. When the Maryknoll Sister
went to Communion in the chapel each morning, she looked very
religious in her cream colored habit and black veil, but under the hem of
the habit, as she walked reverently down the aisle, George could see the
red shoes, with high heels and no toes.
Once, in the evening, a young Jesuit was looking out the
window of barracks 19. In the open window of barracks 20 he saw a
Maryknoll Sister, bent over, brushing her hair. The hair was long and
lustrous. The Jesuit was embarrassed, that he had seen this. George
said: “Nonsense! Those Sisters are women! They are beautiful
women! Beautiful on the inside, and beautiful on the outside! They
are the brides of Christ. And God has very good taste!‖
A baby was born in the camp. The proud father was George’s
friend, a radio man named Hal Bowie. He went around the camp
145
The Gentle Warrior
carrying his baby in one hand. It was a girl, weighing only three
pounds. She was baptized in the camp.
At Christmas time a six year old girl was going down the dusty
road that ran in front of the barracks. She had a little rag doll, and
was pulling it in a sled, made out of paper. She said to George,
joyfully:
―Look what my Mommy and Daddy gave me! A doll!
And my Mommy made the doll! And my Daddy made the
carriage!‖ George’s reflection was: “ It does not take much, really,
to make a child happy.‖
The wood crew went out every morning, into the foothills of
Mount Makiling, to cut down trees, to chop the wood into lengths that
could be used for cooking, and to carry the wood back from the
mountain to the kitchen. There were twenty one civilian internees —
young men, in reasonably good shape — who made up this wood crew.
Five Japanese guards, armed with rifles, went out with the
wood crew each day. They posted themselves around the woodcutting area, rifles alert.
Each morning, when the wood crew lined up, and the Japanese
guards lined up, ready to go out, the guards would load their rifles in
the presence of the prisoners, to show them that they meant business.
Each guard would slam a clip of four large shells into his rifle.
One of the wood crew, watching the guards, whispered to his
neighbor, out of the side of his mouth: ―Five guards. Four shells
each. Twenty bullets. There are twenty-one of us. If we all ran, at
the same time, in twenty-one different directions, maybe one of us
would escape!‖ This never occurred to George. He was patient to
the end.
Old Joe Mulry had difficulty digesting the rice, as it was served
from the camp kitchen. Edgar Martin — whose family ran the Martin
Diner in New York City — would re-cook the rice for Joe, over an
open fire, outside of the barracks. Joe’s stay in Fort Santiago had left
him with constant pain in the abdomen. Joe, obviously, was not well.
146
The War Years
But the study of philosophy and theology had stopped — the
professors who were in the prison camp were too weak to teach.
Books were relatively rare. When evacuating from Manila, the Jesuits
were told to travel light. Each man’s possessions were limited to
what he could carry in a duffle bag.
So the Jesuit Superiors decided that it would help the morale of
the barracks if there could be a few interesting intellectual lectures.
They were afraid that the minds of the young men would grow
stagnant, that — if ever they got out of the camp — they would be little
better than animals.
So they asked Old Joe Mulry to give lectures on Shakespeare.
Joe was willing to do this. At the Ateneo de Manila he had been the
heart of the A.B. course. He was the inspiring teacher of Horacio de
la Costa, Jess Paredes, Leon Maria Guerrero, Soc Rodrigo, Claudio
Teehankee, Bert Avellana. When Joe was teaching, his students would
not miss class, because they enjoyed the class!
But no suitable time for the lectures could be found, except
after curfew, at night. When the sun went down, all of the internees
were confined to quarters. If sighted outside of their barracks, they
could be shot dead by the guards. So the lectures on Shakespeare
were scheduled for the evenings , after curfew.
.
The La Salle Brothers were not billeted in Barracks 19. Their
barracks was about two hundred meters away. So, on the evenings
when Joe Mulry’s lectures were scheduled, they would crawl, on their
bellies, at the risk of their lives, from their own barracks to Barracks
19, where the lectures were being held.
Joe Mulry sitting on the bamboo floor, with a little light in front
of him, the shadows dancing on his face, lecturing on Hamlet, on
Macbeth, on King Lear, on the Merchant of Venice. The light came
from a shallow coconut shell, filled with oil. A lighted wick was
floating on top of the oil. It was the only light in the barracks, because
the war was on, American planes sometimes roared overhead, and the
whole camp was under orders to maintain a strict blackout.
147
The Gentle Warrior
The Jesuits sat on the floor, or lay on their bellies, their chins in
their hands, listening to old Joe Mulry. The La Salle Brothers listened
in awe, their mouths open. It was certainly a tribute to Shakespeare, or
to Old Joe Mulry, or to both. When the lecture was over, and the
questions, the La Salle Brothers would slip out of Barracks 19, one by
one, moving flat on the ground, to their own barracks.
Then, late one night, Joe Mulry hemorrhaged. Al Grau, the
Scholastic acting as infirmarian, found him in the wash room, on the
floor. The blood was all around him, like a little sea. It had gushed
up through his mouth. Al bent over Joe and asked: ―How are you,
Father?‖ Joe smiled and said: ―Oh, I feel much better, now!‖ The
blood had been coagulating inside him. Throwing it up gave him some
relief.
Six Scholastics took the improvised stretcher that was used
for carrying the sick — it was really an old door that had been rescued
from someplace — and they carried Joe down to the camp hospital.
Two Japanese guards went with them, so that they would not be shot
by other guards.
In the hospital, Doctor Dana Nance decided to operate. Some
of the internees said that Dana Nance was knife-happy, but George
explained that the poor man had almost no medicines, and no
equipment for diagnosis. The only way he could find out what was
wrong, with anybody, was to operate. He was really a good doctor,
and a good surgeon, and sacrificial. He never complained about being
dragged out of bed at night, or of working too many hours — though he
was obviously overworked . He was the only doctor in the camp.
Nance — moving around the little hospital in chinelas and
shorts —put his coffee grounds on to boil. The grounds had been used
many times before — but that was the system in the camp. Don’t
throw the coffee grounds away! Boil them again and again. At least
they made the hot water taste a little bit like coffee. Dana Nance
took a single cigarette, lit it, took a deep puff, and handed the cigarette
to his scrub nurse, who was from the U.S. Navy . She drew
148
The War Years
deep on it, and handed it to the nurse’s aide. These three lived in the
hospital —Nance, the nurse, and the aide.
Father Henry Greer, S.J., who was Socius to the Superior of the
Philippine Mission of the Society of Jesus, and therefore the ranking
Jesuit Superior in the Los Baños Camp, went to the bedside of Father
Mulry. He heard his confession, anointed him, and gave him the last
blessing. Then he drew out three cigarettes, and put them on the little
table beside the bed of Father Mulry. Joe looked at the cigarettes,
smiled, and said: ―Oh, I won‘t need all of those!‖
They wheeled him into the operating room. Aside from the
Navy scrub nurse, all the nurses at the operation were Maryknoll nuns.
Dana Nance started the operation, by kerosene lamp, held high by a
Maryknoll Sister. When the operation was only five minutes old,
Sister Isabel said suddenly: ―He is dead.‖
Nance could not believe it. He worked the chest of Father
Mulry with his hands. Then he reached through the incision and
pumped the heart with his fingers. But it was no use. Old Joe Mulry
had really gone home to God.
Sister Isabel prepared the body for burial. The stretcher crew
went to get the plain wooden coffin, and the purple vestments, from
the chapel. Sister Isabel tied a cloth around Father Mulry’s chin, up
over his head, to keep his face from being distorted. The stretcher
crew carried him back to the chapel, in Vatican City, in the coffin.
They arranged the coffin in front of the altar, for the Mass in the
morning. It was already 2:30 a.m. Sister Isabel untied the cloth, took
it away from around his chin, and the face of Father Mulry fell into a
smile. Sister Isabel wept. She said to him: ―Father, you have to be
serious! At least in death!‖
At five in the morning, when the Sisters came into the chapel
and saw the coffin, they did not know who it was. They came tiptoeing down the aisle, to look into the open coffin, at the face. It
was a shock, for most of them. The night before, he was talking to
them, laughing. And now he was in the coffin, smiling, but dead.
149
The Gentle Warrior
He was buried in a shallow grave, in the little cemetery beside
the chapel, in the prison camp at Los Baños. The graves in that
cemetery began at six feet, but as time went on and those assigned to
dig the graves became weaker, the graves became shallower and
shallower. The grave of Father Mulry was hardly three feet deep.
There was a wooden cross over it, with his name, and the date.
George had lost a friend….or gained one, in heaven. Old Joe
Mulry was a brave, brilliant, good natured generous man. He died of
ulcers. His death really began in Fort Santiago, when he was sitting on
the floor, in the prison cell.
Death struck frequently, in those days.
One morning, just
before dawn, there was a rifle crack, just outside of Barracks 19.
George ran to the barracks door. There on the ground, just outside
the first row of barbed wire, was a young Pan-American pilot, an
internee. He was shot through the shoulder, and was rolling on the
ground in agony, but he was holding on to a bundle. A Japanese
Officer was standing over him, with a rifle. Father Leo McGovern
said to the Japanese, from the barracks door, that it was inhuman to let
a wounded man die, without helping him. The Japanese Officer said:
“It is a military offense to try to escape from this camp, and — even
if he were not wounded — we would execute him.‖
So they dragged the body outside the camp to a little gully, and
put a bullet through his head. George heard the shot, in the
barracks. When they gave the body to the internees, the bullet hole
was small in the back, but big in the front. It blew out all the brains.
While they were digging the grave, a Jesuit said to another PanAmerican pilot who was also on the burial crew: ―What was he
trying to do — breaking out at dawn? That‘s suicide!‖
To try to break out at dawn really was suicide. There were
three rows of barbed wire, and four rows of Japanese guards. And
the guards were amazing marksmen! One young internee, trying to
escape, hid in a ravine all day. When it was evening, and the ravine was
full of shadows, he ran across it. The Japanese guard was on a bluff,
150
The War Years
above him. George heard the shots in the camp — four quick shots, in
rapid succession, one burst. When they gave the bodies to the
internees, all four bullets went into the base of the neck, between the
right ear and the right shoulder. All four bullets passed through the
body, and came out on the left side, above the left hip. Any one of
the bullets would have killed him.
So the Jesuit said: ―What was he trying to do — breaking
out at dawn?‖
The Pan-American boy was quiet until the Japanese guards
were out of earshot. Then he said: ―He was not shot trying to
break out! He was shot trying to get back in!‖
The guerrilleros wanted a map of where every Japanese guard
would be, at seven o’clock in the morning. There was a plan on foot to
liberate the prisoners of the Los Baños camp. American paratroopers
were supposed to jump on the camp. The guerrilleros were to come in
on the ground, from all sides. They had gotten this message to the
Pan-Am boys. So the internees made a map, indicating where every
one of the 210 Japanese guards would be at seven in the morning.
They folded this map up small, and taped it between the shoulder
blades of the boy who was killed. They covered the map with makeup. At eleven in the evening they caused a little divergent noise on
two sides. The guards went toward the noise. And the boy slipped
through the middle.
He met the guerrilleros and delivered the map. They fed him.
Then the boy began to think of his wife and baby in the camp. They
were hungry. So he made a little bundle of food, and started back.
The guerrilleros tried to stop him. They said: ―We‘re going to strike
that camp, soon!‖ The boy answered: ―Listen. I have heard that for
three full years! First it was ‗apple pie by the fourth of July‘. But
the fourth of July came, and there was no apple pie. Then it was
Christmas….. Three Christmases under the Japanese! Now you say:
‗Soon‘. Suppose the strike does not come soon, and my wife and
baby die in that camp? Give me that bundle!‖
151
The Gentle Warrior
So he started back, some time after midnight. And he almost
made it…. If he had five more minutes, he might have been inside
that last row of barbed wire…. But at that time there was a glow in
the east. A guard saw him. The rifle shot. The bullet through the
head. And a shallow grave.
The Japanese gave the bundle to the internees, because they
thought he was breaking out, and the bundle contained his supplies for
the journey. George gave the bundle to the wife of the boy. It was
rice, and a coconut, and some bananas.
The rice was soaked with his blood.
Sometimes the internees laughed, so that they would not cry.
American planes were roaring overhead, on their way to bomb Manila,
or on their way back. This gave a tinge of hope. The Jesuit singers,
entertaining all of the internees, wrote a song about it:
What is the hope that the white planes bring?
What put the zip in the songs we sing?
What‘s the reason for
The crowd ‗round the barracks door?
Why do you thrill at the boom of guns?
Why do you dream of cinnamon buns?
It is the certainty
That someday we will be free!
Ah….
You‘ve had things to get you down —
To make you fret, and to make you frown —
You‘re locked up, but you‘ll be free!
You darned old internee!
Hi, ho, the merryo —
You‘ll be happy as can be!
Too bad for Tokyo —
It was such a nice city!
152
The War Years
You‘ll sail the sea ,across the foam —
The band will play when you come home —
And you‘ll be glad you used to be
A darned old internee!
Ah…..you darned ol‘ internee!
Some of the songs that the Jesuits sang were a little daring.
The singers were taking the chance that the Japanese guards would not
understand English, especially when it was sung. The real terror of the
camp, who was only the Assistant Commandant, but the one who
caused the most pain, was a Japanese whom the internees knew as
Konichi. Later, George saw many other spellings of that name. The
internees knew it only by sound. To them, it was a bad word. His
headquarters were in Barracks Three. The Jesuits, entertaining the
camp, would sing:
Who‘s the boy
Fills us all with joy?
Clever, kind and coy —
Da dee dee!
Lives in three —
Bosses you and me —
We‘ll hang him from a tree —
Da dee dee!
Your starvation causes him no pain!
Why, if our army wasn‘t here,
he‘d do it once again!
In ninety hours
That boy will be ours —
We‘ll put him in the cawas!
Da dee dee rah, rah, rah!
Oh, Da dee dee, rah, rah, rah!
Oh, Da dee dee, rah, rah, rah,
rah, rah, rah, rah!
153
The Gentle Warrior
“Da dee dee” was close enough to the sound of the name to
make all the internees scream. The “cawas‖ were the great metal
containers in which the kitchen crew boiled the rice.
When the Jesuits were singing the Christmas carols, during
Midnight Mass at Christmas time, 1944, the tenors cracked on the high
notes. The lead tenor was Joe Kavanagh, a Scholastic. He had a
beautiful voice, but he also had beri-beri.
Half of his face was
paralyzed. When he sang, only half of his face moved. The other
tenors were weak from hunger. Kavanagh cracked on the solos, all of
the tenors cracked on the high notes. There is nothing so miserable as
a beautiful tenor voice cracking on a Christmas carol.
After the Mass, some of the singers said, for the first time:
―You know….maybe we will not get out of here. Maybe this is the
end.‖ One second tenor said: ―If ever we do get out, I won‘t care if
I become the Rector of the biggest Jesuit house on the Atlantic
seaboard, or the last, lowest and least in Tuguegarao, if I have three
things. Only three things.‖ This was his spiritual vision, when face
to face with death.
He said:
―Those three things are:
breakfast….dinner….and supper!‖
George Willmann shook his head, and said: ―No, son. There
are things more important than food. Man does not live on bread
alone….we will survive this thing!…. We will survive!‖
Early in January of 1945 hysteria swept through the prison
camp. An internee ran through barracks after barracks, at three o’clock
in the morning, shouting at the top of his voice: ―Our Japanese
guards have left the camp! The guards have left the camp! There
are no more guards! They‘re gone!‖
And the guards were gone. They disappeared in the night.
This did not mean freedom, exactly. The Japanese military who were
stationed on Mount Makiling, in great numbers, came down to
inspect the camp. It was true that our guards were gone. The
Japanese Officers from Mount Makiling could not understand this.
They posted guards of their own — from the troops on Mount
154
The War Years
Makiling — all around the camp. They said to the Central Committee:
―No one may leave this camp! No one!‖
But at least there were no Japanese guards inside the camp!
Barracks Three was empty. The internees had the whole area, inside
the barbed wire, to themselves! It was a delirious week of freedom.
Internees broke into the Japanese bodega, and carried out all the rice.
For eight days everyone had enough to eat. The wood crew did not go
out into the hills anymore, to cut wood for the kitchen. The internees
began to chop up the wooden benches, for firewood.
George was distressed at this. He said: ―We should not destroy the
benches! They are valuable! We will need them!‖ But the
internees, drunk with freedom, said: ―No! It‘s all over! The guards
are gone! We‘re free!‖ And they cut up the wooden benches for
firewood.
Then, in the middle of the night, after the eighth day of
freedom, one of the Central Committee came through the Jesuit
barracks, saying quietly: ―The guards are back! The guards are
back! No one go out. The guards are back!‖
And it was true.
The guards came back. They withdrew
because they received a report that the Americans were attacking
Manila. They thought that this meant ground troops. But the attack
was only from the air. The Japanese guards were reprimanded in
Manila, and sent back to their posts at Los Baños . They were inside
the camp, close to the internees, stationed at every crucial point.
Death struck more frequently after that. The graves became
even shallower…. Two feet…. Just enough to cover the coffin with
dirt.
Some of the older internees just gave up. They did not want to
try anymore. They lost the will to live. It was despondency, deep
depression, despair.
First the hysteria of freedom — after three years
of
captivity…. And then the terrible let down when the guards came
155
The Gentle Warrior
back… It was too much…. Whenever an internee said: ―I don‘t want
to live anymore‖ — that was the end.
But George would not give up. He said, doggedly: ―We will
survive this thing!…. We will survive!‖
3. Liberation
The planes roared over the camp at seven in the morning. All
of the Jesuits were still inside their barracks, because at seven they
were to line up in the little dirt street in front of the barracks, to be
counted and identified by the Japanese. But the bell for this counting
had not rung yet.
Standing at the barracks door, looking at the planes, George
saw a white, billowing parachute open just under one of the planes.
Then another, and another, and another. ―What is it?‖ a priest asked
him. George said: ―I don‘t know. The Japanese must be practicing.
I guess it‘s some kind of war game.‖
But, as the parachutes opened, rifle fire began from the low
hills outside the camp! Bullets were whistling through the barracks.
The Jesuits lay flat on the bamboo floor, because the bullets were
ripping through the sawali walls — in one side of the barracks and out
the other — about four feet above the ground.
George began to worry about Sister Ruth. The barracks of the
Sisters — Barracks 20 — was between Barracks 19 and the rifle fire
coming from the hills, so it must be worse in the quarters of the Sisters!
George crept to the passage leading to the wash room. The big pot
was there, in which the rice came to Barracks 19. It was empty.
George took the pot lid, and — holding it like a Roman shield — ran
across the intervening space to Barracks 20.
He found the Sisters lying flat on the bamboo floor. He found
Ruth. She was face down on the bamboos, but shaking with laughter.
He said: ―What‘s the matter? Why are you laughing?‖ Lying
156
The War Years
together on the floor, she told him. ―That Sister…that old sister….she
never stops talking! And just now she was talking, as usual, and a
bullet shot the coffee cup right out of her hand! She stood there for
a minute and said: ‗That was the best cup in the barracks‘, and
then lay down, with the rest of us. She was quiet, for the first time
in months! Then she leaned toward me and asked: ―What was I
saying?‘‖ Ruth could not stop laughing. It struck her as incredibly
funny. She said to George: ―Whatever this is, it must be something
big! She lost her train of thought!‖
Japanese soldiers ran into the barracks of the Sisters and began
firing out of their windows, firing at the hills. George guessed that the
Japanese were firing at the guerrilleros. It could not be anyone else.
The Japanese were stepping on the nuns, to get to the windows.
Through the open doorway, George could see new figures
approaching the barracks. They were wearing coal-skuttle helmets,
like the helmets of the Germans in World War I. The Japanese were
allies of the Germans, so George guessed that these might be Germans,
imported to train them. But these men in the coal-skuttle helmets,
some of them, had no shirts — and their bodies were yellow! George
guessed that they might be Koreans. There were many Koreans in
the Japanese Army.
Two of the Japanese, firing from the window, were wounded.
They withdrew, bleeding. The other Japanese withdrew, still firing.
One of the figures in the coal-skuttle helmets came sliding along the
wall, outside the barracks, and looked in. He was an American!
George knew this, at once. A little nun bounced up from the bamboo
floor, threw her arms around the American soldier, and kissed him!
The boy blushed, took off his helmet in the middle of the battle, and
said: “Gee! This is the nicest battle I ever been in!‖
Then a big black soldier appeared in the doorway and said: ―If
you folks would get out onto the road — we gonna evacuate you all
in a little while!‖
It was only then that George realized what was happening.
The planes were American. The parachutes were American. The
157
The Gentle Warrior
American Army was using coal-skuttle helmets! The helmet that
George associated with the Americans was the old shallow pie plate —
the helmet they used in World War I.
At Los Baños, in that
parachute jump, he saw the new American helmet for the first time!
And the bodies of the boys were yellow because they were taking
atabrine to ward off malaria. And the atabrine made their skin yellow!
The guerrilleros came out of the hills, through the barbed wire,
into the camp. All of the Japanese guards were killed in eleven
minutes. Huge, monstrous tanks moved in on the barbed wire, from
outside the camp. They reared up like horses, came smashing down
over the barbed wire, and rolled into the camp. The paratroopers
called these: ―Amtracs”. They were part tank, part truck, with huge
wide caterpillar tracks. They lined up on the dirt road. The soldiers
were begging the internees to get into the amtracs.
George ran into the chapel. There Father Cullum was trying to
consume the Blessed Sacrament, giving five consecrated Hosts at a
time to the Sisters who were kneeling at the altar rail. George took
the last ciborium out of the tabernacle, and went down to the altar rail
to give Communion. He could see that the chapel was already on fire.
But the flames were not near the altar, yet. He gave Communion to
the Maryknoll Sister with the red shoes. And to Shanghai Lil. And to
Sister Ruth. The flames were getting closer. He consumed the last
few Hosts himself, put the ciborium in the canvas bag of Father Cullum,
and they all ran out of the chapel together, into the last of the amtracs
on the dirt road.
The great body of the amtrac was an open truck, so George
could see the action in the camp. The barracks were on fire. The
internees — most of them — were in the amtracs, and the amtracs were
moving out. But a terrible thing was happening. Some of the internees,
maddened a little by the long years of imprisonment, were dragging
the bodies of the dead Japanese guards into the path of the Amtracs, so
that they would be crushed by the great caterpillar treads. The
American drivers of the Amtracs could not do this. Most of them were
seeing a real Japanese, for the first time, on that day. They would rear
the Amtrac high, like a horse, turn, and come smashing down at right
158
The War Years
angles to the road, so that they would not run over the bodies of the
Japanese.
An American soldier was sitting at the front of the Amtrac,
completely exposed, manning a machine gun. Looking at him, George
judged that he must be a high school boy. He was risking his life for
these internees, whom he had never seen before. George thought:
― This is what it means, to have a country!‖ He never dreamed that
the United States could stage a special raid, just to rescue civilian
internees! He thought that they would be released — if ever they were
released — in the normal course of events, when the American Armed
Forces recaptured the area of Los Baños. That the United States
should send out planes, and paratroopers, and tanks, just to rescue
them! George was overwhelmed.
It was like an amazing,
adventurous, wild, wonderful dream!
The Amtracs reared up when they reached the barbed wire,
smashed down over it, and they were out of the concentration camp!
They rolled down the dirt road, through the trees, until they reached
the water. George thought that they would stop there, and get into
boats. But the Amtracs did not stop. They rolled right into the water,
and out into Laguna de Bay. The young people in the Amtrac were
screaming: ―It floats! It floats!‖ The Amtrac is amphibious. It is a
tank on land, and a boat in the water.
Pete Leary, Jesuit Scholastic, looking over the side wall of the
Amtrac at the surface of the lake, began to shout: ―Look! Flying
fish!‖ The water was dancing, just beside the Amtrac. The young
soldier at the machine gun cried out, at once: ―That‘s machine gun
fire!‖ And a bullet went right through the metal wall of the Amtrac!
The internees crouched down in the body of the tank, as low as they
could get. Japanese machine guns were firing at them, from the hills.
But American fighter planes, still circling the prison camp, dove on
these machine gun placements, strafing them, until the guns were still.
George realized that the American fighter planes were pinning down
the Japanese forces on Mount Makiling, so that they could not come
down to help the Japanese guards in the camp.
159
The Gentle Warrior
Father Cullum had a canvas bag, filled with books. Somehow
the bag opened and the big books slid out, into the water. Leo Cullum
went into the water after them. He was swimming, gathering the
books. The books floated. Soldiers and internees hauled him back into
the Amtrac, complete with all his books. Because the books floated,
the Jesuits accused Father Cullum, later, of bringing “light reading‖
with him into the concentration camp.
The Amtrac rolled out of the water on the other side of
Laguna de Bay, at Calamba. The internees climbed out of the Amtrac,
onto the sandy beach. A soldier was there, with food. He had
something like a boned ham, a big piece of meat. He was cutting slices
from it, and offering it to the internees. The poor prisoners, really half
starved, went after that ham so savagely that the soldier was frightened.
He left the ham, and ran halfway up the beach. Standing there,
trembling, he called out to the internees who were fighting over the
ham: ―Please! Take it easy!…. Take it easy!‖
The internees were brought, in trucks, to Muntinglupa, to the
National Prison. This place was chosen because it had high walls
around it. The American soldiers, every night, were firing at the
Japanese from these walls. The war was still on. The area was not
safe. Travel outside the walls was dangerous. Supplies were dropped
into the Muntinglupa Prison from planes.
In the truck, on the way to Muntinglupa, George learned the
inside story of the raid, from a paratrooper. The paratrooper said that
American Intelligence had intercepted an order, sent to the Japanese
guards at Los Baños, to execute all of the prisoners on that morning
— February 23, 1945. So General MacArthur planned the raid himself:
Planes for the paratroopers, fighter planes to pin down the Japanese on
Mount Makiling, liaison with the guerrilleros for help on the ground,
Amtracs going across Laguna de Bay to the Los Baños prison camp.
It is rare that all of the plans for a military action work out as
scheduled. But, on this raid, everything worked! George felt that it
was the grace of God.
In the prison yard at Muntinglupa, the internees were given
supper. It was their first real meal in years. There were 2000
160
The War Years
internees. When the soldiers had served 5000 suppers, the line was still
2000 long. The Lieutenant in charge was alarmed. In U.S.T. some of
the internees ate so much, when the American Army brought food,
that they died. Literally, they ate themselves to death. And here, the
internees of Los Baños would not stop eating! So the Lieutenant
locked the iron gates to the kitchen, and stood before the gates, facing
a wild army of haggard prisoners. He said: ―No more seconds! No
more!‖ Women were screaming that they had not received anything
yet. They were lying, of course. But the women were so savage, that
the Lieutenant was afraid of them. He flanked himself with two
Sergeants, carrying sub-machine guns. He said: ―No more!‖ The
Sergeants were embarrassed. They did not want to point their machine
guns at the prisoners whom they had just rescued, but they did not
know what else to do. They half-raised the guns, enough to show that
they meant business.
That night, billeted in Cell Block Number Four, George heard
the rifle fire — the Americans firing from the prison walls at Japanese
closing in on the camp. An American Officer explained that they were
no longer taking prisoners. Even if a Japanese came out of hiding,
with his hands up, they would shoot to kill. The command came from
experience. One American unit, trying to play it safe, insisted that —
when they surrendered — the Japanese should come out naked, with
their hands up. The Japanese did this. But, when they were close to
the Americans, suddenly they would take two hand grenades — one
from each arm pit — and throw them into the American ranks. The
command was: ―Take no prisoners. Shoot to kill.‖
The next morning they were weighed by the Red Cross, and
given clean clothing. Joe Maxcy, Jesuit Scholastic, had started the war,
on December 8,1941, at 240 pounds. When he was weighed by the
Red Cross in Muntinglupa, three years and three months later, he
weighed 118. He had lost more than half his weight. But it
happened so slowly that no one seemed to notice it.
Tommy Thompson, a civilian business man, who was a close
friend of George, started the war at 225 pounds. When he was
weighed by the Red Cross, during liberation, he weighed 100 pounds,
161
The Gentle Warrior
flat. Ruth said that George was ―emaciated‖, and he was. But he
stayed strong, through those long three years.
In the street of the Muntinglupa Prison, a loud speaker was
carrying the voice of an American singer. George asked one of the
paratroopers: ―Who is that?‖ The paratrooper made a wry face,
and said: ―That‘s Frank Sinatra!‖ George said : ―Who is Frank
Sinatra?‖ The paratrooper looked at him, in amazement. He said:
―Father, do you mean to tell me that you do not know who Frank
Sinatra is?‖ George shook his head and said: ―Never heard of
him!‖ The paratrooper took a deep breath, then seized George’s
hand. He said: ―Father, let me shake your hand!…. Let me shake
your hand!‖
One of the motion pictures that the internees saw while they
were in Muntinglupa was ―Going My Way”. It was dropped into the
prison yard from a plane. They watched it sitting on the grass at night,
outside, under the stars. George felt that the American motion
picture industry had gone a long way, and a good way, during those
stormy years of the war.
George was anxious to get back into the City of Manila, to see
how his Knights were doing. He received permission from his Jesuit
Superiors, and a pass from the American military, and went into the city
on a jeep, with Mother Trinita of Maryknoll. Mother Trinita was on a
mission of mercy — to tell the two children of Josefa Escoda, Bing
and Tony, Jr., what she knew of their mother and father in Fort
Santiago. Mother Trinita was in the same cell as Josefa, and was the
last person to talk to her, when she was taken out of Fort Santiago to
Old Bilibid Prison, for execution.
George was appalled at the number of Jesuits lost in the war:
Big Ed McGinty died of malnutrition in Santiago Hospital; Franciso
Lopez was shot in the back by a sniper when he was climbing over the
wall between Ateneo and Assumption, bringing bandages to the
nuns; Ricardo Pimentel was killed in the Ateneo compound, in front of
the auditorium, with shrapnel through the head; Abrogina was
bayonetted and his body thrown into the flames of the Cathedral of
162
The War Years
Lipa; Consunji was beaten to death; and the body of Old Joe Mulry
was still in that shallow grave, in Los Baños .
And Manuel Colayco — his good friend Manuel Colayco —
died heroically, as he had lived. He led the American forces into the
Japanese prison camp at the University of Santo Tomas. Manny was
the first man through the gate. He was shot, and killed.
But there were some good things. An Ateneo basketball
player, a real star — the most valuable player in the NCAA in 1941 —
married during the war. They spoke of the liberation of Manila
street by street — Taft Avenue, from Herran to Padre Faura. When
the Philippine General Hospital was liberated, the patients came out
from under the Hospital, because that was where the air raid shelter
was. The Hospital was a wreck. There were holes in the building.
Whole floors were sagging. And this young basketball player came out
from under the Hospital, carrying his wife, who was carrying their baby
girl.
He put her down, and then went to look for his house, on
M.H. del Pilar. At that time, M.H. del Pilar was a beautiful residential
district, with big trees and magnificent Spanish houses. He could not
find even a corner, from which to measure off where his house ought
to be. The house was gone. The whole area was flat. All his
possessions were in that house. And they were all gone. All he had
left was the clothes that he was wearing — no money, no food, no
home, no job, nothing!
He wandered around until he found Father Hurley at Plaza
Guipit, in what later became Nazareth School. It was filled with
refugees. Father Hurley was in charge. The priest said: ―Sure, I
will take you in! I can not give you a place in a classroom. They
are all filled with refugees. But I can give you a bed, on the
second corridor.‖
So that is what he got: one single bed, on the second floor
corridor, overlooking the patio — for himself, his wife, and his newborn
baby. And he had been a wealthy young man.
163
The Gentle Warrior
That night the basketball player was sitting on the floor, talking
in the dark. George was sitting on his bed in the dormitory. George
had a bed, because he was a Jesuit. The basketball player was heavily
bandaged. He had many flesh wounds. He was talking in the dark,
because the war was still on, and the whole city was under blackout.
He said: ―I don‘t know what I ever did, that God should do
this to me!‖ George thought that he was getting resentful, because
he had lost everything he owned. The boy went on: “You know, my
baby was born by kerosene lamp! There wasn‘t any electricity in
that hospital! They told me that childbirth was beautiful, but they
never told me about the blood! The blood was pouring, like a
little waterfall! I‘m a man, but I couldn‘t watch! I turned away. I
was so ashamed. Until the bombing! The whole building began to
rock! I turned to look, and there was the doctor, slipping and
sliding in the blood, hanging on to the delivery table so that he
would not fall down. Then, when the building stopped rocking, he
went back to the delivery…. And do you know? My baby —
perfectly normal! Perfectly normal! The doctor gave my baby to the
nurse, and then he said to me: ‗You better take your wife
downstairs! This building is going to collapse!‘
―So I picked up my wife, and I started down the stairs. I was
only there at the top of the stairwell when this shell went through
the wall, right over my head, and all the rubble began to fall down
around me! I held my wife as tight as I could, and I braced myself,
and I prayed! Because I thought that the stairwell was going to
collapse, and we would fall down three storeys, and she would break
her back! But, do you know? My wife – not a scratch! Not a
scratch!‖
George put his hand on the shoulder of the boy. The boy put
his own hand over the hand of George and said: ―Father, I don‘t
know what I ever did, that God should be so good to me!‖
He had lost everything he owned. And he did not even
remember it. What he had was his wife and baby, love and life.
And that was enough! In the horror of war, suddenly he was seeing
the world with the eyes of God.
164
The War Years
He said: ―My brother is in Baguio. He‘s such a good man.
And he is probably dead. And here I am, with everything! ….I
was a lucky player! I was a lucky player! ….What did I ever do,
that God should be so good to me?‖
Other good things happened to George while he was in the
city. He discovered that in the Supreme Convention of the Knights
of Columbus, held in Toronto, Canada, in 1944, authority was granted
for the establishment of an Educational Trust Fund for the children of
Knights….
 who gave their lives while serving in the armed forces in
World War II,
 who died from a service-connected cause within ten years

following the termination of the war,
who became permanently and totally disabled as a
result of military service in the war.
The Fund, set aside, was $1,000,000 dollars.
provide:
It
would
―a four year scholarship at a Catholic college of the
student‘s choice, leading to the Degree of Bachelor of
arts or its equivalent….tuition, board and room (or
an allowance for board and room if the student does
not reside on the campus), books, laboratory fees and
other incidental college charges that may be levied upon
the student in the pursuit of his education.‖
Among the recipients of this Supreme Council Educational
Trust Fund scholarship grants were the seven children of Manuel
Colayco, the nine children of Benito Soliven, and the four children of
Enrique Albert. All three of these heroic Knights received their basic
education at the Ateneo de Manila, where George taught as a
Scholastic and as a priest.
George was grateful for this Educational Trust Fund. He was
sure that the widows of these good men would not be able to send
165
The Gentle Warrior
their children to good Catholic schools in any other way.
Many other Knights of Manila Council 1000 fought on the
battlefields, or took to the hills with the guerrilleros. But Soliven,
Albert and Colayco were George’s close friends. He mourned for
them, literally, as brothers.
4. Manila
George described the activity of the Knights in March of
1945, immediately after Liberation, himself. He was proud of them,
and of what they did. He recorded it carefully:
―The Knights set to work again to assist the Armed
Forces with the traditional Columbian work of Soldier
Service….Anyone not familiar with conditions in a
war-ravaged city can hardly realize the difficulties of
starting such an enterprise.
―We
started with TWENTY-FIVE DOLLARS
CAPITAL and NOTHING ELSE. In fact, according
to usual standards, we had less than nothing. Not only
were we lacking office supplies, furniture and kitchen
and dining room equipment, but the city had no
telephones or transportation, no gas or electric service,
and in most places no regular water supply.
―The roads were pocked with bomb craters and holes
and often entirely blocked with wrecked buildings.
Nearly all the bridges were broken. Banking facilities
did not exist. Standing in many part of the city, one
gazed about as at a huge forest recently swept by a
terrible conflagration. Nothing but vast wastes of ruins
and rubble, with here and there a tottering wall or a
twisted and charred steel girder.
―Worse than burned buildings and looted equipment ,
our devoted friends and supporters were no longer
166
The War Years
available. Many had died during Japanese rule.
Many were killed in the battles or massacres. And the
others, almost to a man, were paralyzed by excruciating
sufferings of body and spirit, and financially destitute.
―Yet thousands — hundreds of thousands — of
American G.I.‘s were pouring into what was left of our
city. We must do something!
―We decided to approach the American military
authorities with our plan to start clubs and recreation
centers for the fighting men. Knowing the town
intimately, we tried, with all manner of persuasion, to
explain that there were practically no places for the
nerve-fagged soldiers to go in their off hours but the
cheapest kind of honky-tonk dives. Vice centers were
rampant. We knew that the majority of men would
welcome wholesome places of relaxation.
―But we were curtly informed by a Colonel at G.H.Q.
that, although we would not be stopped, our efforts
were not at all needed. Obviously, no cooperation
from that direction, where it would be most expected,
was possible. Mentally agreeing, we must admit, with
some of the harsh things we had often heard
concerning the Top Brass, at least we knew where we
stood.‖
This last sentence should
really go
down in history.
Throughout the whole agonizing period of the war, this was the
closest thing to a negative comment that George ever made!
―Mentally agreeing with some of the harsh things we had heard
concerning the Top Brass.‖ He almost lost his temper!
But he continued to record, cheerfully:
―And so we went to work, starting again from scratch.
167
The Gentle Warrior
―A chair and a table here, a cup and saucer there,
some rusty silverware and battered kitchen utensils
salvaged from the ruins — and we opened. A few
small money gifts were followed in a day or so by the
happy sight of a young Filipino Knight hauling in half
a sack of local coffee to cheer up the tired soldiers.
―This first locale, called the Espiritu Santo Club, was a
bare parish hall on Rizal Avenue generously loaned by
a zealous parish priest, Father Antonio Albrecht, S.V.D.
Opening in March, 1945, it was desperately lacking in
equipment and facilities. But it antedated even the first
Red Cross canteen in Manila. While the fighting was
fiercest in the nearby Ipo-Antipolo Mountains, this
local Knights of Columbus club was about the only
recreation place where the battle-worn soldiers could
eat, sleep, rest or play — gratis and for nothing. The
club functioned on a 24-hour basis, and, in its small
way, was a bright gem in the K of C crown during
those hectic days.
―But greater assistance began to arrive.
―From the Knights of Columbus Headquarters in
New Haven, and from the Bishops‘ Relief Fund in
Washington, generous gifts were received. A local
friend gave a considerable sum of money. Another
contributed superb building space in the best location
in the city.
―In this latter place we now organized a larger club,
sponsored jointly by the N.C.C.S., the Knights of
Columbus, and local friends. It proved a tremendous
success; in its busiest months, from August to
October, 1945, about 10,000 soldiers and sailors made
use of its conveniences daily.‖
This was a throwback to the glorious days of the Junior
Knights Auxiliaries in 1938. The ladies helped out. The girls, from
168
The War Years
very good families and from excellent Catholic girls’ colleges, acted as
dance partners for the servicemen, with Pilar Apostol providing dance
music on the piano. The ladies truly deserved the gratitude of many a
weary and homesick dog-faced serviceman, who availed himself of the
hospitality offered in the clubs.
Bert Cruz, one of the mainstays on the staff of the Espiritu
Santo Club, its market man and cook, and the right hand man of Father
Willmann, has recorded some of the men and women who helped so
generously during those days: Anacleto del Rosario, Bienvenido Tan,
Jr., Alfredo Zamora, George Paez, Raul Reyes, Ning Arevalo,
Wilfredo Guerrero and Max Soliven, one of the sons of the great
Benito Soliven.
Other men who pitched in beautifully at that time were Justo
Arrastia, Jesus Galan, Fernando E.V. Sison, Faustino Turla, Jorge de
Leon, Nicolas Reyes, Angel Martinez, Basilio King, Jose Gutierrez,
Don Jose Joven de Leon, and the whole Araneta family. One of the
Araneta boys, Francisco, was a Jesuit Scholastic.
The ladies, whom Bert Cruz remembered by name, were
Doctora Felisa Santa Ana-Turla, Carmen Tantoco, Helen Recto, Pilar
and Nena Apostol, the Gonzalez sisters, the Zamora sisters, the Nenuca
sisters, the la O sisters, and the Dy sisters.
The Catholic organizations of young people sprang back into
existence, rising out of the ashes of the war, to help in all three clubs
— the Santa Rita Soldiers’ Center, the Espiritu Santo Club, and the
Catholic Community Service Club. The Espiritu Santo Legion of
Mary, the Junior Auxiliary of Manila Council 1000; and the CYO units
acted as entertainers¸ messengers, house cleaners, errand boys, cooks
and bottle washers, and — most of all — as friends of the lonely
military men.
George knew how to make the clubs attractive, entertaining, a
delight to all who came into them, but he also knew how to make the
clubs useful, wholesome, healthy, and apostolic. He recorded this, in
his own hand-writing:
169
The Gentle Warrior
―Provided for the soldiers were Snack Bars, Reading
and Writing Rooms, Religious Articles, Souvenirs,
Portrait and Photo Studios, Information Service,
Parlor Games and Socials. There was an office for
spiritual guidance and all were directed to the nearby
Santa Cruz Church for religious services.‖
With these clubs,
including the Top Brass!
George converted the American military,
Justina Ocampo, in her
―History of the Knights
Columbus in the Philippines‖, writes:
of
―Realizing the benefits that were flowing out to the
American soldiers through the clubs, the American
military organization in the Philippines began to
appreciate the efforts and dedication of the Filipino
KC‘s and non KC‘s who kept the clubs functioning for
the servicemen.‖
Father Willmann himself recorded this turnabout in the attitude
of the American military authorities:
―The soldiers, led by their wonderful chaplains, soon
showed their appreciation of our efforts with countless
substantial donations.‖
Bert Cruz wrote, in 1945:
―Father Willmann received, from no less
than
General Douglas MacArthur, a donation consisting of
100 cots, 100 mosquito nets and 100 blankets, to
replace the slabs of plywood which had been improvised
to serve as the soldier‘s resting places.
―Father Smith,
Chaplain of the G.I.‘s, gave a
generator to brighten the social hall during the dances
every Thursday and Saturday.
170
The War Years
―Later, the military band of the United States Army in
the Philippines was providing music for the dances.‖
The Espiritu Santo Club was turned over to the USO —
actually to “the Manila Committee of the United Service
Organization‖. It became the first home of the Manila U.S.O.
In the Pacific Stars and Stripes for Thursday, August 28,
1969, it was recorded:
―The USO has honored Father George J. Willmann,
S.J. with the organization‘s 25th Anniversary Award,
for his dedicated service to the American servicemen
for over two decades.‖
In the
MacArthur!
end, his work was
*
*
*
171
recognized,
*
*
even
by General
CHAPTER SIX
Action, on All Fronts
1. Building an Army
G
eorge appreciated the value of the work for military men,
and he was proud of the Knights who were doing it, but he
knew when a job had reached the point of diminishing
returns. In his article: ―The Knights Stayed On The Job!‖
he writes:
―The clubs were a landmark in the city until the end of
1945. At that time, some months after V.J. Day,
demobilization of the soldiers in the Philippines began
on a large scale and thousands were shipped back to the
United States. Ironically enough, as soldier population
in the Philippines decreased, soldier clubs conducted by
other organizations increased. So we felt that the crisis
no longer existed, and turned back to peace-time
activities.‖
The master of the civilian internees at the Los Baños
concentration camp, the Japanese Officer whom George knew as
“Konichi”, was executed for war crimes. His chief offense was
172
Action, on All Fronts
starving the prisoners in the camp, but he was also found guilty of
massacring innocent Filipino civilians because they were accused of
helping the internees.
Konichi had escaped from the camp when the paratroopers of
the Eleventh Airborne dropped on it, on February 23, 1945. But he was
taken prisoner later, and tried. He was sick with tuberculosis, and for
most of his trial he was lying on a stretcher. George saw pictures of
this. The prosecution attorneys were wearing medical masks over their
mouths and noses, so that they would not contract the disease. And the
report was that the Americans were hurrying the trial a little, so that
Konichi would not die before it was over. They did not want him to die
a natural death.
During the trial, Konichi asked to be instructed in the Catholic
Faith. An American chaplain did instruct him. Konichi asked to be
baptized.
He was convicted of war crimes, and sentenced to be hanged at
Los Baños, the scene of his crimes. At four in the morning he was
carried down to the gallows, which were specially built for him. He was
baptized, lying on the stretcher, at the base of the gallows. He received
his First Holy Communion.
They brought him up to the wooden platform, put the black
hood over his head, put the rope around his neck, and released the trap
door.
The priest who baptized him was waiting on the ground level,
below the platform; behind the gallows. He was holding the Holy Oils.
While Konichi was still kicking on the rope, the priest anointed him, on
his hands, which were tied behind his back.
Baptism remits all sin, even without going to confession.
Konichi received the last sacraments. So — as far as George could
make out — he was safe in heaven, with Old Joe Mulry, with Ramon
Cabrera, and with the Pan-American flyer whom he shot through the
head.
173
The Gentle Warrior
To George, the whole conversion of Konichi seemed absolutely
reasonable, because the Sisters were praying for him! Many of the
male prisoners said very harsh words about Konichi. One prisoner said:
―I would gladly give my life for his! I‘d gladly die if I could kill
him!‖ But the nuns in Barracks 20 prayed for Konichi. Sister Ruth
prayed for him.
George said: ―The prayers of the Sisters are very strong! And
it was beautiful, to have it happen that way!‖
Father Henry Greer, S.J., became the close friend of a young
Captain from the religious section of the Japanese Army. This was the
Officer who came to the Ateneo, early in the Occupation, when Father
Hurley was being beaten for defending the maid of Mrs. Lippe.
The Captain helped the priests and nuns in Manila, in many
ways. And continued to help them, when they were interned at Vatican
City, in Los Baños. He told Father Greer that he was the only Catholic
in his family. He had married, and his wife became a Catholic to marry
him. He showed a picture of his wife to Father Greer, and gave him the
address of his family in Tokyo. They hoped to remain friends, when the
war was over.
But the Captain was killed in Manila, when the Americans retook the city. Father Greer was re-patriated to the United States in a
troop ship, the Eberle. There he was assigned to work in Washington,
D.C., for two years, on the war claims of the religious congregations in
the Philippines.
On his way back to Manila, in 1947, Father Greer resolved to
find the family of the Japanese Captain in Tokyo — because the Captain
had been so good to the Catholic internees. In Tokyo, he found the
area indicated in the address — but it had been destroyed in the great
Tokyo fire. It was an empty space – flat.
Father Greer sounded around, among the Japanese in the area.
One old man remembered. He said: ―Ah, yes! They used to live here!
But they moved!‖ He gave Father Greer a new address. It was all the
way across town, and Father Greer did not know Tokyo. But he
174
Action, on All Fronts
worked his way across the city, and — hours later — found the new
address. It was a store.
He went into the store, and questioned the store keeper. This
man said: ―Ah, yes! They used to live here, above the store. But they
moved away.‖ He knew the place to which they had moved, and gave
Father Greer a third address. By this time it was late afternoon. Father
Greer struggled through the streets, and finally found the family!
They listened to him in hushed, reverent silence, drinking in
every word that he said. The mother of the Captain, and his father.
Three brothers and two sisters. They had not heard one word about
the Captain in the Philippines. The only thing they had was a telegram,
saying: ―Missing in action in Manila, in February, 1945.‖ Nothing
else.
All of them were sitting on the floor. Father Greer was trying to
remember every little last detail he knew about the Captain, because it
meant so much to the family. The mother was in tears. Father Greer
managed to get it through to them that the Captain was a good, good
man. Coming from the enemy, an American, this was great consolation
to the family.
They told him that they had all become Catholics — one by one,
individually, independently of each other. But now they were all
Catholic, every one! Father Greer kept looking around for some trace
of the wife, but there was none. He was reluctant to mention her, for
fear that she had quarrelled with them, or moved away, or had married
someone else.
But finally he found the courage to mention her. He said: ―The
captain showed me a picture of his wife. He said that they had just
been married, only a few days before he was sent to the
Philippines….‖
This electrified the whole family. They said: ―Ah, yes! Of
course!‖ And they spoke of the wife by name, her first name. It
sounded as if they all loved her. They said: ―You must see her! You
must!‖
175
The Gentle Warrior
So the whole family got dressed, and they moved out through
the city. The family led Father Greer down long narrow alleys and
through tiny streets, up hills and down, until they came to a big house.
The family rang the bell. A girl answered. They spoke to her in
Japanese. She bowed, and ushered Father Greer into a little parlor.
The family waited outside, on the steps.
In the parlor, there were pictures of Catholic saints on the walls.
Father Greer wondered where he was. At last a little nun appeared at
the doorway of the parlor. She said: ―Yes?‖ Father Greer explained
that he had come to see the wife of the Captain. The nun smiled and
bowed low. She said: ―I am the wife of the Captain.‖
She told Father Greer the story of her life. She was going to a
Catholic school in Tokyo, taught by Sisters. She wanted to become a
Catholic, and a Sister, but her family would not allow it. They arranged
a marriage for her, with this boy. The boy was Catholic. She accepted
it, willingly, because she could at least become a Catholic when she
married him. She was baptized before the wedding.
They were
married in a Catholic church. Then he was sent away to war to the
Philippines. She was living with his family.
When the telegram came, saying that he had been killed, she
entered the convent — the Handmaids of the Sacred Heart. George met
this Sister, when she came to Manila.
Her congregation was
conducting a dormitory for college girls, close to the University of
Santo Tomas. He took her around the city, to show her the places
where her husband lived, and labored, and died.
The war was not all hatred. It was not all violence. It was not
all brutality. Some good things came out of it.
In a meeting of the Supreme Board of Directors in New Haven,
Connecticut, on April 14, 1945, it was resolved that contacts should be
re-established with Manila Council 1000. A letter was sent to Grand
Knight Gabriel la O ―expressing the happiness of the Board over the
liberation of Manila and over the restoration of the Council to its
freedom‖.
176
Action, on All Fronts
Grand Knight Gabriel la O wrote on May 22, 1945, informing
the Supreme Board ―that all of the Council‘s correspondence,
supplies, ceremonials and paraphernalia were destroyed in the fire
which followed the Battle of Manila”.
Father Wilmann sounded a call to re-group the Knights, and to
reactivate Manila Council 1000. The first eight Knights to assemble
were Grand Knight Gabriel la O, Fabian R. Millar, Emeterio B.
Barcelon, Ramon F. Campos, Celso B. Jamora, Jose Galan y
Blanco, Alberto V. Cruz and Francisco G. Tonogbanua.
One week later, when the Battle for the liberation of Manila was
hardly over, eleven more faithful Knights appeared: Manuel Lim,
Hermenegildo B. Reyes, Jose C. Delgado, Jr., Paul R. Verzosa,
Roman Mabanta, Jose Lopez del Castillo, Anastacio J. D. Cortes,
Jose P. Sandejas, Francisco R. Tantoco, Sr., Antonio G. Giron, and
Father Isaias X. Edralin, S.J.
In the days that followed, eleven more joined the ranks: Carlos
E. Santiago, Faustino Reyes, Francisco Panlilio, Feliciano Jimenez,
Eufracio Ocampo, Vicente Diaz, Pastor Endencia, Jose Erestain,
Dioscoro San Juan, Baldomero P. Mendoza, and Angel Gervacio.
Father Willmann had gathered thirty gallant men in Manila, while
the guns were still booming in the distance, and fighting was still going
on, in the hills. He wrote:
―His Grace the Archbishop was out of the country. But
the Administrator of the Archdiocese, Monsignor Jose
Jovellanos, urged us to resume the Youth work, and we
did.
―Here, also, we were badly handicapped by lack of
funds and the chaos and confusion of the post war
days. In Sampaloc our former Social Center had
suffered a direct hit from an incendiary shell. But we
cleared the ruins for a small playground. With the aid
of the Christian Brothers, we conducted our first
177
The Gentle Warrior
post-war Summer League on the splendid courts of La
Salle College.‖
For headquarters, the Knights met wherever they could: the
Regina Building on the Escolta, where one of the postwar servicemen
clubs was set up; the Lim Building on Nueva Street near the Escolta; the
Ateneo de Manila; Santa Rita Hall on Taft Avenue; de la Salle College
in Malate; San Beda College in Sampaloc; Santa Rita College in San
Miguel.
It was ―headquarters in the saddle‖, but they resumed regular
Sunday Masses, and regular Sunday meetings. Strangely enough, the
Knights were the first Catholic organization to resurrect from the ruins
and work as the right arm of the Church, under the direction of
Monsignor Jovellanos.
The Knights started to repair Santa Rita Hall, because this was
assigned to them by the Archdiocese, and it was the center of operation
for their Youth Program. The building was a wreck. The cost of
reconstruction was estimated at 400,000 pesos, which the Knights could
not afford. But the United States Army volunteered to finish the
repairs, which they did, before the end of 1945.
But at that time Monsignor Jovellanos informed Father
Willmann of the decision to assign the Santa Rita building to the
Daughters of Charity, who would use it as a school for girls. The
school would be called: ―Santa Isabel‖. The repaired building went
from the Knights to the Daughters of Charity. Not to the “Daughters
of Isabella‖ — but the school, at least, was called: ―Santa Isabel‖.
George wrote:
―This was a great disappointment to us. But we
acquiesced instantly, realizing the tremendous
importance of Catholic schools in all Catholic
Ecclesiastical policy.‖
The primary virtue of the Society of Jesus is supposed to be:
obedience. George was remarkably obedient. Not only to his Jesuit
178
Action, on All Fronts
Superiors, but to the leaders of the Church. Saint Ignatius Loyola
looked upon his ―Little Company” as Light Cavalry, shock troops, to
work wherever the Church needed help. George Willmann
communicated this spirit to the Filipino Knights. They gave up the
Santa Rita building without a murmur. And they continued the Youth
Program, with incredible energy, scheduling the games all over the city,
meeting wherever they could.
Gabriel la O ended his term as Grand Knight of Manila Council
1000 in July of 1946. Doctor Ramon F. Campos served as Grand
Knight from 1946 to 1948.
The Knights wanted more Councils in the Philippines, since
1925, when George Willmann made this request to Supreme Knight
James A. Flaherty in New Haven…. It was refused.
Another attempt was made in 1945, immediately after the
war….It was refused.
In 1947, in accordance with a Resolution sponsored by Manuel
Lim, Grand Knight Campos requested Father Willmann to try again. He
was sent to the United States to obtain authorization for the opening of
new Councils in the Philippines.
Like Mr. Smith going to Washington, lonely and forlorn, a
representative from a distant land which the American Knights did not
really know, he went from desk to desk, from office to office, Don
Quixote fighting the windmill, reaching for the stars, dreaming the
impossible dream.
He went to the Convention of the Supreme Council at Boston,
in August of 1947. He spoke to the top authorities of the Order,
personally, over coffee, in the assembly halls, at dinner, walking down
the corridors. He talked to the Supreme Directors, individually….They
listened….But they all said: ―No‖.
With the help of his brother Ed, and through the intercession of
Monsignor Mullally of Saint Louis, he was given an appointment with
179
The Gentle Warrior
Luke E. Hart. Hart was then Supreme Advocate. Later he became
Supreme Knight. He remembered that interview, vividly:
―Discouraged and almost without hope, Father
Willmann got in touch with me at my office in Saint
Louis. I was impressed with the statement that there
was need for an organizaiton of Catholic men which
would satisfy the Philippine men‘s desire for fraternal
affiliation, and unless this was provided by the Knights
of Columbus there was likelihood that many of them
would join another society outside the Church, the
Masons, and the fact that the institution of three
additional councils there would not be in conflict with
the rule against establishing the Order outside the
North American Continent, because the Order was
already established there….
―I agreed to make the recommendation to the Supreme
Board of Directors.‖
Luke Hart promised to recommend more Councils of the
Knights of Columbus in the Philippines, under two conditions: first, that
Father Willmann himself would act as District Deputy; and, second, that
he would personally supervise the Councils that would be established.
Hart was obviously impressed by this gaunt, war-worn, intense
American priest, fresh from a prison camp in the Philippines. He
brought him to the meeting of the Supreme Board of directors at
Oklahoma, in October of 1947.
Father Willmann addressed the Board. When he was professor
of sociology at San Jose Seminary in Manila, during the war, in 1943
and in 1944, he made it a practice to give four hours of immediate
preparation for every hour of class. He said: “These boys are serious.
I don‘t want to waste their time. I want to be worthy of my students.‖
Once he knew that he would be allowed to address the Board of
Directors, he gave four hours of prayer to each one of the seven points
he wanted to present to them. The Supreme Board of Directors, and
Luke Hart himself, remembered those seven points.
180
Action, on All Fronts
They were:
1.
Since there was only one Council in the
Philippines, the members were scattered over a
wide area.
They
lived on 7000 islands,
separated from each other by water, and divided
by 87 different dialects. They had formed
Centers in cities and towns far from Manila.
2.
That the 150 members of the Center in Cagayan
de Oro wanted to establish a separate Council.
This was heartily endorsed by their Bishop,
Santiago T.G. Hayes, S.J., who was an
American, from New York City, and himself a
Knight of Columbus. His real name, while he
was in New York, was Jimmy Hayes. But he
changed his first name to ―Santiago‖ so that he
would be closer to the Filipinos.
3.
That the Knights of Cebu, 200 strong, wanted a
Council of their own. So did their Bishop, who
was a Filipino and a Knight of Columbus.
4.
That the Catholics of Bohol wanted a separate
Council. Their Bishop wanted a Council. Their
Bishop was a Knight of Columbus.
5.
That the Catholic men of the Philippines were
eager to join the Order because of its
distinguished reputation in the country. Many
of the national leaders of resistance to the
Japanese
Occupation were Knights, and
many of these had laid down their lives for their
people:
Benito Soliven, Manuel Colayco
Enrique Albert.
6.
That the Bishops, in particular, wanted to
expand the Order in the Philippines. He
cited some of the strong natural leaders of the
181
The Gentle Warrior
Catholic Church in the Philippines: Rufino
Santos of Manila, Julio Rosales of Leyte, Lino
Gonzaga, Manuel Mascariñas, Miguel Acebedo,
Luis del Rosario of Zamboanga, the great
Santiago Hayes in the heart of Mindanao.
7.
That authority be granted to establish new
Councils in Cebu and in Cagayan de Oro.
George scored with the Board of Directors. They were
impressed by the fact that the Philippine Hierarchy wanted the Knights
of Columbus. They granted permission officially and formally, saying:
―We are Catholic men. If any of our Catholic Bishops feel that they
need us, it is a privilege to cooperate with them.‖
What George realized was that the whole tone of this permission
was really much more than the power to establish two new Councils: in
Cebu, and in Cagayan de Oro. It was a change of heart, among the
leaders of the Knights in America. They were now willing to let the
Order grow in these stormy little islands, half way around the world.
They had accepted the Philippines!
Luke Hart reports that Father Willmann ―went away, happy‖.
He had won the confidence of the Knights in the United States. They
repeated, expressly, the instructions of Supreme Advocate Hart: he was
to act as District Deputy; he was to supervize the New Councils that
would be established. George thanked God, on both knees. He thanked
his family, for all their prayers. He thanked his Brother Ed, and
Monsignor Mullally. He wrote home to Grand Knight Ramon Campos
that his mission was accomplished.
But the end of that mission in the State of Oklahoma was the
beginning of a new mission on the Island of Cebu, and on the Island of
Mindanao — the creation of two new Councils.
The Cebu Center of the Knights of Columbus in the Philippines
celebrated its silver jubilee in June of 1947. It grew very swiftly during
the years that followed the war. Many of its members came from
Cebu’s influential Chinese community. On February 8, 1948 — in
182
Action, on All Fronts
preparation for the new Council — an election of officers was held at
the Santo Niño Convent. Ismael Alvarez was chosen as the first Grand
Knight. He served the Council from 1948 to 1952.
George Willmann was blessed by God in this — that good,
strong men rose out of the ranks of the Knights, wherever new Councils
were established. George himself was notorious for doing many jobs at
the same time — Youth Clubs, Boys Town, Girls Haven, medical
missions for the poor, Community Chest, Columbian Squires, the
Filipinas Magazine, the Cross, an insurance system for the Knights; new
Councils blossoming everywhere — and he would attend the
establishment of every new council, while he was the “Revisor
Arcarum et Domorum” of all the Jesuit houses in the Philippines,
Professor at the Ateneo, Chaplain of the University of the Philippines,
one of the founders of the Araneta Agricultural College, Consulter of
the Jesuit Superior in Manila, Father confessor to convents of nuns, and
friend and counsellor to thousands of Knights —literally, thousands.
But the men he found — or who found him — understood this
way of working. George felt that he had only one simple apostolate:
helping people. Bringing God to man, and man to God. All of his
various activities were facets of that one apostolate. He had a genius
for getting one group to work together with another group, and both
groups finding that in this way they were accomplishing much more than
they were accomplishing before! He was a driving force, but at the
same time a unifying factor. The leaders who worked with him did
exactly the same thing, in the same way.
Ismael Alvarez was not only the First Grand Knight of the
Council of Cebu. He was the first District Deputy from Cebu; first
Faithful Navigator of the Chief Justice Arellano General Assembly; first
to establish a Columbian Squires Circle, the first in the Philippines; first
organizer of the Adoracion Nocturna Filipina in Cebu; first President of
the Cebu Chapter of Catholic Action; first to introduce the Daughters of
Isabella into Cebu.
On February 22, 1948, by virtue of a decree promulgated by the
Supreme Council, Cebu Center was separated from Manila council 1000
and was constituted as Cebu Council 3106. Today, the official name is:
183
The Gentle Warrior
Cebu Metropolitan Cathedral Council 3106. As the first full fledged
Council in the Visayas, Cebu became the ―Mother Council‖ to many
Centers, which blossomed and bloomed into New Councils.
The Center at Cagayan de Oro was born through the efforts of
Father Isaias X. Edralin, S.J. He was a secular priest, who joined the
Society of Jesus in 1933, and in 1938 was assigned as a parish priest in
Cagayan de Oro. He himself was a Knight, a member of Manila Council
1000. The Cagayan de Oro Center started with 35 members, and with
Father Edralin as its first Chaplain.
In February of 1948 the center was separated from Manila
Council 1000, and was formally instituted as Cagayan de Oro Council
3108. The first Grand Knight was Juan Regalado.
The three Councils — Manila, Cebu and Cagayan de Oro —
became the first K of C District in the Philippines. Father Willmann
was appointed as first District Deputy, with the authority and the
responsibility to supervize the constituting Councils. In 1948 these
three Councils represented the entire Order in the Philippines, the whole
K of C Philippine Jurisdiction.
When the Tacloban Center started, in 1946, George gave a four
day spiritual retreat for all its members. After setting up Cebu and
Cagayan de Oro, George wrote to Antonio Giron, in Tacloban, saying:
―Do you think that Tacloban would like an independent Council? If
so, let me know, and we shall try to arrange it.‖
When Tacloban was ready to become an independent council,
George gave a five day spiritual retreat for the Knights and for their
wives. It ended with a renewal of marriage vows, the first time that this
was done in the Philippines. Assisting George with the retreat was Lino
Gonzaga, who later became Archbishop of Zamboanga and President of
the Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines. Father Willmann
presided as District Deputy in the Palo Cathedral when Tacloban Center
became the Justice Romualdez Leyte Council 3171. The celebration
ended with the reading of the Paternal Message and Apostolic Blessing
from His Holiness, Pope Pius XII.
184
Action, on All Fronts
With the creation of three additional Councils, the initiative of
mothering new Centers was now shared four ways. The Knights began
to multiply, everywhere!
Cagayan de Oro Council 3108 organized a Center in Davao,
where the Crusaders of the Sacred Heart became the K of C pioneers.
George wrote to Gil Sulit, in Cebu. Sulit went to Davao, and conferred
with the Crusaders of the Sacred Heart. Sulit became the first President
of the Davao Center in 1948, with 70 members. The bulk of the Davao
Center were the Crusaders of the Sacred Heart, all of whose members
were initiated into the Order’s First Degree.
On December 1, 1949, with a letter of recommendation to the
Supreme Council written by the Bishop of Davao, Cotabato and Sulu —
Luis del Rosario, S.J. — approval was granted for the creation of the
Davao Council. Its official inauguration took place on April 29, 1950.
It was the fifth Council in the Philippines —Davao Council 3289.
George Willmann, remembering the instructions of Luke Hart
and of the Board of directors in Oklahoma, attended every inauguration.
He gave retreats to the Knights and to their wives, as each new Council
was created. He presided over every new Center that each Council
established. He was trying to meet each Knight, personally. He was
trying to know every one of his men, by name. He became the most
travelled Knight in the Philippines.
He was building an army.
Through the efforts of Doctor Emiliano N. Ramirez and
Engineer Francisco G. Joaquin, a formal petition for reorganization of
the Baguio Center of the Knights of Columbus was addressed to Manila
Council 1000, the Mother Council.
―Reverend Father George Willmann, S.J., District
Deputy and Chaplain of Manila Council came to
Baguio and gave the necessary instructions, and in July
of 1949, the Baguio Center was revived.‖
185
The Gentle Warrior
The Baguio Center sponsored two major religious activities in
Baguio: the yearly novena to Our Lady of Lourdes, and the Christ the
King Procession, for men. This was the inspiration that George gave to
them. He wanted the activities of the Knights to be closely linked to
the Church, and to be — as far as they could manage it — spiritual.
In November of 1949 — upon the favorable recommendation of
the District Deputy, Father George J. Willmann S.J. — Baguio Center
became Father Carlu Council 3363. This Council launched the first
“Congress of Northern Philippines Centers of the Knights of
Columbus‖, in Baguio, from November 17 to November 19, 1950. As
the first Council in Baguio, Father Carlu Council 3363 became the
Mother Council of new Councils in Baguio and in Trinidad Valley.
The Americans organized the Center in Batangas, in 1945. Its
first President was an American. Father Baronette, S.J., Chaplain of the
United States Armed Forces in the province of Batangas during the
Liberation, writes:
―I was the only Filipino K.C. Third Degree member,
affiliated with Manila Council 1000 in 1925, who was
present at the Orgnization Meeting in Batangas. After
one month, distinguished Catholics of the town of
Batangas were approved for the Initiation Ceremonies
of the Knights of Columbus. ”
George Willmann went to Batangas. The Batangas Center was
affiliated with Manila Council 1000. Within one year, Batangas Center
experienced a tremendous growth in membership. What George liked
most about this new Center was “its internal organization geared for
strengthening the faith through religious and social action.‖
Batangas Center became a Council in 1950.
From Batangas another Center was organized in the town of San
Jose. On August 16, 1955, San Jose Center became San Jose Council
4073.
Francisco R. Tantoco, Sr. was one of the team which covered
186
Action, on All Fronts
the country from north to south, organizing Centers and Councils,
trouble shooting, paving the way for the smooth institution of new
units. He wrote, during this period:
―Noticing the enthusiastic response of our Philippine
Catholic men towards membership in the Order, Father
George was quick to organize a composite team to assist
him in this undertaking. This team was made up of
twelve members, whom he referred to formally as his
―twelve apostles‖, and lightly as his ―dirty dozen‖. He
authorized and empowered this team to perform all the
necessary functions of his office as Territorial Deputy
from Organization and Orientation of Prospective
Applicant-members, Initiation and Exemplification of
the three degrees, Installation of Officers, Speakers and
Guests in Formal Launchings, Inauguration and
Anniversaries of these Centers and Councils, and
Liaison Officers in cases of misunderstanding among
their officers.
―Membership in the team was voluntary and the only
qualification required was having the rituals of all the
degrees committed to memory. Availing of all mode of
transportation from the lowly banca (crossing the
Cagayan River up north), to train and bus rides (in
Central and Southern Luzon), by plane (to the Visayas
and Mindanao) and a combination of all these,
sometimes, to reach their destination….The team
literally roamed from Aparri to Jolo.‖
These twelve apostles, or ―dirty dozen‖ of Father Willmann
were:






Faustino Reyes
Justice Pastor Endencia
Agripino Bautista
Eufracio Ocampo
Francisco Panlilio
Augusto Mier
187
The Gentle Warrior






Doctor Faustino F. Turla
Benigno Toda
B. Mendoza
Carlos E. Santiago
Maximo Valero
Francisco R. Tantoco, Sr.
New Centers sprang up in Meycauayan, in the Province of
Bulacan, and in Malabon, on the outskirts of Manila. Centers and
Councils were blossoming, far and near. In 1948, the membership
passed the 500 mark.
Father Willmann gave three reasons for this:
1.
Our Order has a very good reputation and the
Catholic men in the Philippines knew of that
reputation and wanted to belong to that Order.
2.
Manila Council had a reputation for doing
something. We now have 31 Councils and a
number of other groups prepared to become
Councils, and every single one of them has been
organized at their own request….The growth has
been organic,
because they saw that the
Catholic gentlemen of Manila themselves were
doing at least a little for God and for country,
and they wanted to do the same.
3.
In the Philippines, unfortunately, there is a
vacuum of Catholic organizations for men. We
have stepped into that vacuum. Competition
has been nil from other organizations. The
fact is, they wish to join ours.
Father Willmann was talking to a priest from Sampaloc. The
priest asked: ―What is it that I can do, as a Knight of Columbus,
which I cannot do as a priest?‖ Father Willmann’s answer was fast
and sure. He said: ―It is not what you can do! It is what you
188
Action, on All Fronts
can give! By your mere presence in the Knights of Columbus, you
give yourself!”
The priest joined the Order.
Father Willmann was the living example of: ―Giving yourself!‖
As the Knights grew
in number, the character of the
organization changed, a little. Before World War II, the Knights were
known as the ―Caballeros de Colon‖. They were the aristocracy of the
Philippines — socially, economically, even religiously. They were the
elite.
Monsignor Francisco G. Tantoco, Jr., National Secretary of the
Knights of Columbus in the Philippines from 1968 to 1984, writes:
―Before World War II, the Filipino Knights were
socially prominent professionals, influential public
officials, and successful business men. They were
relatively affluent and economically independent. They
concentrated on the religious, social and civic objectives
of the K of C.
―Father Willmann wanted to bring it down to the level
of the masses. He believed that a Catholic organization
like the Knights of Columbus must serve as an
instrument to draw closer to the Church also the
masses, lest they drift toward communism.
The
reduction of the monthly membership fee of two pesos
was for the purpose of making the K of C membership
affordable to the masses. Father Willmann was
sensitive to their needs and to their limited capabilities.‖
This triggered an increase in membership. It attuned the Knights
to the culture and needs of the Filipino people. It added a new focus, or
strengthened it: the consolidated effort to change the feudalistic
structure of the Philippines, and to alleviate the poverty of the great
masses of the people.
189
The Gentle Warrior
The Bishops of the Philippines were grateful to Father
Willmann, and grateful to the Knights. Bishop John C. Vrakking of
Surigao, who suffered a great deal during World War II, wrote:
―It is a genuine pleasure for me to observe the great
expansion of the Knights of Columbus in the
Philippines since the war. The erection of new
Councils and Centers, all over the islands, points to a
very thriving organization.‖
George’s blood sister, Ruth, the younger of the two Franciscan
Missionaries of Mary, used to write to George on one page air mail
forms, to save money on the postage. Her letters are very closely
typed, single space, with special notes down the margins on the side, in
long hand. Her notes are very sisterly, family oriented, filled with
memories of their childhood. About this then she wrote to George:
―I sent your last letter to Agnes with news of your trip
down to the southern islands and the implication that
your health must be good to allow of such strenuous
travel. This I was glad to hear. I was also glad to see
the picture, and sent it on to Brighton, too. The last
issues of the CROSS have shown you in action — pretty
active, too. It is a wonderful apostolate, that K of C,
and seems to expand like the proverbial pebble in the
brook — reminding me of the bridge over the brook in
Suffern, where pebble-throwing was part of the day‘s
program as we passed back and forth.‖
2. Training the Young
There was a wild basketball game going on, on the basketball
court on the second floor of the headquarters of Manila Council 1000,
in Intramuros. All the games on that court were wild. The boys played
as if their whole lives depended upon it.
190
Action, on All Fronts
There was not much room for an audience. The boys did not
play to an audience, or for an audience. They played with all their
hearts, for the sake of the game. There was one single row of chairs,
around the outside of the court, where people could sit, and watch. Not
many were watching.
The chief watcher was Father George Willmann, complete with
cigar, and breviary.
Two boys bounced into each other, diving for a loose ball. One
of them was thrown off balance, completely. His head hit the floor.
The whistle of the referee shrieked, when the ball went out of bounds.
George Willmann left his breviary, and his cigar, on the wooden chair,
where he was sitting. He went out on the court, and lifted the boy’s
head into his arms. The boy opened his eyes.
Father Willmann said: ―How is it, son?….Are you alright?‖
The boy was embarrassed. He said: ―Sure! Okay! I‘m okay!‖ But
he had a cut on his forehead. Father Willmann called ―Time out!‖ and
found a first aid kit. One of the spectators was a doctor. He patched
the cut on the boy’s brow. The game continued. George went back to
his cigar, but not to the breviary. He was watching the teenage player
who had been hurt.
He wrote to his little brother Ed, and to Ed’s wife, Miki: ―I
hope the boy did not suffer any head injury. He fell hard. These
boys come from a tough part of town – Tondo. They do not
complain, even when they are in pain. But I will try to keep an eye
on this kid, for the rest of this league.‖
Imagine that! He wrote home, to his brother and to his
brother’s wife, about a teenage boy from Tondo, whom he had never
seen before! He worried about the cut on this boy’s forehead — a
rough, tough kid from Tondo.
This was the way that George went at his work for youth. He
really was an ―administrator‖. He was an ―organizer‖. By all the
rules of administrators and organizers, he should have been at his desk,
191
The Gentle Warrior
in an air conditioned room, planning the tournament. Drawing
diagrams, where the teams were only names, and the boys were only
numbers.
But, to George, no boy was a number. He was a sensitive
teenager, with emotions, with feelings, who bled when he was hurt.
George could not patch the cut on every broken brow. He could not
heal the wounds in every broken heart. He could not even fill the
hungry stomachs of his children. But he tried! He tried to be as close
to them as he possibly could.
George was working with boys in Manila from the time he came
to the Ateneo de Manila, in Intramuros, as a Scholastic, in 1922, when
he was 25 years old. Most of the clubs for boys that he organized came
under the general heading of CYO — the Catholic Youth Organization.
It was preventative, of course — an effort to keep the boys out of
trouble. But it was also development. He was teaching boys to be men
— how to win fairly, how to lose graciously, how to play with all your
heart, how to be friends with the boys with whom you play.
But it did not stop with the CYO. George was known all over
Manila, and all over the Philippines. He became deeply involved in civic
organizations for youth. He was invited to join innumerable committees
because the professional social workers felt that he understood the
problems better than anyone else. Bert Cruz said of him: ―He had a
great concern for youth, and for young children. He assisted Father
Jose Mirasol and Manila Mayor Valeriano Fugoso to establish Boys
Town.‖
George not only ―assisted‖. When he went into these
committees he did not come as a ―joiner‖. He was an apostle for the
poor. He came with ideas, and with a determination to carry them out,
and with a willingness to go through the agony of meeting after
meeting, proposal after proposal, resolution after resolution, until the
end product was achieved: the poor boys actually living, and working,
and playing, and learning, and praying, in Boys Town.
He
became the driving force of the
192
Community Service
Action, on All Fronts
Committee of the Manila Youth Welfare Council. He had an office in
the Manila City Hall! He had three staff members assigned to him. In
the popular perception, George Willmann founded Boys Town, and
George Willmann kept it going. George was this way in almost every
organization to which he belonged. He did not care who got the credit.
He just wanted to see that the job was done.
His blood sister, Ruth, writes:
―On the Board of City Planning for the Community
Chest, Father learned that the Mayor planned to
abolish Boys Town at the next meeting.
―As the meeting opened, the subject was broached
immediately. Father Willmann, in his big booming
voice, asked for the year‘s financial report. This
showed a clear profit from Boys Town. Someone
asked:
‗Is that net profit?‘
Father Willmann
answered: ‗Yes!‘ Still another asked for a repeated
financial report, with details. There was no doubt.
Another requested further reports about the good done
there. By the time a vote was in order, Boys Town was
in, to stay!
―Father heard the low, angry voice of the Mayor behind
him. ‗Father Willmann, that was a knife in the back.‘
―However, they were soon good friends.‖
The last sentence: ―However, they were soon good friends‖
could be said about almost all those who opposed George, through a
long and checkered career, filled with conflict. George, for all his quiet
peaceful gentlemanly innocent behaviour, was an expert in submarine
warfare. He could meet the Mayor, on his own battleground, the City
Hall, dealing with professional politicians who are usually corrupt, and
sink all their ships with a gentle smile. And at the end —when they
should have been enemies forever — they would make friends over a
cup of coffee.
193
The Gentle Warrior
Much later, in the evenings, at the bar, over the Scotch and
soda, the politicians would say: ―That Willmann! Watch out for him!
He knows his way around. He‘s smart! He‘s street wise!‖
George Willmann, quietly and gently, was the one who moved
heaven and earth to found the girls’ counterpart of Boys Town, which
was called: ―Girls‘ Haven‖. He was the Chaplain and the spiritual
guide of the Manila Junior Police. He was the Chaplain of the college
students at the University of the Philippines. He paved the way for
Father John P. Delaney, S.J. and UPSCA — the University of the
Philippines Student Catholic Action. He was Chaplain of the students at
the Araneta College of Agriculture.
If you consider these last two apostolates — Chaplain at the
State University, Chaplain of the Agricultural School — you can see the
breadth and depth of Father Willmann’s devotion to the young. He had
demonstrated, with the Knights, that he could work with both the rich
and the poor. But as a chaplain to students, he was working with those
who were gifted intellectually, and with those whose talent was in their
hands, in their green thumbs, in their love of the land. Saint Paul
sounds like a dreamer when he says: ―Be all things to all men.‖ But,
if you look at the work of George Willmann – that is exactly what he
was! Friend of the rich, father of the poor, confessor to the
valedictorian at U.P., spiritual guide to the poor boy who prays that
someday he will be a farmer.
George worked hard for scholarships — to be given to
worthwhile students — through all his life as a priest. Even when he
had gone home to God, all of his fellow Knights knew that the best gift
they could offer him, after their prayers, would be a contribution to the
―Willmann Scholarship Fund‖. And, because his activities were so
varied, because he was dealing with the rich and the poor, with high and
low, with the intellectual genius and the boy going to vocational school,
these scholarships really went out to the children of God.
God does not play favorites.
And neither did George.
194
Action, on All Fronts
He was associated with basketball players, who began with him,
on the court that he had built, playing with a ball that George had given
them. And he was really interested in basketball all through the years!
In 1973, less than four years before God called him home, George was
so proud that the Philippines was first in Asian Basketball! He wrote
home about this, to his whole family. It was his team that won! The
Philippine team! His boys. The boys that he had worked for, all his life.
The young men of the Philippines.
He was associated with the Junior Auxiliaries of the Knights of
Columbus, because they flourished during his first three years as
Chaplain of Manila Council 1000, from 1938 through 1941. Fifty years
later, the boys and girls of that era — now Grandfathers and
Grandmothers, with white hair and beautiful memories — spoke of the
dances which were organized under the supervision of the young
handsome priest whom God sent to them — Father George Willmann.
They remembered the places. They remembered the orchestras. They
remembered the songs. And they remembered the priest who was part
of their glorious youth.
But George is probably most closely associated with the
Columbian Squires, because that was the solid institution, the permanent
organization, the name that everyone could remember. When George
went back to the United States, in 1925, to study theology, he met
Brother Barnabas, of La Salle, who founded the Columbian Squires.
It is strange that George Willmann was reasonably close to both
of the Knights who were most instrumental in the creation of the Junior
Order of the Knights of Columbus. During the meeting of the Supreme
Council in Atlantic City, in 1922, they appointed a Committee on Boy
Movement, to undertake a feasibility study on the developing of a
program for Catholic boys. The driving force in this committee was
Luke E. Hart, who later became George’s good friend, and advocate.
The Supreme Knight, at that time, when the Columbian Squires were
formally launched, was James A. Flaherty. George went to meet him, at
New Haven, to ask for more Councils in the Philippines.
George appreciated the work of Brother Barnabas, and the
195
The Gentle Warrior
ideals that drove him on. Brother Barnabas himself said, loud and
clear:
―The supreme purpose of the Columbian Squires is
character building.
―The Squires, through instruction and example, must
be trained to live in the secular world of today and still
keep Christ at the center of their lives.
―The program of the Columbian Squires aims to
stimulate leadership potentials of the members, by
affording them frequent opportunities to assume
responsibilities, demonstrate initiative and direct their
own affairs.‖
In the Philippines, the Columbian Squires were instituted in
Cebu City on November 5, 1950. In Luzon, the Columbian Squires
were inaugurated on December 18, 1954, as Circle 784, under the
sponsorship of Capitol Council 3695. In Mindanao, Davao City Council
3289 established the Junior Order of the Knights of Columbus in 1961.
Brother Barnabas wrote:
―The most important factor in the success of our
Columbian Squires is the leadership which our mature
Knights furnish the adolescent Squire.‖
Catholic boys between the ages of 13 to 18 were qualified for
membership. But preference was given to those who were not more
than 16 years of age, so that their membership in the Circle would last
for at least two years. The motto of the Squires was: ―Esto Dignus”—
Be Worthy!
The Philippine Squires earned credit, deservedly,
accomplishments both on the national and local levels:
for
 Sponsoring recollections and spiritual retreats;
 Participated in community cleanliness and beautification
drives;
196
Action, on All Fronts
 Campaigns against drug abuse, and against indecent
literature;
 Sponsored lectures and seminars on topics interesting to





adolescent boys and girls;
Entertained with songs the inmates of the Home for the
Aged;
participated in a National Youth Photo Contest portraying
how the Filipino Youth lives;
Joined wholesome sports competitions;
Honored their parents and families through the holding of
a ―Parents‘ Night‖ and a ―Family Night‖;
Sponsored wholesome social affairs, such as picnics and
dance parties.
These activities were echoes of the spirit of George Willmann —
bringing God into the playground, bringing God into the home, bringing
God into the school, bringing God onto the dance floor, bringing God
into the market place, bringing God into all the things that boys and girls
love.
In 1962, the number of Circles reached 36, with a total
membership of 703 Squires. In 1963, the Philippines led all jurisdictions
in the promotion of the Columbian Squires. Francisco Tantoco, Jr. —
who later became a priest and a Monsignor — as the National Chairman
of the Columbian Squires in the Philippines, was awarded the ―Special
Service Citation‖ by Supreme Knight Luke E. Hart ―for his work of
propagating the Columbian Squires in the Philippines‖. Jun Tantoco
was the special assistant of Father Willmann for the young. Father
Willmann really educated him for the priesthood.
In 1957 the Columbian Squires of the Philippines were
represented at the International Youth Forum in New York City. From
1957 to 1962, Jun Tantoco, as National Chairman of the Columbian
Squires, was a member of the Board of Directors of the Asian Youth
Institute of UNESCO. The Squires held a national convention in 1964,
at Parañaque, to consider ―Leadership Development‖.
The Columbian Squires, really, were the ―Officers‘ Training
School‖ for the Knights of Columbus in the Philippines.
197
The Gentle Warrior
The Squirettes of Mary began, in the Philippines, on February
19, 1956, under Capitol Council 3695. By 1959 there were six Circles
of Squirettes of Mary, and they were given national recognition by the
Knights of Columbus in the Philippines.
It is a Jesuit principle: if you want your work to survive —
organize it! Build it into an institution! Provide for the training of
those who will carry on your work, after you are gone.
This is what George Willmann did, quietly, patiently, with great
discipline and order, through the long years.
But it was not an agony of hard labor. For George, it was a joy!
He wrote to Miki, the wife of his brother Ed, and to his older sister,
Miriam:
―Apart from the usual routine and some out-of-town
trips, I have been helping recently in a silver wedding
anniversary of Mr. And Mrs. Mel Virata. With Joe
Guevara, Mel enjoyed your wonderful hospitality in the
mountains. Mel was the stouter of the two men. He
has been a close friend and associate since before his
marriage.
―About 1938, I was the Chaplain, rather unofficially, of
the University of the Philippines, a government
university here. It was then that we struck an
acquaintance which has since developed into a pleasant
and apostolic partnership. I have baptized a number of
his children, including two who died in their early
infancy.
―Both he and his wife are lawyers. In fact, both have
an added degree, that of Master of Law. But they don‘t
practice their profession. Rather, they manage the
family property and have organized among other
things the biggest mushroom production– fresh and
canned — in the Philippines.
198
Action, on All Fronts
―There are nine children in the Virata family and they
had a good time with the preparation and at the affair
itself. The Mass was celebrated at 7:00 last Sunday
evening in the Manila Cathedral, followed by a dinnerdance in the swanky Manila Hotel.
―One of my chores was to give a first lesson in waltzing
to Mel and to his three boys. In this pleasant past time,
they have had no experience. I found that I still
remember the steps! Pretty good for a sexagenarian!
And no wise cracks permitted!‖
3. The Poor
His sister Ruth wrote of George:
―When a man came into his office to talk, his eyes lit up
like blue jewels, and he was all interest. I saw him with
a poor man asking for help, and with a wealthy
merchant giving it. He was exactly the same with both
— gentle, caring, brother, father, friend.‖
Father James J. Hennesey, S.J., scientist from the Manila
Observatory, remembered this as the characteristic trait of George:
―Personally, he was a poor and detached man of God.
But as a man for others he did not decline management
of finances, or even auditing accounts. He was aware
that the things he handled were not his, for his utility,
but were the patrimony of the poor, the brothers of the
poor Christ.‖
George worked for the poor, constantly. He wrote to his sister,
Dorothy:
―I was reminded of you again when today another big
shipment of medicines arrived from a New York agency,
the Medical and Surgical Relief Committee.
199
The Gentle Warrior
―Father Tony LeBau was the Director of the Catholic
Medical Mission Bureau some eight or ten years ago. I
was visiting New York at that time and stopped in at his
office to thank him for the assistance which he and his
associates were sending. He told me of this Medical
and Surgical Relief Committee which, he said, could
help much more than the Catholic Medical Mission
Bureau since it was non-sectarian and received larger
quantities of donations from drug manufacturers.
―They asked us to pay 5% of the wholesale value in
order to cover their overhead expenses. We receive
perhaps one big shipment every year, which helps over
100 different clinics around the islands.‖
George was giving medicine to the poor through one hundred
clinics, over the whole Philippines! And his heart was really with them!
He wrote to his sister, Dorothy:
―Here we are, in the middle of the torrid summer
season. And to add to our discomfort, near our
residence in Pasay City we had two very big fires a few
weeks apart.
―The first occurred while I was up in Baguio for a 6 day
convention of the Knights. Then, about two nights ago,
around 6:00 p.m., another fire sprang up just beyond
where the previous fire had stopped. After two or three
hours of hard work, where the local fire fighters were
aided by nearly all the fire equipment of Manila and
suburbs, it was placed under control.
―We did not suffer, personally, but my heart weeps for
the poor — for the hundreds, if not thousands, of those
who lost their belongings, houses, everything.
―What hampers us in these big fires here is that not
even Manila, the Metropolis, has enough pressure in its
200
Action, on All Fronts
water system to do an effective fire fighting job.‖
He not only gave to the poor — he felt for them! It was not
only an external gesture. What he did came from the heart. This was
obvious to all those who worked with him. Dolores Origeneza, who
was an employee of the Knights in Intramuros, said:
―In all the years that I worked for Father Willmann, I
never saw him refuse to talk to people who would come
to his office, asking for all sorts of assistance. He
always had a way of helping them. I never heard him
raise his voice in anger, nor saw him angry. He always
spoke softly, tactfully, and with respect — to everyone!‖
In the tropics, that tribute from an employee is a superlative! If
you remember, the British poet who lived in India wrote these lines,
from bitter experience:
―It is not good for the white man
To hurry the Orient brown –
For the white man riles,
And the brown man smiles,
And it wears the white man down.
―And the end of the fight
Is a tomb stone, white,
With the name of the late deceased –
And an epitaph clear:
‗A fool lies here….
Who tried to hurry the East‘‖.
George Willmann never riled. He never raised his voice. He
lived in the tropics, under the same conditions as Rudyard Kipling, but
he never lost his temper. More than that. He understood the people.
He loved the people. He loved the poor.
Another employee, Jaime C. Renegado, tells this story, of
George and a burglar:
201
The Gentle Warrior
―A burglar was caught by the Council 1000 pin boys,
in the bowling alley. Father Willmann stopped the
physical harm being inflicted on the burglar. He
touched the burglar‘s stomach. Then he said: ‗This
guy must be hungry! That is why he wanted to steal!‘
Then Father Willman gave him money! And he said to
the burglar: ‗Don‘t steal anymore.‘‖
Jaime Renegado is not a theologian, not a priest, and certainly
not a member of the Papal Curia in the Vatican where decisions are
made on canonization. But Jaime says, with the strong conviction of the
poor: ―I am sure that Father Willmann is in heaven now.‖
The Catholic Church has been stressing the fact, over the last
few years, that every priest should have ―a preferential option for the
poor‖. Isagani Tolentino, who worked with Father Willmann, at close
range, for many years, did not interpret the mind of George in exactly
those words. But he was completely convinced of this: ―Father
Willmann felt that there should not only be ‗Haves‘ in the Knights of
Columbus — he felt that the Knights of Columbus were also for dock
hands and jeepney drivers!‖
George had a preferential option for the poor before the Holy
Father said it.
That ―spirit of poverty‖ stayed with George Willmann from the
day he arrived at the Ateneo de Manila in Intramuros, in 1922, until the
day he went home to God from Murray Weigal Hall at Fordham
University, in New York City, fifty-five years later.
―Poverty” has always been a problem for all religious men, and
for all religious women — the priests and nuns who belong to religious
orders, and who take a vow of poverty. Really, in truth, the vow is a
vow of dependence, a vow of humility, a vow to ask permission for
everything you use. It means that George — from the moment he went
up the steps of Saint Andrew’s on the Hudson, carrying his valise, on
August 14, 1915 — no longer owned anything. When he took his
perpetual vow of poverty on August 15, 1917, while the United States
202
Action, on All Fronts
was at war, it meant that he gave up, forever, the right to possess
anything! The clothing he wore belonged to the Society of Jesus. The
books, from which he studied, belonged to the Society of Jesus. He did
not pay anything for his studies, for his board and lodging — but if, in
later years, he earned any money, that money went to the Society of
Jesus. He did not get a bigger room, or more to eat, if his ―salary” at
the Ateneo was high. His ―salary‖ was a book transaction. It went
from the Ateneo de Manila to the Society of Jesus. George never even
saw it!
If he wanted tooth paste, he had to ask Father Minister for it. If
he wanted to go anywhere, he had to ask permission to go, and the
money for car fare. If he needed new shoes, he had to ask permission
to buy new shoes, and money to pay for them.
All this seems hard — but it is only an exercise in humility. The
Society of Jesus is generous. The Superiors have, as their first rule, to
be fatherly. Whatever a Jesuit really needs, he can get — just by asking
permission for it.
This disturbed many of the Jesuits who lived and worked with
George Willmann, at close range. Father Arthur Shea, S.J., for instance
— a brilliant young man, on his way to a doctorate in anthropology,
who fell in love with the poor in Mindanao, and gave up the doctorate
to become a missionary in the mountains — said to George: ―How can
we say that we are poor? We have security! The deepest pain of
being poor is that they have no security! We eat well, three times a
day, five times a day! We sleep in a bed, in a beautiful house! We
ride in automobiles, or ships, or planes! If we are sick , we go to a
hospital! We‘re not poor, George — we are rich!‖
So men like Artie Shea and George Willmann, in their own quiet
way, really tried to share the hardships of the poor. George never sat
down to lunch. He ate a sandwich, and drank milk, at his desk. When
the Knights built their new headquarters in Intramuros, George felt that
the building was too nice, too comfortable. He wrote to his sister,
Agnes, that he was seriously considering the possibility of working
elsewhere.
203
The Gentle Warrior
During the early years of the KCFAPI — the Knights of
Columbus Fraternal Association of the Philippines, Inc. — the insurance
affiliate of the Knights, the management offered him an air conditioned
room and a magnificent swivel chair, worthy of the Territorial Deputy.
He refused the room, and the chair, saying that he did not want to spend
the money of the insured members for his personal comfort.
He never wanted to ride in an expensive car. He refused to buy
new clothes, new shoes, new bags. And when friends gave him these
things, as gifts, he was prone to give them away to others who, he
believed, needed them more. He gave a pair of new shoes to Father
Frank Clark, S.J., who became the first Provincial Superior of the
Philippines, in 1958, when the Philippines was made a Province of the
Society of Jesus. When speaking at the funeral of George, Father Clark
said, simply: ―I am standing, literally, in the shoes of George
Willmann.‖
He was so careful about finances! Whenever his sisters sent
Mass stipends to him, he checked each one, on the very letter paper they
sent to him, and marked it “Okay‖, and sent them a written
acknowledgment that he had received the stipends. His sister Dorothy
was almost scrupulous. She wrote long letters to George, checking and
re-checking if she had sent ―these particular mass stipends‖. The
records of George were always as clear as sunlight. He would respond
with the intention, the name of the donor, the date he received the
stipend, and the date on which he said the Mass.
When he travelled, and came back to the Philippines, he would
declare every gift he had received, individually, to Customs. The
examiners could never quite understand this. They said to George,
every time: ―No, Father….No…That is not necessary. That is
personal….Forget it.‖ They would pass him through Customs, always,
without charging him anything. George worried about this. He did not
want to cheat anybody — not even a government that was known to be
corrupt to the marrow of its bones.
He was reluctant to make phone calls to his family, even when
the call was urgent, because the cost was so high. His sisters agreed
204
Action, on All Fronts
with this. Agnes wrote to George: ―It is so expensive to call, when
we think of the poor and hungry ones, who have so little!‖
Those, who worked with George, spoke often of the beautiful
things he did for the poor. But it was not only what he did! It was
much more than that. It was his attitude toward the poor, his reverence
for them. George felt that, somehow, poverty was the mark of God’s
favor. If a child was poor, that child had been touched by the Hand of
God. That child was special. The thoughts of George were like the
thoughts of Francis of Assisi. He was the spirit of poverty, walking
down the street. When he wrote to his family, you can feel that spirit in
every line. It vibrates in every thought that he has. He wrote to his
sister, Dorothy:
―I was thinking much about all of you last Saturday, as
you had your reunion at Bill‘s house. I am sure it was
most enjoyable. I almost telephoned, but the cost is
pretty high, you know, and it did not seem necessary.
―It is since I last wrote, I believe, that our dear Cardinal
died. Of course, there was the usual big funeral and
services. He was buried under the main altar of our
Cathedral.
―The Knights of Columbus, especially the fourth
degree, with their somewhat extravagant uniform, were
much in evidence for the days of the wake.
―The Cardinal was born in a one-room hut in Guagua,
Pampanga, about 50 miles north of Manila. I think he
was the youngest of 13 children. And by the kindness
of some generous benefactor, he received good
education in the seminary.
―We became acquainted about 1938 when he was one
of the secretaries of the old Irish Archbishop
O‘Dougherty. During the war the Japanese strongly
suspected the Archbishop of conniving with the
205
The Gentle Warrior
guerrilleros and supplying them with money and with
other material assistance. But the future Cardinal,
Father Santos, acted as a buffer and was incarcerated
by the invaders.
―On various occasions I had been associated with him
while he was the Bishop of Lipa and later as
Archbishop of Manila. Among other kindnesses and
help, he assisted in our Tagalog monthly, the youth
work, and the Knights of Columbus.
―He was the first Filipino Cardinal. Only about three
months before his death, he assisted some little K of C
celebration and showed great interest and detailed
knowledge of our works.
―I hope you have been feeling well, Dorothy. Or at
least better than before. Sister Concepcion Bada,
formerly Sister Divino Amor, was just in the office from
her work with the squatters in Carmona, Cavite, which
is about 30 or 40 miles south of Manila. I was
surprised to learn that she is 61. She still looks quite
young.
―Bishop Gaviola, one of our middle-aged Bishops, has
just received a cablegram from Rome, authorizing him
to become ‗Bishop of the Squatters‘ in Carmona.
During his 12 years, roughly speaking, as Bishop, he
was first appointed to the See of Cabanatuan, which is
in Luzon, farther north than Pampanga. And about 6
years ago, he was made Secretary General of the
Catholic Bishops‘ Conference of the Philippines, from
which he was able to resign to help the poor squatters.
Much love and prayers,
George‖
Whenever it was a question of helping the poor, everyone
206
Action, on All Fronts
seemed to lean on George — even the civil government. He was
competent; he knew the problems; he was already involved with the
poor; everyone respected him; so, when someone was needed to lead a
drive for the poor, to man the dikes in an effort to stop the tidal wave of
poverty which was sweeping over the Philippines, the battle cry was:
―Let George do it!‖
Father Willmann had too many jobs already, but he was doing so
well with all of them, and he always seemed to have time to listen to
everybody — so the civic leaders and the social workers had no mercy.
George wrote to Dorothy:
―About 10 days ago, I think I dropped you a few lines.
Just after the letter was mailed, I remembered your
birthday, which I failed to mention in the letter.
Anyway, although very belatedly, all best blessings.
―It is a good part of the world, I guess, which is now
worrying about oil. The oil prices are so hard on the
poor! And the papers and the news magazines tell us
that the U.S. is also having its problems. I hope that
your apartment will not get too cold and freeze you to
death. I hope your Filipino majordomo will keep your
apartment sufficiently warm.
―Here too we have the problem but I think not so
severe. For instance, our private automobiles have
ration tickets for gas, limiting us to 200 liters a month.
That is, more or less, 50 gallons a month. Gas prices
have increased. This is hard on the poor, but I think
that gas is still cheaper here than there in the U.S.A.
―One of the rather important organizations here is
called the Philippine Freedom from Hunger Campaign.
And as the KC Philippine Deputy, I was appointed by its
President as a member. That did not result in too much
burden, but recently the Chairman, Mr. Oscar Arellano,
appointed me to be the Secretary General in the
207
The Gentle Warrior
Philippines. Imagine, at my age, to be a General!
―I have not yet accepted, in view of the fact that I might
do more harm than good. We really should have a
younger person for this position.
―Not so important, the KC continues with all sorts of
activities including socials. Tomorrow, Saturday, in the
afternoon and evening I am invited to three different
occasions. The inauguration of a new Council, the
golden wedding anniversary of one of our fine old
veterans, and the fifth anniversary of another Council.
If I take supper at each event, I will wind up at the
hospital. And it reminds me of the Freedom From
Hunger — did I say ‗freedom from hunger‘?
All best wishes and much love and prayers.
George‖
Dorothy phoned George, at one time, to tell him that she saw
his picture in the New York Times, being inducted as an officer into the
Community Chest Foundation of Greater Manila by Justice Calixto O.
Zaldivar of the Philippine Supreme Court. In his next letter to her,
George wrote: ―Coming back to your telephone call, I am sorry if I
seemed impolite in hanging up so quickly. But these overseas calls
are so expensive that I worry about your footing another bill.‖
George worried about the financial problems of his brother Ed,
who was seriously ill, but felt that there was nothing he could do about
it, except pray. He guaranteed his prayers, night and day.
George did not want to be a financial burden to anyone!
Especially not to his family, and not to the Knights. Mariano Sideco
remembers the early days, when Father Willmann first became the
Chaplain of Manila Council 1000:
―He appointed me to prepare the chapel and the
208
Action, on All Fronts
vestments for Mass. It was our regular monthly
Sunday Mass. I had to borrow the vestments from San
Agustin Church. After doing this several times, I
thought that we should have our own vestments. I
planned to ask several members to contribute. But
when I told this to Father Willmann, he disapproved of
it! Because he did not want to burden the members
with additional expenses.‖
His heart was certainly in the right place. He practiced poverty
himself, and he reached out to the poor. All those who worked with
him, through the long years, remember that. Cornelio B. Cagurangan
writes:
―When Intramuros was still the site of countless
squatters, Father Willmann devoted much of his time to
alleviate the sufferings and the miseries of the poor.
―Because of his connections with the Catholic Relief
Services, Inc., and with the Jesuit Seminary and
Mission Bureau in the United States, he was able to
bring into the Philippines, regularly, bags of wheat,
flour and medicines. He distributed these among the
poor. He was loved by the people of Intramuros. His
presence was like manna from heaven, for them.
―It did not stop in Intramuros. Through the Councils
of the Knights of Columbus, spread all over the country,
he established charity clinics, credit unions,
cooperatives, and assistance to prisoners as regular
community services of the order. He hired the services
of a dedicated and hardworking Knight, Brother
Augusto Mier, solely to organize credit unions and
cooperatives, all over the country.
―His office in Intramuros was open not only to the
Knights, but to all — rich or poor, and even beggars.
He would get out of his room, immediately, to talk to
209
The Gentle Warrior
any beggar who would like to see him. And he would
always extend help. He would scold us whenever we
prevented poor people from seeing him. He really loved
the poor.‖
Agnes wrote to him: ―I hope that the wonderful program of
helping the poor, which the Knights of Columbus have been doing in
different parts of the islands, continues to be successful! We are
proud of taking part in it!‖
And Agnes wrote later, about a good friend of hers: ―Ann
Flynn just called! After months of silence. She wants to send a
Thank Offering to you, because she knows you make good use of
funds. She knows that whatever she sends to you really reaches the
poor….I am commissioned to find the best way to send it.‖
George understood finance, better than most men. But he knew
that money was a means. The end was….people. The objective was to
help people — rich or poor, young or old, sick or well, clean or dirty,
brilliant or retarded, sweet smelling or fresh from the garbage heaps of
Tondo. He said to a friend: ―There is much more to the Knights of
Columbus than funding and finance.‖ He said: ―There is so much
to do….but it is not always possible to do it.‖
Francis Xavier died on the little island of San Cian, reaching out
to China.
George Willmann lived and worked in Manila, reaching out to
the poor.
4. Morale of the Knights
On his birthday, George received telegrams of congratulations
from almost every Council of Knights in the Philippines. He
acknowledged every one, carefully.
210
Action, on All Fronts
This telegram, from Iloilo, is typical:
―Praying God shower you more blessed birthdays good
health and vigor to keep all knights united under your
dynamic leadership. Congratulations
Judge Bellosillo‖
The Knights really felt that they were doing something, that they
were going places, that they were moving in one direction as a powerful
united force, under leadership that was intelligent and dynamic.
They were grateful that they were really making a difference
with youth, with the destitute poor, with the sick. They were happy to
be the strong right arm of the Church in Catholic Action. They felt that
it was a real accomplishment — the leaders of the government were
working hand in hand with the Knights! Nine out of fifteen Justices of
the Supreme Court were Knights of Columbus!
But it was more than that. They felt that, somehow, all this
work was spiritually oriented. It came from the heart. It came from the
spirit. It came from God.
And no effort was wasted! There was no waste motion! All of
their multiplex activities were directed, sharply, toward the good of the
people — while, at the same time, making them better men, better
husbands, better fathers, better citizens, better friends. They felt that
— somehow — they were all members of one body, working together,
in many different ways, in a single, directed apostolate. And they felt
sure that this apostolate was effective.
Father Willmann never bragged about the spirituality of his men.
In fact, he played it very low key. Terry Barcelon, S.J. remembers very
clearly:
―In 1940 my father was elected Grand Knight of Manila
Council 1000. The big K of C project at that time was
the Sampaloc CYO — Catholic Youth Organization —
in the parish of Monsignor Pamintuan.
211
The Gentle Warrior
―From that one Council 1000 the Knights have
developed into a truly national organization, without
doubt because of the guidance of Father Willmann.
―Once, as a Scholastic, we asked him what was the
special spirituality of the Knights. And his answer was
that it only promoted the ten commandments… .like
going to Mass on Sundays. I suppose we were
expecting something more elaborate, but simply helping
each other observe the ten commandments is a tall
order in itself.‖
At the meeting of the Supreme Council on Wednesday, August
17, 1977, in the Hilton Hotel at Indianapolis, Indiana — just one month
before he died — George said to the world leaders of the Knights of
Columbus:
―Is there any difference between the Knights of
Columbus in the Philippines and here, in the United
States? The question is asked because the growth in the
Philippines has been pretty good.
―I would just say — and I‘m not trying to be exhaustive
or didactic — there is perhaps one considerable
difference in the Knights of Columbus in the
Philippines and here. In the first place, monthly
Corporate Mass and Communion for the members. It is
not strictly obligatory, but we urge every Council to
have a monthly Corporate Mass and Communion.
―Secondly, at the request of the Hierarchy, the Knights
of Columbus is a mandated Catholic organization of
Catholic Action. That doesn‘t mean that they lose their
identity, but they try to cooperate with Catholic Action,
in keeping their own autonomy, but being somewhat
closely connected with the organization of the Church.
212
Action, on All Fronts
―I want to thank the Knights of Columbus for many
pleasant years‘ association. To the New Haven
Hierarchy, we might call them, and to their
predecessors, our sincere thanks for their great help to
me personally and, most of all, for all that you have
done for the Philippines….Thank you.‖
In the minutes of that meeting it is recorded: ―Following
completion of the remarks of Father Willmann, he was accorded a
standing ovation by the assembly.‖
The spirit of the Knights was always strong, from the very
beginning. Elias M. Ataviado, of Santa Ana in Manila, whose son
became a priest and a Bishop, remembers the early days of the Knights
with nostalgia. There were a few Americans, many Spaniards, but
mostly Filipinos. The dues were three pesos a month. For the regular
Mass and Communion, every month, the Caballeros — in immaculately
white americanas cerrada — would arrive in horse drawn carriages at
the old San Agustin Church, on General Luna Street, in Intramuros.
After Mass, the Caballeros would walk to “La Palma de Mallorca‖,
on the corner of Solana and Real, for breakfast.
That Communion breakfast was one of the high points of their
month, for all of them. Laughter, telling stories of their vanished youth,
finding out the dramatic things that were happening to their friends.
Then billiards in the clubhouse on Arzobispo Street. Bowling with the
Knights. Bowling with their sons, bowling with their friends. It was a
religious organization — clean, honest, honorable. The wives were
proud that their husbands were Knights of Columbus. And, for the
men, it was the best social club in town.
In the days of Father Willmann, even the Americans were proud
to belong to the Knights! Robert M. Bissell, of Fairfield in California,
remembers that he took at least fifteen trips with George Willmann —on
business for the Knights of Columbus: ―Albay, twice, one by train and
one by air; rites in Legazpi and in Daraga….Baguio, rites in the
Patria; Doctor Turla, team chief, was injured….Bayombong in
Nueva Vizcaya, a hard trip by bus….Calapan, in Mindoro; sailed
213
The Gentle Warrior
overnight on a motor vessel from North Harbor; returned by launch
to Batangas and by bus to Manila….Christ the King, on España
Extension, in Manila….Cubao, in Quezon City….Daet, in Camarines
Norte, by air….FEATI, at Santa Cruz, in Manila…Malolos in
Bulacan, rites at Barasoain….Naga City, rites at the Ateneo de Naga;
quartered in a dormitory above the police station in the town
plaza….Saint Joseph‘s College, on España Extension, in
Manila…Sacred Heart Novitiate of the Society of Jesus, in
Novaliches, Quezon City….San Pablo, in Laguna….Tarlac, in the
Province of Tarlac, rites at Don Bosco School.‖
Robert Bissell was so enthusiastic about all the things that he did
with George! ―We hosted an annual Catholic clergy day, inviting
priests from the region to Clark Air Base for lunch with the Base
Chaplains….We had our own Lenten Holy Hours, and monthly
Masses, for the Knights!….We provided lay assistance in the Base
Chapels….We, and our ladies, hosted Our Lady of Loreto Council
for a picnic on the Base….Council Chaplains were chosen from Base
and off-Base clergy. Father Odon Santos was Chaplain for several
years.‖
Bissell belonged to Council 5652 in Clark Air Base. He
remembers all the good things that this Council did: “We helped to
supply an orphanage in Mexico, Pampanga….We collected toys at
Christmas time, for poor children who had no toys….We sponsored
parish picnics….We sponsored a Squires Circle….We provided lay
Ministers for the Chapels on the Base….We attended corporate
Masses, every month!….We sent delegations to the National
Convention in Baguio City….And we achieved the Columbian
Award!‖
Council 5652 set up a Center in Taipei, Taiwan, when U.S.
Army personnel were stationed there. Cardinal PinPin was one of its
members!
Bissell says: ―My experiences with the Knights in the
Philippines are unforgettable. I was in the right places at the right
times. If I could have one wish granted, I‘d like to do it all again.
Mabuhay!‖
214
Action, on All Fronts
Each Knight was quietly proud of his own Council. They were
happy with what they were doing, on the local level. But when they
heard the annual report of George Willmann, each year, they were
amazed at the achievements of the Knights in Manila — which is the
Mecca of the Philippines — and at the deep impact that the work of the
Knights was having on the rest of the nation.
The reports that George made were never triumphalistic. They
were always quiet, factual, like a laborer reporting how far he has gone
in digging a ditch:
―We received 35,000 dollars to pay for the Catholic
College education of the orphaned children of Filipino
Knights, who died during the war, as members of the
USAFFE. These include the seven children of Manuel
Colayco, nine children of Benito Soliven, and four
children of Enrique Albert.
―These scholarships include board, lodging, tuition,
and most incidentals, at any college teaching Catholic
Philosophy, either in the Philippines, in the United
States, or elsewhere. Carlos Colayco obtained such a
grant for his studies at San Jose Seminary, for four
years. If the child is not a boarding student, his mother
receives the equivalent, about 30 pesos a week for forty
weeks.
―We have organized the Columbian Farmers Aid
Association, duly incorporated under the laws of the
Philippines. Financial help for this association, during
recent years, has been received from the Asia
Foundation. The amount is 40,000 pesos, with the
condition — duly fulfilled — that this sum be matched
by a similar contribution from the Knights in the
Philippines.
―Through this organization, the Filipino Knights are
urged to engage in Christian Social Reconstruction in
215
The Gentle Warrior
their own regions. Our Councils are doing this, with
works of social amelioration, or works of charity.
―In the defensive work against Communism we have
organized ten conferences in Baguio, a three day
seminar in Cebu, and lectures throughout the nation.
We have written, edited and distributed 234,000
pamphlets.
―Food from Catholic Relief Services is now being given
to 850 families in Intramuros, and to 600 families in
Tondo.
―The Knights of Columbus are working in close
cooperation with the USO — the United Service
Organization. I have been the Vice-Chairman of the
U.S.O. for the last few years. And since the Chairman
is now on leave in the United States, I am acting as the
National Chairman.
―Mayor Lacson has appointed me as Chairman of the
Community Service Committee of the Manila Youth
Welfare Council. We have an office on the third floor
of the City Hall, with — presently — three staff
members.
―I have been appointed to the Board of Directors of the
Manila Junior Police.
―Medicines, worth about 30,000 pesos, are obtained
each year, and distributed to twenty free clinics. Our
Intramuros clinic treats 220 patients every day.
―I am the Adviser of APEPCOM — the Association of
the Philippine Editors and Publishers of Comic Books.
This group publishes 1,500,000 comic books a month. I
took this post at the request of the Bishops. We have
drawn up a code, which is now being followed.
216
Action, on All Fronts
―For the last six years I have been the Vice President of
the Free Medical Clinics — otherwise known as the
Catholic Patronatos. About three months ago, the
founder and President, Doctor Augusto J.D. Cortes, was
stricken with a cerebral hemorrhage, which left him
paralyzed. He requested me to accept the Presidency of
the Free Medical Clinics. Four groups of Sisters work
with great dedication in these clinics. Over the last
year, together with the Knights of Columbus, they have
given medical relief to a total of 583,133 patients, with a
total value of 64,371.09 pesos.
―In this capacity, as President of the Free Medical
Clinics, I — or someone appointed by me — will be the
representative at the Community Chest, and in any
other contacts that may arise.‖
The Knights felt that they were involved in almost every good
thing that was happening in the Philippines. They were working, and
they were working well! Other organizations, which were powerful and
efficient, were happy to be allied with the Knights! Even the
government was drafting their Deputy into service!
With George in the saddle, they were moving! They were
working for people. They were working for the poor. They were
working for God. And the work was exciting. It was a challenge. It
was an adventure.
When they walked into the church on Sunday morning, for their
monthly Mass together, they wore their insignia with quiet pride.
The morale of the Knights was high.
*
*
*
217
*
*
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Home Front
1. Family
D
orothy Willmann was writing to her brother George. She had
written to him earlier, on that same day. This was her letter:
―Dear George,
In writing to you earlier today, I‘m afraid I gave
you the wrong address. It should be:
The Alverne Hotel
1014 Locust (606)
Saint Louis, Missouri 63101
I suspect I‘ve been giving the wrong address to
business places, the bank, etc. — Dumb me!
But dumb or not,
My love to you,
Dorothy
M E R R Y C H R I S T M A S!‖
That sums up the relationship between the members of the
Willmann family — dumb or smart, right or wrong, sick or well,
succeeding famously or failing miserably — “My love to you‖.
218
The Home Front
Every letter that the sisters and brothers wrote to each other
ended with these words: ―With all my prayers, and with all my
love….‖ They really, truly loved each other.
In all of his correspondence with his family, George treated each
one with reverence. After visiting the United States, to represent the
Philippines in the meeting of the Supreme Council, he wrote to
Dorothy:
―I have many pleasant memories of my visit. And all of
you were so good to me that I am quite embarrassed
and know I can repay very little of your generosity. And
what‘s more, Dorothy, I regret very much my lack of
tact, in the home of that Doctor whom we visited, in
cutting the visit short. It was quite stupid of me and I
promise to try harder on another occasion if and when
the good Lord will allow me to visit you again some
time.
Selecting Alverne was certainly a stroke of genius. I do
not think that any other place could be found anywhere
that could be so suitable for a person. Giving us our
own room where we could chat without interruption.
While at the same time we had the beautiful chapel and
other facilities that were well-nigh perfect. So once
again may I thank Mother Superior for the very great
kindness which she and the other Sisters showed, so
wonderfully, to all of us.‖
Dorothy felt that she was a member of the ―Jesuit Family‖. In
October of 1925, when George was a first year Theologian, studying at
Woodstock, she wrote to the Provincial of the Maryland-New York
Province, who was then Lawrence J. Kelly, S.J.:
―I am so glad that you did address me as ‗Dorothy‘. It
really does make me feel even more like one of the
family than sometimes seems possible. When one‘s
219
The Gentle Warrior
brother insists upon frolicking to the Philippines, we
must keep repeating to ourselves that we do belong to
the Jesuits some way or other to really believe it. I do
feel very close to your wonderful Society, and I hope
that it will not be long before we can do something
definite for the Jesuits in the line of medical missions.‖
At that time, Dorothy was the Executive Secretary of the
Medical Mission Board of the Catholic Hospital Association of the
United States and Canada. She was trying to arrange medical training
courses for the Jesuits who would be sent to the missions.
At another time, Dorothy wrote to George:
about getting old… or being old…. you ain‘t!‖
―Stop talking
In October of 1968 Dorothy wrote to him: ―Your birthday
letter to Miriam has come, and she is grateful to you. But we are
terribly sorry to hear about your mishap, which must have given you
great pain. Sprained muscles, especially in the back, can cause
horrible misery. Word that you were getting along was welcome, and
I hope the additional time spent in the hospital gave you a little
degree of needed rest, too. You were so tired when you reached Saint
Louis — and I am sure you were overly tired even before you left
Manila.‖
Sister Agnes wrote to George: ―We have that famous date of
September 30, coming, when on the wedding anniversary of Mother
and Father we used to pack into the big old foreign car — rented —
and go back to the city!‖
Agnes wrote again, for George’s birthday: ―Happy Birthday!
We have a number of family anniversaries in June, don‘t we? Gigi‘s
birthday, the 13th….Mother‘s, the 17th…Sister Ruth‘s, the
22nd….yours, the 29th….Mark and Paul, June 30th and July
1st….These dates surely unite us in a special way, near or far….Gigi
graduates from High School on June 23rd!….Then your ordination
date and that of your first mass!….June 30 and 31.‖
220
The Home Front
The Willmann family was closely knit. George was a priest, in
the Society of Jesus. Agnes and Ruth were nuns, in the Franciscan
Missionaries of Mary. But being in a religious order did not separate
them from the family – it brought them closer together.
On April 26, 1965, at midnight, George received this telegram:
Edward died early Sunday evening
Funeral Wednesday Love
Mirdot
―Mirdot‖ meant Miriam and Dorothy, both of whom were living
in Saint Louis, Missouri, in the United States. The telegram was
phoned to George by Danilo Villar, of RCA. George was living, at that
time, at La Ignaciana in Santa Ana.
When a priest receives a telegram like this, when he is working
overseas, it is very difficult for him, emotionally. Someone that he
loves is dead, and he is 12,000 miles away. He can not go home. He
does not even have the consolation of a funeral. There is no time for
tears.
George said Mass early on Monday morning, April 27, for Ed.
He said it in the tiny private chapel of La Ignaciana. The world would
not stop, for Ed. George went to office, in Intramuros. The problems
of the day swept over him: the U.S.O had been robbed in the night;
they wondered if the Knights had anything to do with it, because they
were living in the same building with the Knights! An incoming Grand
Knight was waiting for him: ―Could he come to the installation, in
Mindanao?‖ Another Knight was worried about the records of their
insurance payments. ―Exactly how much was received, and when, and
why did they not get any acknowledgement?‖ A wife, in tears, with
the door carefully locked, told him that her husband, who was a Knight,
had another woman. ―What should she do? Would George talk to
the Knight? Would George talk to the other woman?‖ A Knight
wanted to get his son into the Ateneo Grade School, in June. ―Would
George write a letter of recommendation? Could he write the letter,
now?‖
221
The Gentle Warrior
George was thinking of Ed; of Miki, Ed’s wife; of Ed’s children,
Jim and Mary Ruth. He was thinking of Miriam, who was not well, and
of Dorothy, who was taking care of Miriam. Would they travel to the
East Coast for the funeral? Would Ruth and Agnes, both nuns, get
permission from their Superiors to attend the funeral! And where was
Bill? Bill was always travelling. Would he get there, for the funeral, by
Wednesday?
But George had to disengage his mind from everything outside
of his office; he had to concentrate on the present moment, right here,
right now. He had to listen to the lady from the U.S.O., and get the
details of the robbery. Did the thief really come through the K of C
headquarters?…. He had to look up his appointments in the date book.
Could he make it to Mindanao?…. He had to call in the accountant,
complete with all the records of payments received.
And he had to
have the secretary bring in the file of acknowledgements that were sent
out…. He had to listen to the wife. He had to decide. Should he talk
to the delinquent husband? Should he talk to the other woman? And
if so, when? And what could he say to them?…. He had to take out
his stationery and write to the Headmaster of the Grade School. What
was the name of the boy who wanted to enroll in kindergarten? And
how did he do in the entrance exam? Was his father an Ateneo
Alumnus? Did any of his older brothers go to school at the Ateneo?
George realized, painfully, the full meaning of the words of
Cardinal Richelieu to Vincent de Paul: ―For you and me, Vincent,
there is no private life!…. We do not have a private life!…. We
belong to the people!…. Private life is a luxury. God allows this for
the poor, but not for you and me!‖ George always knew that a priest
in his position was mainly an administrator, and therefore did not have
the consolation of seeing the faces of the little children who were being
taught Catechism, in preparation for their First Holy Communion. But
now he realized that there was very little time and space for his own
feelings. He belonged to the people who came into his office. Private
life was a luxury that he could not afford. There was no time — not
even for tears.
He sent a telegram to Miki, the wife of Ed:
222
The Home Front
―Mrs Edward Willmann
17 Seaver Lane
Smithtown, Long Island, New York
Fervent Masses and prayers for our dear Ed
together with deepest sympathy to you and all.
George‖
The details came later, in letters from the family. The first letter
was hand written, on an air mail form, from Dorothy in Saint Louis:
―Dear George,
We were sorry to have to wire you this evening. I had
hoped to get word to you earlier in the week that Ed was
not so well — but have been knocked out with a virus.
We called the family on Easter. Miki said Ed was not a
bit well — but was resting. Mary Ruth phoned us on
Tuesday night to say Ed was in the hospital but was
responding to treatment. Wednesday night we called
again — and Ed seemed better — some.
This afternoon Miriam called. Mrs. Kroyer answered.
Miki and Mary Ruth and Jim were all at the hospital.
‗Ed was not too comfortable,‖ she reported, kindly.
This evening, they called back. Ed had died at 5:35
p.m. We‘ve talked to them again since — to tell them
Miriam will go on by plane tomorrow. (I am better off
here with this virus. They don‘t need any more germs.)
Miki is heart-broken. But tonight, just now, Mary Ruth
said her mother is OK. Jim sounds fine. He is taking
charge — seemingly — and that‘s good. Between
Mary Ruth and Jim, they‘ll carry on.
We talked to Mother Ruth. Mother Provincial was
there. And they were going to call Brighton. Sister
223
The Gentle Warrior
Godfrey is getting over knee surgery — a tumor above
the knee, non-malignant. She is getting along on
crutches. (We didn‘t know until she was convalescing.)
I‘ll call the Bill Willmanns in the morning, although I
don‘t think they can do much about it.
Poor Ed. He has suffered so much. Miki has been a
miracle woman — but I don‘t know how much she
could stand. — Sorry I don‘t know any more details.
We are all united in prayer and sympathy. Please have
thirty Masses offered for Ed from Miriam and me.
(Check to Miki, unless you tell us otherwise.)
— Best love —
Dorothy‖
In the letters that he received, all the first names of his family
were crystal clear to George – but they could be a source of confusion
to the neutral observer. Miki herself complained about this, in one of
her letters to George.
The confusion starts here: when Agnes Willmann entered the
Franciscan Missionaries of Mary, and became a nun, her name in
religion was changed to ―Sister Mary Ruth‖.
After the Second
Vatican Council, she went back to her baptismal name, Agnes.
When Ruth Willmann entered the Franciscan Missionaries of
Mary, and became a nun — she changed her name to “Sister Godfrey‖.
Later, after the Second Vatican Council, the Sisters went back to their
baptismal names. So “Sister Godfrey” went back to ―Ruth‖.
Ed married Miki. They had two children: Jim and Mary Ruth.
Mary Ruth married, and became Mrs. Kroyer. She had four children:
Mark, Paul, Greg and Gigi. But Mary Ruth separated from her
husband.
She applied for an annulment, and the annulment was
granted. She married again, and became Mary Ruth Foglino.
224
The Home Front
The ―Mrs Kroyer‖, who answered Miriam on the phone, was
the mother-in-law of Mary Ruth Willmann Kroyer; it was a tightly knit
family. They were close to each other, in feeling, although Ed and Miki
lived in New York, while Miriam, and Dorothy lived in Saint Louis, at
least one thousand miles away.
Father Raymond Goggin, S.J., who had been a Master of
Novices at Sacred Heart Novitiate in the Philippines, was kneeling in the
sanctuary at Ed’s funeral, ―taking the place of George‖. It was a real
effort for him. He went into the hospital himself, later, on that same
day.
Miki wrote to George:
―I have many regrets. I yelled at Ed sometimes, to
drive home a point, in my own shrewish way. And this
one should never do. He had so much patience and was
so good. He must have gone to heaven. He surely
suffered enough here.
Miriam is here and I hope will stay a couple more days.
She is good and has been a ‗staying power‘ for us all.
The Kroyers have been wonderful. They were here
when Jim and Mary Ruth and I were in the hospital on
the Sunday he died. They kept the children safe.
Ed is buried in Saint John‘s, with Grandpa and
Grandma Willmann.‖
Agnes, as ―Sister Mary Ruth of the Blessed Sacrament,
F.M.M.‖ wrote a long typed letter, on an air mail form, but single
space, edge to edge, filling the full page, and then filling the back —
first fold, and second fold. She ended with:
―Well, dear Ed is ahead of us on the big race, isn‘t he?
God loved him by so many special tokens — and
although he was afraid when he had the bad attack at
Easter time and went off to the hospital, his faith was
really very strong. He told me he could only
remember
225
The Gentle Warrior
part of the Rosary — just the ‗Holy Mary, Mother of
God‘ — not more than those few words…. But he
certainly said them with full heart and they had
complete meaning.
I happened to be at Benediction, listening to a group of
young Christian Brothers chant Vespers at their
Novitiate at that moment. I think his beautiful deep
voice joined theirs in the Magnificat at the end — but
of course I did not know that then ….I do believe it
however. It could be, couldn‘t it?‖
Two days after Ed’s death, George wrote to Miki:
―I‘m reminiscing a lot. In recent years, there was no
spot in the world, I guess, which I enjoyed visiting more
than your home sweet home. I could stay there by the
hour in complete peace. We all seem to understand
each other. And of all the people in the world, I can‘t
think of anyone who understood better than Ed the
work I‘m trying to do and its objectives.
His pleasantly probing questions seemed to show that
he had given it much thought. And now and again, like
a surgeon‘s scalpel, his questions would be unpleasant.
But I would have to admit that they were profitable,
since they were arousing me to lines of thought which
had never occurred to my attention and in the
pursuance of which I had more or less been deliberately
lazy.
Be assured of our continuing prayers and deepest
sympathy.
Much love to all,
George.‖
Miriam and Agnes were at the funeral. Bill could not make it,
but sent flowers. Sister Godfrey was on crutches, after surgery, and
226
The Home Front
was not allowed to come. Dorothy was down with a virus. But
Dorothy was the one who wrote to George most frequently. She said:
―No one could wish Ed back. He has suffered so much in the last
months. But I know how much you will miss him, as only another
brother can.‖
Jim, Ed’s son and George’s nephew, wrote to George five days
after his father’s death:
―Pop had the last rites twice — first on New Year‘s Day
and then the morning of the Saturday before he left us.
Father Mario Costa of the parish here for both.
At the wake on Tuesday, following the Rosary, Father
Costa came over to Mom, Mary Ruth and me and told
us that Dad was the first man during his priesthood
who had asked of him: ‗Would you anoint me?‘
Father saw this as ‗a mark of deep faith‘.
Some time in February, Pop had confided in me that he
had not expected to like Father Costa, but — to quote
my Pop — ‗his piety won me over.‘
I‘d say ‗they clicked‘.
Father George, I felt and Mom felt you were with us in
spirit when your cable arrived.
Mom, Miriam, Mary Ruth, Sister Ruth are some soldiers.
Pop is not with us anymore, but I‘m certain that he‘s
pulling for us.
I know you‘ll miss him as we will. But God was good
not to let him suffer more.
With a prayer,
Jim‖
227
The Gentle Warrior
After receiving the letter of Miki, in which she scolded herself
for yelling at Ed, George wrote to her:
―In your letter, you did a little self-flagellation. Of
course, that is good for the soul, if we don‘t do too
much of it. But you should know that in my book and
that of all the Willmanns, your batting average is 999%,
triple A, summa cum laude. I only fear that, after your
wonderful care of Ed, he would probably be dissatisfied
with the angels in Heaven and would want to come
back to Smithtown, provided, of course, he could get a
new set of bronchial tubes and a few other organs.‖
George remembered Ed’s beautiful patience with his
grandchildren, and his deep devotion to the Holy Spirit. He regretted
that he could never help Ed with his financial problems, and he was
always proud that he was Ed’s big brother.
Archbishop Hayes wrote to George from Cagayan de Oro, when
he read of Ed’s death in the Philippine Clipper. He said: ―His name
brings happy memories of other days, more than thirty years ago,
when he helped you to make my Consecration the great success it
was.
He made himself right at home with my family, and was
always so helpful! He brought me to Lowell Thomas for the radio
interview, and he handled the big crowd at the Consecration Banquet
so efficiently! My sympathy to you and to all the family.‖
Jim, Ed’s son, who sometimes signs his name “Saemus‖ — the
Irish for ―James‖ — was grateful to his Uncle George forever. When
he was doing well in a new career, which he really liked, he wrote to
George in the Philippines: ―Pat yourself on the back for setting me in
motion!‖
Family ties in the Philippines are deep and strong, stretching out
to cousins, second cousins, third cousins, and reaching down to
grandchildren and to great grandchildren — but the family ties among
the Willmanns were just as deep, and just as strong. George was
separated from his family by 13,000 miles, by the Pacific Ocean and by
228
The Home Front
the Rocky Mountains, but love has no trouble with time and space. Ed
and George were brothers. They were one.
George remembered Miriam as the eldest girl, in their home in
Brooklyn — the responsible one, the little mother, the one whom he
was supposed to obey whenever his mother went out of the house. But
the health of Miriam was very frail. She did not marry. She was quiet,
sensitive, fragile. The whole family loved her, and prayed for her,
because — even before Ed became seriously ill — Miriam was operated
on, for cancer.
Dorothy, who was taking care of Miriam, wrote to George early
in February, 1965:
―Just two days after the operation — and you‘d think
she had been operated on long ago. She has been
marvelous, really took the operation beautifully. She
ate dinner that first night (although not all of it, but
they served her a regular meal); went walking with a
nurse in the hall that evening; phoned me about 7:30
a.m. the next morning. Yesterday evening I went out,
and she was gay as could be.
Two batches of
Franciscan Missionaries of Mary had been in to see her
(one of them, I believe, had been in the Philippines and
knew both you and Sister Godfrey). Mother Superior,
of course , was there.
The lab report wasn‘t to be ready until today. I just
finished talking to Doctor Simon. The tumor was
evidently malignant. If she can take cobalt treatment,
he will start it — or the doctor who does that will start
it. He is to check her condition and see if she can really
take it, for she has had so much X-ray on that side.
Doctor Simon said he told Miriam. Her reaction was
‗Is it worth it?‘ He said he talked turkey to her for a
while. She told him Mother Hildemar had invited her
to the Alverne for a while, especially since I‘m due to be
on the road this month. He said he encouraged her to
229
The Gentle Warrior
go there.‖
Agnes, as Sister Mary Ruth of the Blessed Sacrament, F.M.M.,
had her whole congregation praying for Miriam, with arms outstretched.
George wrote to Miriam, even before her operation, saying:
―For so many years, especially in the recent past, you‘ve
been a wonderful source of inspiration to us. Your firm
patience is something that I almost envy. So I‘m sure
the Holy spirit will continue to strengthen you, so that
you can continue to be such a great help to all of us.‖
After her operation Miriam wrote to George, and he replied at
once:
―Was very, very happy to receive your letter. Especially
since it implied that you were getting around under
your own steam again and also because you told me in
it that the operation was not as difficult and painful as
such operations sometimes are. I shall continue to pray
that you continue to improve and that all goes well.
And, of course, I am very happy that you are able to
stay in such a nice place as Albernia Home. Apart from
the wonderful care and companionship of the Sisters, as
you say, you have the great happiness of seeing
frequently our very dear old friend, Sister Ambrose,
than whom they don‘t come any nicer.
I do hope that you continue to stay there for quite a
while. I know that the Franciscan Missionaries are
most anxious to be of any possible assistance.‖
Miriam held up beautifully for three years, after Ed died. But
in July of 1968 an ominous note began to sound in the letters of
Dorothy. She said: ―Miriam finds writing a great chore. Her right
arm shakes very much and it takes her ages just to address an
envelope or to write a check — so, you have to put up with my being
the correspondent — but write to her, of course.‖
230
The Home Front
In 1970, Dorothy was worrying about the health of George:
―How are you really feeling? Are you still taking medicine for the
Parkinson‘s?
And what, really, are the side effects? Miriam‘s
doctor is trying L‘Dopa on one patient, but was slow to do so.
However, some of the other medicines the neurologist gave Miriam
some years ago have kept her going. And she has great gumption….
I imagine you‘ll be writing to Miriam for her birthday on Sunday.‖
The ominous note grew stronger, and began to sound like a
death knell, in a letter that Sister Agnes F.M.M. — having gone back to
her baptismal name — sent to George in August of 1971:
―Although I cannot pinpoint the nature of Dorothy‘s
illness, I read between the lines of her letters, and Sister
Ruth observed her cough and her great fatigue when
she was in Saint Louis. That the doctor told her
absolutely to quit smoking is serious enough, for the
effort to do that is a nervous strain. But Sister Ruth
says that she admits that she has what Sister calls
cardiac edema, probably a result of the cough. It is her
constant strain at the office and with Miriam that
makes her so tired. There must be a financial strain,
too. This they will not talk about at all. But, according
to Sister Ruth, both of them intend to sell (give?) their
bodies to Medical School — which Sister Ruth
approved, she says…because undertakers are so
expensive — although the altruistic motive is probably
first. When I heard this mentioned last year, I did not
approve at all. I called it a morbid attitude.‖
Dorothy and Miriam — neither of them married — were living
together in an apartment in Saint Louis. Dorothy was at that time the
driving force of the Sodality of Our Lady, and of The Queen’s Work,
both Jesuit, and both based in Saint Louis. So it was Dorothy who
kept George posted on the condition of Miriam. Dorothy did not spare
George any of the painful details, because she knew that he was fiercely
interested in his sister:
231
The Gentle Warrior
―Miriam appreciated her birthday greetings — and
heard from Sister Agnes, Sister Ruth (by phone a day
ahead of time and before 7:00 a.m. on a Sunday
morning, God love her!); and from the Smithtown crew,
and yesterday from Jim, Hilda and Jennifer. So — all
of her children remembered, either early or late, and
really this pleases her, for she does feel responsibility
for everyone of the family. It‘s that matriarchal system,
from Grandma Willmann down, I guess. Now, she
wants to try to be sure that we save enough money to
put the children through Catholic high school! She‘s a
marvel, really, and it is so hard when those arteries of
hers don‘t work and she tries to tell us something and
the words won‘t come. — But she takes that in stride
now, too — at least in public — but I know it must be
hard when she is alone.‖
The Willmann family was never wealthy. All of them had to be
careful with money, all through their lives. This was reflected in the
meticulous care that George took on the Mass stipends sent to him.
Almost all of them were one dollar stipends — not a tremendous
amount of money — but he checked and double checked each one,
marking the letter in which the stipend arrived, recording it in his Mass
book, and sending a written acknowledgement to the donor. To guard
the stipends against theft in the mail, they were given to Miki, who
deposited them in a bank, in an account under George’s name. She
kept such a careful, clear, beautiful record of every penny that was given
for the missions! The record is extant, to this day, in the files of Father
Willmann.
But in October of 1971 he was troubled about a legacy, from the
distant past. He wrote to Miriam and Dorothy:
―Someone has told me, I think it was you Dorothy, that
Miriam was not quite certain about some money I had
given her quite a long time ago. I only remember,
Miriam, one such transaction and that occurred when, I
believe, Aunt A. left a small estate. And when I learned
232
The Home Front
that I was receiving a legacy, I protested. I said that I
would like this to be given to you instead of to me. My
reason was that I had done practically nothing to help
our dear aunt in her last years, whereas on the other
hand, you, Miriam, had taken her in to your home and
had given her a little kingdom of her own in that nice
room just beyond the dining room, and in countless
different ways had helped to make her life more
bearable.
So, as I remember it, I had instructed that that legacy,
instead of being given to me, be given to you. There
was no question of a loan to be given back at any time.
Rather, it was for you to use in whatever way you
wanted. Sorry that I did not take this up with you at
one of the few occasions we had together in Saint
Louis. And to both of you, again my deepest gratitude
for the very wonderful visit you made possible for me.
The next time, if there is a next time, I‘m sure I am
going to try to spend more time with you and enjoy
being spoiled by your love and attention.‖
The letters of Sister Agnes to George are always beautifully
typed, but with an effort to get as much news as possible into the
smallest space at the cheapest price — very top to very bottom, single
space, using up every square millimeter of the air mail form. But the
sad sound of suffering calls out from every line:
―While in Saint Louis last Sunday, Mother Provincial
called Dorothy and said ‗Hello‘ in my name….and
Dorothy (who had just tried to phone me a ‗Happy
Feast of Saint Agnes‘ and not found me home) was
happy to speak to Mother. Dorothy mentioned that
Miriam has more and more forgetful moments — and
does not recognize her sometimes — saying, ‗When is
Dorothy coming home?‘ We have to send a few prayers
up for Dorothy as well as for Miriam, because that is a
difficult situation. And we know we can only help by
prayer.‖
233
The Gentle Warrior
In the fall of 1972, George was sent by the Knights of Columbus
to the Untied States, to attend the annual session of the Supreme
Council. He went to Saint Louis, and he saw Miriam. When he was
back home in the Philippines, he wrote to Mother Rita, at that time the
Superior of the Franciscan Missionaries of Mary in Saint Louis.
―Dear Mother Rita,
Will you please extend to my sisters my warm greetings,
and assure them of my poor prayers especially for
Miriam? As I may have mentioned to you, it was pitiful
to listen to her when she was delirious. Nevertheless,
there was some consolation that, even during such
times, she was very gentle and humble in what she said
and the way she said it. And I was especially touched
by what she said on Friday evening, September 1.
When I prayed with her and offered some spiritual
advice I was not at all sure that she understood what I
said, but a couple of moments later, when I returned to
her bedside, she held my fingers and said in her soft
voice: ‗I know you have just blessed me — but please
do it again.‘
In one of my last telephone calls from Los Angeles, I
heard that Miriam would probably be released from the
hospital by September 8, and taken back to her home.
In many ways this is a much nicer arrangement but I
know this will have little and big complications and
problems. But I am sure that Dorothy is so capable and
that, with the wonderful help of a few others, she will be
able to surmount all the difficulties.‖
The detailed description of Miriam’s death came to George from
Sister Agnes, beautifully typed, carefully composed, on September 25,
1972.
―When I arrived, Miriam recognized me and said my
name: Agnes, Agnes, in her impaired accent, not able
to pronounce the hard ‗g‘. It was very beautiful….
234
The Home Front
She would often ask: ‗How‘s George?‘ ‗How‘s Ruth?‘
‗Where‘s Dorothy?‘ ‗How‘s Mary Ruth?‘
The coincidence of Bill‘s arrival the same day as mine
was providential. Dorothy went to lunch with Bill
Willmann and had time to talk business matters. His
advice was a boost. He had to leave for California at
once, however, sooner than originally planned.
When she received Holy Communion, Miriam was
radiant, aware of the great reality, oblivious to almost
everything else.
The doctor warned us that there was little he could do.
Miriam was suffering, but I never heard a single
complaint, through it all.
In her wandering talk she began to speak of a journey,
pointed heavenward, and said: ‗Up! Up! That‘s where
I want to go‘ When I asked if she meant she wanted to
see God, she said very definitely, ‗Yes!‘ — and added,
‗But I‘m not asking it.‘
When Sister Rita had to delay her visit, Miriam asked,
‗Why? Tell her to hurry. I might not be here.‘ She
knew she was talking of the Great Journey when she
asked the nurse to get her ready for a trip.
The priest brought Holy Communion a little late —
after 9:00 p.m. Miriam aroused herself to full
awareness, swallowed the sacred particle with the
assistance of the nurse‘s spoonful of water. She began
to make her thanksgiving, oblivious of all else. She
listened while I said the ANIMA CHRISTI and a HAIL
MARY, and then she fell asleep. It was about 10:30
p.m.
We stayed with Miriam until midnight, then I kissed her
goodnight and left. It was 3:30 a.m. Thursday
235
The Gentle Warrior
morning, the 21st of September, that the nurse noticed
that breathing had stopped. She called Dorothy, who
called me. Miriam‘s beautiful soul had slipped into
eternity. We feel certain that her last conscious act was
the reception of the Eucharist.‖
Sister Rita, F.M.M., the Mother Superior of the Franciscans in
Saint Louis, wrote to George:
―Father, I do not need to tell you that you have another
saint in heaven, interceding for you. Miriam‘s last days
passed, with Sister Agnes at her bedside, in peace and
union with God. To enter her room was to enter a
sanctuary, where, in an atmosphere of peace and
prayer, a beautiful victim was quietly and slowly
offering her last hours to our dear Lord. The day
before Miriam died, I had to leave for New York and as
I said ‗goodbye‘ to her I asked her ‗Miriam, will you
wait for me? I will be home in a few days.‘ She looked
at me, smiled, and shook her head in a negative way.‖
George wrote to his nephew Jim, and to Jim’s wife, Hilda: ―I
spent time with Miriam in the hospital. It was one of the most
pleasant duties of my life, because she was such a wonderful patient.
And from spells of delirium, she was very sweet and charming and
patient about her suffering…. I arrived back in Manila, knowing that
I would soon hear the news of her death. And I did.‖
On the very day that Miriam went home to God, Ferdinand
Marcos placed the Philippines under Martial Law. George received a
phone call from the United States, telling him that his sister was dead,
while radio stations all over the country were suddenly silenced, while
TV channels were being closed down, while newspapers were being
padlocked, and while journalists were being rounded up and put into
jail. He mourned for Miriam in his heart, while he tried to prevent
panic in the headquarters of the Knights of Columbus.
The two sisters of George, who became Franciscan Missionaries
of Mary, were Agnes and Ruth. To George himself, it was always
236
The Home Front
crystal clear which was which. He always knew the one to whom he
was writing, and the one who was writing to him. But for the neutral
observer — especially for the neutral observer in the Philippines — it is
sometimes a little confusing, because both of them, at one time or
another, were called Ruth!
When Agnes entered the Franciscan Missionaries of Mary, she
took the name ―Mary Ruth‖. After the Second Vatican Council, when
all the Sisters went back to their baptismal names, she went back to
“Agnes‖.
When Ruth entered the Franciscan Missionaries of Mary, she
took the name ―Godfrey‖. After the Second Vatican Council, she went
back to ―Ruth‖.
So George, in his letters to them, called both of them ―Ruth‖.
In studying their beautiful correspondence, it is necessary to watch the
dates, carefully, to discover who is saying what to whom. The clearest
indication of who is who and which is which comes from the places in
which they lived as religious, in the later part of their lives. Agnes lived
in Saint Louis, near Dorothy and Miriam. Ruth lived in Boston, near
Ed and Miki, who lived in Smithtown, New York.
You can not tell the difference between Agnes and Ruth from
the terms of endearment which were used by George. He loved them
both, and expressed that love in the language of the old school —
reverent language they learned in school, when they were children in
Brooklyn.
He wrote to Sister Godfrey: ―How happy I was to wheel your
baby carriage!‖ He wrote to Agnes: ―Fifty-four years ago you were
refused permission to enter the convent because you were such a
weak teenager, and you are still doing such wonderful work!‖
He wrote to Ruth, when she was Sister Godfrey:
―Hope my old memory is correct in telling me that
today is the anniversary of Father‘s death. I offered the
Holy Sacrifice for him, and for Mother also.
Her
237
The Gentle Warrior
anniversary, I think is February 17. Correct? He, in
1937, she in 1919. Correct?
It is still early, just six o‘clock. My Mass was even
earlier, as usual, about 4:45. Then some prayers, a
cup of hot coffee. And now a few lines to you before I
go to the Office.
For when I think of Father, I remember that you were
closer to him, probably, than any of the rest of us.
Remember his evening game of solitaire, at Park Place?
Only it wasn‘t solitary, because so often you were at his
shoulder, even making some of the moves for him when
he overlooked something. And you were not more than
five or six years old then.
I think that you were only seven when in 1915 I went
away to the Novitiate at Saint Andrew‘s.
While I was away, Father was having his at least
slightly upset emotional life after Mother‘s death. I
think you lived with him and Elsie for quite a few years.
Any more solitaire games? When you weren‘t away at
Ladycliff.
I remember him distinctly when you were accepted to
enter Fruit Hill. He and I were chatting in that dingy
old left building near Canal Street in downtown New
York. He quoted you as saying that you wanted to be
a victim, and that he didn‘t want you to be anybody‘s
victim. I tried to explain to him the theological
meaning of victim, and remember telling him that as a
good father and husband he had been a sort of victim
himself for many years. Am not sure he understood.
Then he added that you were a tomboy, or something of
that sort. To which I returned that some of your
contemporaries were probably even worse. Then he
238
The Home Front
bridled up in your defense, saying: ‗Of course there are
others much worse!‘
Ed and I were afraid that he would break down on the
day of parting with you, and we helped arrange for you
to go by plane to Providence. At the Newark Airport he
was so distracted, perhaps with fear about his darling
taking a risky airtrip, that his other emotions were
controlled.
Enough, my dear. Happy Easter if I don‘t write again
soon,
With much love and prayer,
George.‖
Agnes was the literary one. She was assigned to write a book
on the life of their Mother Foundress — the Foundress of the
Franciscan Missionaries of Mary. Whenever there was a big event in
the family, she chronicled it, day by day, hour by hour, minute by
minute, and sent the account to George. He was really grateful. After
the death of Miriam he wrote to her:
―Thank you for your long and wonderful letter about
Miriam‘s last days and the funeral ceremonies.
Although I know you have a facile pen, still, even for
you this letter must have been a tiring and timeconsuming chore. A million thanks. I have read it and
re-read it, and shall continue to do so with meditation
and reflection. And as you know, I am very, very
happy that you were able to go to Saint Louis as well as
to the cemetery. And also, that it had no serious bad
effect on your limited physical strength.‖
Concerning her book, he wrote to Dorothy:
―The ‗opus magnum‘ of Sister Agnes reached me. I
have had many enjoyable hours reading and re-reading
239
The Gentle Warrior
parts of the book, in a leisurely way. To me it is not
only the story of Mother Helen but of Sister Agnes‘
loving pen.‖
The title of the book was: ―Everywhere People Waiting‖. In his
letter to Agnes, George said:
―Your book arrived and now I am no longer among
those who are ‗everywhere waiting‘. It is quite as
beautiful as I expected. I am taking it in installments
— perhaps half an hour a day. And when I read I am
thinking not only of Mother Mary of the Passion, nee
Helen de Chappolin, but also of your dear self collating
and writing and interpreting that wonderful lady. The
lovely last weeks of her life were so well narrated!
Together with the arrival of the book is the recollection
that Miriam is not with us anymore. At least, not in
the usual sense of the word. Further, we might say
that she and Mother Foundress are now in the same
heavenly community.
I imagine that Miriam
approached Mother Foundress one day in her new
home and told her of the relationship between the
Willmanns and the congregation. In my imaginings I
find that the two ladies could be having a very
interesting dialogue.‖
Sister Ruth, on the Atlantic seaboard, was the sensitive one, the
motherly one, reaching out to the old and to the destitute. She was so
deeply involved in social work that she was not able to write to George
as often as Agnes or Dorothy. She apologized for this, in her
correspondence with George. On the day after Christmas, in 1973, she
wrote to him:
―As the big feasts slip by, I pray for you, and hope for a
break in the pressures around, to put pen to paper.
Then, before I know it, another one is here.
Christmas has sped by! I gathered 80 Senior Citizens
240
The Home Front
(65 - 90 group) from the Allston Brighton Area for a
Catholic Charities dinner in Hugo‘s Cabaret. Thank
God, all went well! Santa Claus circling the restaurant
in a boat, then walking up the wharf, while they
cheered him like children of the past. Cardinal
Maderros came, followed by press and photographers.
Catholic Charities of Boston also gave me 120 dinners
at a Sheraton Hotel in Braintree, and it was beautiful,
at Thanksgiving.
The Massachusetts Society for the Prevention of
Blindness cooperates well, too — getting comprehensive
eye examinations for our elderly. Several were found
to have glaucoma, to need operations, or glasses, or
other help — and they received it, for free.
The phoning is where the spiritual help comes in. Just
one invitation, and I am in for hours of listening, and
counselling, and so many other things! God knows
what will come over the phone. I get to know them
well, even without seeing them, until they arrive en
masse for group events.
We also have 15 clubs, to get them out every week or
so. Some go to a different club each day for bingo, or
outings, or dances — and stay sane, at least. The point
is to reach the solitaries, who just ‗sit alone in the room
and cry‘, or drink, or hate.‖
George knew his family, mainly, by correspondence. That is a
peculiar truth about every Jesuit. From the day he walks up the steps of
the Novitiate, carrying his bags, with his little sister crying behind him
on the driveway, he ―belongs‖ to the Society of Jesus. He does not pay
board or lodging. He does not pay for this ―manualia‖ or for his
cassock. If he gets sick, even in the Novitiate, the Society of Jesus
takes care of him, paying for his expenses in the hospital. If he dies,
the body is buried in the Jesuit cemetery. He ―belongs‖.
241
The Gentle Warrior
He does not go home on vacations. He meets his family when
they come to visit him, in the house of formation where he is stationed.
Even if he goes home for a visit, he does not sleep in his father’s house.
He sleeps in the nearest Jesuit residence, and visits his family in the
daytime.
When he goes on a mission — as George went to the Philippines
— the separation is even more pronounced. One American mother,
whose son was a Jesuit in the Philippines, said: “When I write to my
son, it is like putting a note into a bottle, and throwing it into the
Pacific Ocean. I never know whether or not he received it.‖
George tried to answer every letter. He tried to keep the lines of
communication open. He tried not to sever the umbilical cord, the life
line, which was correspondence. He wrote in the early hours of the
morning. He wrote late at night. But he wrote.
William G. Willmann Jr., who was known in all the family
correspondence as “Bill‖, was a half brother of George, and Miriam,
and Agnes, and Dorothy, and Ed, and Ruth. Julia Corcoran Willmann
died on February 17, 1919, while George was in the Juniorate at Saint
Andrew’s on the Hudson. George’s father was emotionally upset.
That appears in the letters of all the children. Then he married again, an
Episcopalian girl, named Elsie. William Jr., Bill, was born to the father
of George and to Elsie. He was baptized as an Episcopalian, the
American word for ―Anglican‖. The family referred to the Bill
Willmanns as “Our Protestants‖. Bill was bright, efficient, and
extremely successful in business. He travelled extensively, and was
stationed abroad — sometimes for years. He was an officer in the
United States Army.
Bill was included in all the events of the Willmann family. He
came to visit Miriam before she died. He hosted the whole clan on
many occasions, and wrote to them all. He took care of Elsie, his
mother, until she died . The Willmanns were grateful for that.
242
The Home Front
George wrote to Martha and Bill quite often. Just before
Christmas, in 1971, he wrote:
―Dear Martha and Bill,
Just about two or three days ago I mailed a Christmas
card to you with a few lines of greeting but I forgot to
mention that I ordered some cigars which should reach
you in two installments.
The first was composed of two boxes of 25 cigars each
sent to you directly from the San Francisco office of the
Alhambra Industries, Inc.
Later on, another box was sent from Manila addressed
to you in a special ornamental box. I remember, Bill,
that you told me that you liked to have such a box on
your desk for visitors.
I would have had this sent directly from San Francisco.
It‘s just that the San Francisco office did not have it in
stock.
Hope they arrive safely and nobody gets sick with
cancer by using the same.
With much love,
George.‖
Bill received the cigars, and the ornamental box, and was
grateful for both. He kept the box on his office desk, for visitors, and
was inordinately proud of it. Martha, his wife, wrote to George, much
later, just to keep in contact. Her letter is typical of their
correspondence:
Dear Father George,
Please forgive me for being so remiss in writing. No
doubt you have learned that we are now living in New
243
The Gentle Warrior
Jersey.
Agnes, Ruth or Dot may have written you
about it. We moved here in April.
It was an unexpected and fast move, and quite a blow to
me, as we bought that house in California and lived in
it only seven months.
Even though we are happy go be back east and close to
our families we had many problems such as shipping
cars, dogs, and furniture.
We are quite settled now and Bill has adjusted to
commuting into New York City.
His company, Acrojet Gen, bought Chemical
Construction Company, with the main office in New
York City. Three other men from California have been
transferred east besides Bill. When the company is
straightened out and running well, the plan is that we
move back to California, which should be in one year,
more or less.
Know you would like to know about Elsie. I‘ve looked
around this area in New Jersey for a retirement home,
but there are no such places. Only nursing homes, very
expensive and some in a deplorable atmosphere and
condition. We feel Elsie is not ready for anything like
that.
Bill‘s boss has consented to let Bill go back to
California once a month, to see Elsie, at company
expense. He has been out to California three times
since we moved east. She is happy and content where
she is. Perhaps it‘s best to leave her there, and not
uproot her.
Since we are east we have been in touch with all the
Willmanns. In fact, we‘ve planned a re-union for
244
The Home Front
September 15, here at our house. Just yesterday Bill
had lunch with Jimmy and the plans were firmed up.
Know everyone wishes you could be here too.
Hope you are well and would love to hear from you.
Enclosing Bill‘s business card and our new address on
the back of it.
Love and God bless
Martha and Bill‖
The Willmann family called Dorothy their ―Gift of God‖.
When she was in her early twenties, and when George was studying
theology at Woodstock in Maryland, Dorothy was the Executive
Secretary of the Catholic Medical Mission Board. Her office was in the
heart of New York City, on Broadway. The Catholic Medical Mission
Board was affiliated with the National Society for the Propagation of
the Faith, and with the Catholic Hospital Association of the United
States and Canada.
She was sending medicine, and medical supplies, all over the
world, to the mission areas, where very often there were no doctors, no
nurses, and no hospitals. She was writing constantly to the Religious
Superiors of missionary congregations, trying to arrange courses in
elementary medicine for the priests and nuns who were destined for the
missions. She was trying to send doctors and nurses into the mission
areas. The religious priests and nuns and Brothers were ministering to
the soul. Dorothy was working in the land of life, survival. How to
keep the destitute poor in the mission areas alive, and — if possible —
well. How to save the baby who was born under the bridge, delivered
by a street vendor. How to save the old man, sleeping on the sidewalk,
who was dying of pneumonia.
She was appointed to the Pastoral Council of the Archdiocese of
New York. She wrote to George: ―Did Miriam tell you that the
Cardinal appointed me to the Pastoral Council? Twenty-two on it,
245
The Gentle Warrior
five laywomen among the number. It‘s a real honor, I think, and
can be challenging. We‘ve had just one meeting, but will have
another on April 1. We agreed on monthly meetings for a while. He
gives us plenty of home work, too!‖
She was drafted by Father Dan Lord, S.J. to work with him on
the National Sodality of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and on the magazine
of the Sodality: The Queen’s Work. For long years, as the Executive
Secretary, she was the pillar of strength in the Sodality. Jesuits came,
and Jesuits went, but Dorothy went on forever. There was a rough
upheaval in the Sodality, among the religious administrators on the top
level. The Sodality was dissolved, or transformed into a new
organization, called: Christian Life Communities. Dorothy carried on,
as the Executive Secretary of Christian Life Communities.
Agnes wrote to George: ―Dorothy is still on the job at the
office. It is really a life calling, more than a job, with Dorothy, isn‘t
it? The Christian Life Communities Convention was written up in
the Saint Louis Review, and I kept the clipping — the apostolate of
the Christian Life Communities is really international!‖
Bishop O’Meara, National Director of the Propagation of the
Faith, speaking at the funeral of Miriam, praised the whole family. And
gave special mention to Dorothy. Agnes reported it this way:
―He spoke of Miriam‘s virtues — hidden, joyous and
humble — fulfilled in the beatitudes that had been read
at the Gospel. He then spoke of the family, of the
vocations — the Jesuit brother and missionary, the two
sisters F.M.M.— belonging, these three, to two great
missionary orders in the Church — and then, the
special vocation of our Saint Louis member, Dorothy
Willmann, ‗than whom I know no more loyal daughter
of the Church‘. Bishop O‘Meara was speaking from
the heart — unprepared, having arrived in Saint Louis
but an hour earlier, and having received word of
Miriam‘s death in a telephone call from the New York
office, after his arrival!‖
246
The Home Front
Father Joe Merrick, S.J., who was George’s good old friend
from his days at Woodstock, wrote to George: ―I have watched
Dorothy‘s career year after year, but I knew nothing of your other
sisters. You may not remember it, but Dorothy visited you at
Woodstock in 1925, and you invited me to meet her, with some other
Jesuits whom she knew. After that I followed her career with special
interest, because actually she was as much an apostolic nun as any
I‘ve met.‖
Dorothy was George’s most cheerful correspondent. After he
was able to visit his family in the United States, on the occasion of a
Knights of Columbus Convention, she wrote to him, on an air mail
form:
―Know truly how grateful we are to you, that you were
able to give your poor old family so much time….Yes,
goodbyes are never good. But the dear Lord seems to
take special care of us all, and I‘m sure he won‘t fail
now.
Best love — and keep as well as you can — But stop
talking about being old or getting old! You ain‘t!
Dot‖
She appreciated people so much! After the death of Miriam she
sent Mass stipends to George, saying:
―Many thanks for the birthday letter — and with the
good news about the big medical shipment. With the
terrible floods in the Philippines — plus other problems
— I can well imagine how needed the medicines were.
But how you find time and energy to oversee so many is
a great miracle.
It is amazing how good people are. Every day someone
else writes — or sends Mass cards…Father Paul
Reinert,S.J…..Cardinal Canberry told me, when I met
him one day, that he had also offered Mass for Miriam
(but not to take time to acknowledge). He is such a
fatherly, thoughtful person!‖
247
The Gentle Warrior
She was just as careful as George was, about money, and
scrupulously honest. She really worried about the Mass stipends!
―First — Mass intentions enclosed. Double-check, carefully, please
the list dated 12/23/73. I‘m so afraid this did not go to you!‖
The daughter of an old friend came to Manila, but had no time
to see George. She called him on the phone. Dorothy’s reaction was:
“It‘s a shame you couldn‘t see the daughter, but wasn‘t she good to
call you!‖
Writing of this old friend, Harold Fredrickson, to Dorothy,
George said: ―Do you remember Harold?…. You were so young and
shy and retiring that maybe you never knew what we big teen-agers
were doing. He lived around the corner, on Saint John‘s Place, in a
three or four-storey apartment. He had an older sister (her name, I
think, was Ethel) and an older brother, Joe.‖ Dorothy remembered
them all.
It is amazing how close George was to Dorothy, in mind and in
heart, though physically they were separated by 13,000 miles. When
Miriam was gone, Dorothy was re-arranging the apartment, in which
they had lived together for so long. Dorothy was arranging it so that
she would live there, alone. George wrote to her about this:
―Among your other chores, one is, I understand, that of
clearing up and rearranging the apartment. Must be
quite nostalgic too. With so many articles that remind
you of Miriam and of those who went before her. But
surely many of her keepsakes have been handed down
from New York Avenue, and Park Place, and Harlem, I
suppose. ‗The sweetest songs are those that tell the
saddest stories.‘‖
But, after the emotional upheaval when the Sodality of the
Blessed Virgin Mary was transformed into the Christian Life
Communities, and after the agonizing months of Miriam’s sickness and
death, Agnes and Ruth began to worry about Dorothy. A small note of
alarm crept into their letters to George.
248
The Home Front
George wrote to Agnes: ―If there is a skeleton in the closet,
might it not be advisable to open the door and let in the light? Or is
our ‗Gift of God‘ too emotional just at present?‖
The problem came tumbling out in the letter of Sister Ruth to
George: ―I called Dot, and she has taken a suite in Alverne. ‗In bed
with a cold‘, she seemed content to have trays in bed, and the loud
laugh showed her well supplied with her tonic. It is a vicious circle
— inability to keep her legs going, to do anything useful, convincing
herself she is very sick, so needing some more tonic, etc. Not quite in
the depths yet, to acknowledge her need of support to be really
cured.‖
Mary Ruth, the daughter of Ed, the niece of George, went to
Saint Louis to help clean up the apartment when Dorothy moved out of
it to the Franciscan ―Hotel Alverne‖. Agnes reported: ―Mary Ruth
cleaned up a lot, throwing away 27 cartons of accumulated bills, etc.,
paid ones, of course.‖
Then Agnes wrote again: ―Dorothy called. I asked her how
she was, and if she had seen her doctor. She said: ‗Have you been
talking to him?‘ It seems he told Dot about Sister Ruth calling him
from New York…. Naturally, I am not telling Sister Ruth that Dot
knows she talked to the doctor…. He simply mentioned the call,
saying: ‗Your sister called me‘. Then, ‗saying she thought Dot
needed to go for treatment to dry out‘— she left the matter to his
discretion! I just hope that Dorothy doesn‘t confront Sister Ruth on
the subject!‖
George wrote back to Agnes: ―About our dear Gift of God, I
am praying hard. And the good doctor repeated to her the telephoned
conversation he had with Sister Ruth! It does seem to have been
imprudent. On the other hand, maybe the doctor thought that it
might have a therapeutic effect…. And Dorothy ‗forgives‘ Ruth. On
the other hand, maybe she should be grateful to Sister Ruth….For
my part, in this case I did nothing imprudent. Or, perhaps to be
more exact, I did nothing.‖
249
The Gentle Warrior
Agnes replied: ―Thank you for your letter, with our dear ‗Gift
of God‘ as the subject…..I have had many notes from her, and two
telephone conversations. I sent her two articles dealing with the
question that concerns the AA‘s — Alcoholics Anonymous — asking
her to read and comment. She did, briefly, and returned them. They
were excellent, I thought, and positive. But I am afraid they did not
do any miracle. And it is at least a near-miracle we need.‖
Then George went to the United States for the meeting of the
Supreme Council of the Knights of Columbus, and found time to be
with Dorothy. From West Covina in California, before he took the
plane back to the Philippines, he wrote to Sister Agnes:
―Just arrived here, after a two day visit with Dorothy in
Saint Louis. With desire to help cure her of her
sickness I will narrate the following….
Last Thursday afternoon, at Laguardia Air Terminal,
you and Sister Lillian Howard and companion bid us
goodbye, and left us, at about 2:30 p.m. Within about
ten minutes, D.J. was again imbibing. There was a
coffee shop sign near us, and I suggested going there.
But right next door, there was another sign ‗Cocktails‘.
She said to me, ‗Would you throw a fit if I go there, and
rejoin you later in the Coffee Shop?‘ Which she did,
and on return seemed happy, but not hilarious or
anything like that.
Mr. Dick Walsh met us at the airport, and took us to the
Alverne. Later the three of us went out to supper to a
rather swanky restaurant. As is more or less usual,
before our ordering solid food, the waitress asked if we
wanted drinks. Mr. Walsh declined, but Dorothy
immediately ordered bourbon (liquor).
Then Mr.
Walsh changed and ordered some liquor drink. I
ordered any fruit drink, and received orange juice.
Later Dorothy took more liquor, but I believe Mr.
Walsh did not take any more.
250
The Home Front
On Friday we went to lunch at the same swanky place
with Mr. Walsh, Ruth O‘Toole and Mary Doyle. Once
again, before eating solid food, I think Mr. Walsh
refused liquor at first but later agreed when DJ ordered
her bourbon, (and later more). Ruth ordered a light
wine. Mary Doyle and I limited ourselves to nonalcoholic liquids.
Friday evening we went to another swanky restaurant
with Mr. Walsh and Ruth. Again, I believe, D.J. had at
least two strong drinks. Mr. Walsh had less, and Ruth
had only light wine. I had something non-alcoholic.
On Saturday noon, D.J. and Mr. Walsh took me to the
airport. There in the restaurant it was a bit difficult for
her to obtain the bourbon, but she succeeded in getting
and drinking it.
The above was all in my presence and company. What
more she obtained and/or drank when I was not
present, I do not know.
On none of these above occasions, however, did she
seem hilarious, ‗high‘, or unusual in her manner.
Excepting at the airport yesterday. Since Mr. Walsh had
left us alone, she seemed quite emotional and possibly
sad. I don‘t know whether the cause was my departure,
or artificial stimulation.‖
To read about it, in letters, was bad….To see it, with his eyes,
was worse…. His sister, whom he loved, his ―Gift of God‖ was not
well. She needed help. And he could not give it.
This is the agony of the religious, who works overseas. George
was no longer a missionary. In 1958, when the Philippines became a
Province of the Society of Jesus, he became a charter member of the
Philippine Province. His home was now the Philippines. When he
251
The Gentle Warrior
went to New York, he had to get the permission of the New York
Provincial, as if he came from Afghanistan. When he died, he was to
be buried in the Philippines.
He was halfway around the world from his sister. She was sick.
And he could do….nothing. That was the terrible sentence, of self
condemnation, that he wrote to Agnes: ―For my part, I did nothing
imprudent…. To be more accurate, I did nothing.‖
George had sympathy for the alcoholic. He knew that it could
happen to good people. When he was a boy in Brooklyn, a priest,
whom the family knew very well, was being discussed by visitors. A
woman said: ―He is an alcoholic, and he is involved with a woman.‖
The father of George, who was a convert — he became a Catholic, from
Anglicanism, to marry Julia Corcoran — flared at this. He said:
―No!…No!… He is drinking, but there is no woman!‖ Then he
looked at the visitors and said: ―If you were doing half of the good
things that this priest is doing, and if you were under half the
pressure, you might be drinking, too!‖
But George felt so helpless! When his mother was dying at
home, and he was in the Juniorate at Saint Andrew’s, he could not be
with her when she died…. When Ed was having trouble with money, he
could not help…. When Ed was sick and dying, he could not be there….
When Ed was dead, it was Jim, his nephew, who took care of the
funeral…. George could do nothing…. When Miriam was wasting
away, he saw her for a short time in the hospital, but he could not be
there when she died…. And now Dorothy needed somebody….and he
could do….nothing.
He said Mass for her, in the tiny chapel, in the Jesuit residence at
Pasay, at 4:45 in the morning. He prayed that God would take care of
Dorothy, whom he loved with all his heart.
After the Mass, he knelt and prayed.
That was all he could do.
252
The Home Front
2. The Jesuits
George lived in many different Jesuit houses, in Manila. From
1922 until 1925 he was in the Jesuit Residence of the Old Ateneo in
Intramuros. When he returned to the Philippines in 1936 he was living
at Padre Faura, in the Ateneo compound, which also housed the Manila
Observatory. For many years, after the war, he lived in La Ignaciana,
the old building on Herran Street in Santa Ana — the first home of the
Jesuits when they returned to Manila after the suppression, in 1859.
And he lived in Pasay, in what was once the home of the Cojuangco
Family, filled with history and with memories. It was loaned to the
Society of Jesus, to be used as a residence, during the last years of
George Willmann.
In all of these houses, George was completely relaxed, at peace,
at home. Father Vincent Hart, S.J., who was George’s friend, and who
later became the President of Saint Peter’s College in Jersey City, said
of him:
―He was two years ahead of me in our course of studies.
I spent one year with him in philosophy, and two years
in theology. He lived the rules and constitutions of the
Society of Jesus as perfectly as is humanly possible.
Saint John Berchmans maintained that his greatest act
of mortification was the common life of the Society.
George Willmann led the common life of the Jesuits in
the best of manners — but it never seemed to be a
penance to him! He liked the men with whom he lived.
He liked the professors. He liked the course of studies.
He liked everything! He was happy at Woodstock. He
enjoyed life to its fullest!‖
This seemed to be true of George in the Philippines. He liked
the country. He liked the people. He liked the climate. He liked the
food. He liked everything!
One evening, when he went up to his room to go to bed, he
253
The Gentle Warrior
found a beautiful snake curled up on his table, in front of the window.
The reaction of George to this snake is unique! He did not want to kill
it! He wrote to his sisters: ―I did not know whether or not it was
poisonous. It looked like a native Philippine snake that I heard was
poisonous. And since I intended to go to bed, and sleep in that room
that night — it seemed to me that it would be prudent to kill it. So I
left the room, and went down to the kitchen. I found a fairly large
knife, with which I could probably kill the snake. But when I came
back to the room, the snake was gone!…. I was very happy about
that. I did not have to kill the poor thing.‖
George was certainly gentle. Not timid. Not fearful. Not
many Jesuits would try to kill a visiting snake with a carving knife. But
George was not willing to kill anything!
La Ignaciana is built right beside the Pasig River. Before the
war, George could swim in that river. But after the war it became so
murky, so polluted, so filled with garbage, and so foul smelling, that the
Jesuits did not try to swim in it anymore. A low river-wall separated
the house from the rolling river. During the rainy season, the water
would mount, flow over the river-wall, and flood the house.
Nothing that could be destroyed by water was kept on the
ground floor. The kitchen and dining room were there, but everything
electrical or mechanical was kept at least waist high. The water that
flooded the house rarely went higher than twelve inches. But the rain
would keep driving down for days, and the river was flowing through
the house, and with the river came about nine inches of rich black soil.
When the river receded, the whole first floor was ankle deep in mud.
The first step, after the typhoon and the flood, was to shovel the
black soil into wheel barrows, and roll it out of the house. The Jesuit
community did that. All of the men — most of them barefoot and in
shorts — would be shoveling for a couple of days. This was the
―common life” of the Jesuit community at La Ignaciana.
George enjoyed it! He said: ―You know — this is very
interesting! It has increased my education. I always wondered what
they meant when they spoke of the Nile Valley — that the soil was
254
The Home Front
the richest in all the world because the Nile River overflowed!….Now
I understand! The river carries this beautiful black topsoil from all
the places it passes through, and when it overflows, it deposits the
topsoil all over the area, on each side of the river bank!…. This soil is
beautiful! It is probably the richest soil in the whole Philippines!‖
La Ignaciana had the largest mosquitoes in the City of Manila.
George used a mosquito net over his bed at night, like all the other
Jesuits in the house, and never complained. He told a story about a
Spanish Superior who came to the Philippines and was shocked that the
men should use a mosquito net. He felt that this was lack of
mortification, and gave the order: ―Remove them!‖ The local Jesuit
Superior obeyed the command, but only this far — he removed the
mosquito net of the visiting Superior. He told his own community,
quietly and privately, to keep the nets on their beds. The visitor did not
sleep for three nights, and then went to the hospital with malaria. He
never repeated the command to remove the mosquito nets, so they were
maintained.
More unusual than the King size mosquitoes, who made a deadly
high singing sound when they dived in at you, were the river rats. The
rats would come up from the river, and into the dining room, at night.
These were not pretty little field mice, like the ones you see in the comic
strips, or in the animated movies. These were real rats, as big as a full
sized tomcat, with big bellies and evil eyes. They always looked as if
they meant business.
George Willmann had a peculiar habit — a habit that was all his
own. He wrote about it, in his letters home. He would go to bed, at
the same time as the other Jesuits, after litanies at night, about ten
o’clock. But he would wake at about 2:30 a.m. And he would wake
up hungry. So he would go down to the dining room, for crackers and
coffee, at 2:30 a.m.
When he turned on the electric light, sometimes, he would see a
huge monstrous rat on one of the dining room tables. This would
happen, especially, if some Jesuit had come in late, taken food from the
refrigerator, and then left some food on the table. George would stop in
the doorway, and look at the rat…. And the rat would look at George,
255
The Gentle Warrior
malevolently. The rat would not move, reluctant to leave the food….
George said to the community, later: ―I stand in the doorway, and
look at the rat. And I am thinking: ‗Rat, if you don‘t turn around
and run, in ten seconds…. I‘m gonna run!‘‖
The rats always followed a pattern. They would glare at
George, for a few moments, and then turn away, move off the table,
over the broad windowsill, and out the window, back to the river. Then
George would go for crackers and coffee.
The Jesuits who lived with him suspected that George really
began his day at that time. After the coffee, he would take a shower,
make his morning meditation, say Mass in a private chapel, and then
settle down at his desk to work. Many of his reports were written in
the early morning, between Mass and breakfast.
Once, at about two o’clock in the morning, a beautiful girl, in
an evening gown, came to the guard at the gate of La Ignaciana and
asked for one of the young Jesuit priests — not George Willmann. The
guard went up to the room of the priest, knocked on his door, and told
him that he had a visitor. The priest did what all Jesuits learn to do, in
their course of training — he got dressed, completely. Then he went
down to meet the girl. She was high on alcohol, and suicidal. The
priest talked to her for a while, then phoned her father — telling him,
please, to come and get his daughter at La Ignaciana. Then the priest
took the girl into the dining room, and heated coffee, in the hope that
she would sober up a little, before her father came.
While the priest and the girl were having coffee, in the dining
room, at two-thirty in the morning, the door opened — and there was
George Willmann, in his ancient battered bathrobe. George smiled at
both of them, said: ―Good morning!‖ brightly, and went for his
crackers and coffee.
The priest was embarrassed, but he told the community, later:
―George smiled, and bowed to the girl, and spoke cheerfully — as if
it was the most natural thing in the world for a priest to be found in
the dining room of a religious house, with a beautiful girl, in an
evening gown, at 2:30 in the morning!‖
256
The Home Front
George contributed his side of the story. He said: ―I was so
proud of myself! Because usually I go down in my pajamas. I don‘t
know what came over me, this morning, but I put on my bathrobe!
When I opened the door, and saw the lady, I thanked my guardian
angel! I was decently dressed! It was wonderful!‖
One of the Jesuits living with him at La Ignaciana was Father
Tom Cannon, S.J. Tom had a big booming voice, so he was known,
among the Jesuits, as: ―Boom Boom Cannon‖. A lady once told Tom
that she always associated him with Father Jim Reuter, S.J., because of
Reuter Soap and Cannon Towels.
Tom Cannon was given a job, both by the Bishops and by the
Society of Jesus, which involved a great deal of communication. Tom
would be typing letters, at his desk, in his office, far into the night. But
he began to be depressed, because he was getting so few answers. One
evening he confided to George: ―I have sent a questionnaire to every
priest in the Philippines! And do you know how many answers I
have received?…. Not one!…. Not one!‖
Later, it was discovered that the driver of Tom — whom he
trusted implicitly — had never mailed the letters. He kept the letters in
a box, under his bed, and stole the money for the stamps. He really was
stealing the most money from the overseas stamps, but he was also
stealing the stamp money for the local letters.
Tom was crushed. He was heart broken. George, who had vast
experience with the poor, and with money, told Tom what Vincent de
Paul said to the little nun who was giving out the bread in Paris:
―Sister, when you give out the bread, smile! Because it is only your
love for the poor that will enable them to forgive you for the crust of
bread you give them.‖
He said: ―Tom, you can‘t expect them to be grateful! The
fascination of money is too much! You have to say, like Christ on
the cross: ‗Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.‘ It
is always the one, whom you trust completely, who robs you blind!….
You have to make the system so tight that they cannot cheat. It‘s a
favor to the poor employee. You remove him from temptation.‖
257
The Gentle Warrior
In 1955, the Knights of Columbus wanted to name the new
building, which they were constructing in Intramuros, after Father
George Willmann. Their thought was: ―If we want to honor this
man, why do we have to wait until he is dead? Why can‘t we honor
him, now?‖
They proposed this to George. And George proposed it to the
Vice-Provincial. When George came to the Philippines, it was the
―Philippine Mission‖. But, about 1950, it was elevated to the rank of
a ―Vice-Province‖. So the Jesuit Superior of the Philippines was no
longer the ―Superior of the Mission‖ but the ―Vice-Provincial‖.
And the Vice-Provincial in 1955, when the new building rose in
Intramuros, was Vincent I. Kennally, S.J. He had come to the
Philippines with George, in 1922, on the S.S. President Grant. They
had studied together, and worked together, for forty years — since they
entered the Society of Jesus as novices in 1915.
They had been
through the war together, though they had been interned in different
concentration camps — George at Los Baños, and Vince Kennally at
U.S.T. So the Knights thought: ―They are friends! ….We can not
lose!…. The permission is in the bag!….It will be ‗The Willmann
Building‘‖
But this is the letter that came to George from the office of the
Vice-Provincial, at Xavier House, in Santa Ana:
March 17, 1955
Rev. George J. Willmann, S.J.
Territorial Deputy
Knights of Columbus
Manila
Dear Father Willmann:
P.C.
You tell me that the local council of the Knights of
Columbus wish to dedicate their new building to you by
name. Certainly the confidence in you and the
258
The Home Front
appreciation of your work for the Knights in the
Philippines, implied in that desire, is most gratifying.
However, you should let the Knights understand
definitely that we cannot allow their desire to honor
you take such a form. We do not honor living Jesuits in
that way. Perhaps later, forty or fifty years from now,
the question may be put to another Superior. He might
then be quite willing that your name should be
emblazoned on a public building here, since we may
piously hope that it shall have been written in the book
of life.
So the answer to your inquiry is ‗No‖, and I am sure
you will be able to persuade the Knights that it is
something that cannot be done.
With every good wish, I remain
Very sincerely yours in Christ,
Vincent I. Kennally, S.J.
Vice-Provincial
The letter came to George on Saint Patrick’s Day! The Knights
reflected that the Society of Jesus is not exactly like a political party.
And Jesuits are not exactly like politicians. They think, and act, a little
differently.
Much later, George wrote to a Filipino friend in the United
States:
―Remember the Jesuit house — La Ignaciana — on
Herran? Well, the Jesuits no longer use this for a
retreat house. We now have a place in the outskirts of
the city called Angono, where the atmosphere is more
conducive to meditation. Many of the Jesuit retreats
are held there.
259
The Gentle Warrior
The old La Ignaciana is now occupied by the Good
Shepherd nuns, who use part of the building for one of
their social action centers. Another part of the building
is used as a warehouse by some firm. The Jesuits are
presently living in a once-swanky neighborhood, in
Pasay City, with mostly nightclubs, lumber yards,
and Jesuits. Very convenient for us — if we want
lumber, that is.‖
When George was going to this new house in Pasay, for the first
time, the landmark that he was given to look for was a nightclub, called:
The Topless Bar. His instructions were: ―Look for the Topless Bar.
The new Jesuit house is right across the street from that bar.‖
As the taxi threaded its way through the crowded street, on
Saturday night, George was watching the neon signs on the left side of
the street. There were plenty of neon signs. Plenty of bars. The doors
of some were open, with girls standing in the doorways. Disco music
filled the street. Through the open doors, girls could be seen dancing,
scantily clad, in front of mirrors. The taxi driver said to George:
―Father , where are you going?‖ George said: ―It‘s right here,
somewhere. I have a landmark. Keep going, slowly!‖
Then he saw the neon sign flashing: ―Topless Bar! Topless
Bar! Topless Bar!‖ He was happy that he had found the place. He
said: ―That‘s it! That‘s the landmark! The Topless Bar!‖ He
climbed out of the taxi, and reached in for his bags. The taxi driver
looked at him, long and sorrowfully.
Then he sighed, and said,
resigned to the inevitable: ―Well….have a good time, Father!‖
When George got across the ditch of muddy water that ran in
front of the house, and had waded through several meters of mud, and
was safe inside the house, he said to the Jesuits who were there: ―You
know….I hope that I did not give that taxi driver the wrong
impression!‖
One of the Jesuits who lived with George, in that house in
Pasay, said: ―If ever George comes to you, praising you for
260
The Home Front
something, be careful! Watch for the other shoe to drop! Whenever
he wants to clobber you for something, he praises you first. Then,
after praising you, in his own gentle way he will clobber you for
something that you did wrong!‖
Some of George’s private thoughts, which he never printed in
public, he confided to his brother Jesuits, over coffee, or at recreation,
smoking his cigar. He said: ―Cooperatives are very difficult for the
Filipino. Because the success of the cooperative depends upon the
observance of rigid rules, and the Filipino has a very soft heart. The
rule of the cooperative says: ‗Lend only this much….and do not give
another loan until the first is paid back.‘…. But if a poor man comes
to a Filipino, who is administering the cooperative, and says: ‗My
wife is in the hospital…. My baby is sick…. My little girl can not take
her exams in school unless I have this much….‘ what Filipino can
resist?…. And this starts a slow downward movement of the
funds…until it becomes a landslide….and the cooperative goes out of
business.‖
So, when George worked with cooperatives, as he often did, he
tried to see that all the rigid rules were carefully observed.
He was doing a full day’s work with the Knights. He was friend
and companion, counsellor and consoler, to the Jesuits in Pasay. On
the way from Pasay to Intramuros his mind was filled with thoughts of
his family. But still he went out to give medicine to the sick, to organize
catechism classes for the public school children, to say the Missa de
Gallo for the poor in a makeshift chapel in Tondo.
At Christmas time he wrote to Miki, the widow of his brother
Ed, and to her daughter, Mary Ruth:
―I‘m afraid this note will reach you too late for
Christmas, but I will be praying and thinking of you all
on Christmas Day and during all the happy season.
Most especially, Mary Ruth, I hear of the wonderful
assistance you gave to Dorothy in Saint Louis and in
261
The Gentle Warrior
other places, and the big job of cleaning up the
apartment and moving to the Alverne. Thank you for
helping our ‗Gift of God‘!
Conditions here are quite peaceful, though we are
under martial law. Throughout the archipelago
the
Christmas religious services are highlighted by an early
morning Mass at 4 o‘clock for nine days before
Christmas. I am saying Mass in Tondo. It keeps us
busy, these days.
Praying all the very best blessings for the New Year to
you and the children….
Lovingly,
George‖
George was a consultor of the Philippine Province of the Society
of Jesus, for nine years. This means that he gave his advice to the
Provincial Superior, on all the matters of importance to the Jesuits in the
Philippines. Father Francis Clark, S.J., who was Vice Provincial for
one year, and then the first Provincial of the Philippines for almost seven
years, said: “When the consultors met, it was marvelous how much
information George was able to give, about what was going on in the
city of Manila, and in Malacañang, and all over the country. He had
an office in the City hall. He was close to the Mayor, and to the City
Councilors. He was on the Board of Directors of many national
charitable organizations. He was getting reports from the Knights of
Columbus, from all over — Luzon, Visayas and Mindanao. His
recommendations were often the best because they were based on
such wide knowledge, and on such deep, personal experience.‖
George was consecrated to his main apostolate, the Knights, but
his opinions influenced all the other apostolates of the Jesuits in the
Philippines. Father John F. Doherty, S.J. took a survey on social needs
of the nation. His question was: ―What are the three social problems
the Filipinos in the barrios think most important? George answered:
262
The Home Front
1. Insufficiency of staple food
2. Shelter and clothing
3. Transportation
Father Doherty asked: ―What do they think of the three main
problems?‖ George answered:
―It‘s high time the government should do something to
solve these problems, instead of politicking and
promising the people so many things before the
elections. Promises they never keep, nor even intend to
keep. The barrio people are entirely disgusted with our
government personnel, and, therefore, remain
indifferent to improving themselves in their livelihood.‖
Father Doherty asked: ―What are the basic causes of these
main problems?‖ George answered:
1.
Concerning the insufficiency of staple food. The
farmers continue to use the old method of farming,
sometimes pushing the plows with their own
strength, when they do not have carabaos to use in
farming the land. They lack irrigation systems;
sometimes the land is not fertile and they do not
have fertilizers to help the plants grow well.
Barrio folks are satisfied to produce just enough
for themselves; they lack incentive to improve.
2. About shelter and clothing. The barrio people are
living in a very poor barong-barong house, with —
sometimes — the leaves of coconut trees as the
walls; the roofs are made of cogon grass. These
barong-barongs, when storms strike, are easily
blown down. It is also a fire risk. These barrio
people are poorly dressed. They cannot buy decent
clothes because they do not have money to buy.
Their clothes are often dirty because they only have
one dress, or one shirt, or one pair of pants — at
most, two or three.
263
The Gentle Warrior
Transportation is poor. There is no road to town
where they could sell some of their produce. They
cannot carry them such a long distance — from
the remotest barrio to the town — a distance,
sometimes, of ten to twenty kilometers. If there is
any vehicle at all, it is costly, and the people
cannot afford it. Lack of transportation contributes
also to the poverty of the people, because — even if
they have something to sell in town, where they
could also buy something with the money they
receive — the cost of transportation is prohibitive.
They cannot afford it.
Father Doherty asked: ―Are there any other statements you
would like to make, regarding the social apostolate in this Province?‖
George answered:
―It would be wise to sacrifice five or ten percent of the
men engaged in education, and in parish work, and
assign them to the apostolate of the communications
media and to organizations such as the Sodality,
University Chaplaincies, Apostleship of Prayer, and
Knights of Columbus.
A further word about communications media.
Specifically, a recommendation that a popular middle
class magazine should be published by the Society in
the Philippines. Possibly, it might be a ‗Sacred Heart
Messenger‘, Philippine edition. But, in any case, it
should give great emphasis to the social apostolate. It
should be for popular consumption, and thus different
from ‗Philippine Studies‘. It might be bi-lingual, using
Tagalog and English. It should, I think, include even
some comic strips. Sufficient Jesuit staff, if the right
men, would be two Jesuits, one for the editorial and the
other for the business details. As an organ of the social
apostolate, such a magazine could be an inspiring and
cohesive influence for all our Jesuits in the Philippines,
264
The Home Front
as well as a vehicle of great apostolic good to the
general public.‖
Father Doherty asked: ―If you feel we should motivate
students and parishioners to deal with social problems, what changes
would you recommend in our schools or parishes in order to produce
students and parishioners who are socially involved?‖ George said:
1.
In schools:
in addition to grounding the
students in Christian principles, from the Papal
Encyclicals, they should be introduced to the
practice of these principles by means of pilot
projects, outings, immersion into the life of the
poor. Charity clinics in rural areas for medical
students. Legal clinics
for law students.
Formation of credit unions among the masses
for commerce students. Less abstract thought,
less general principles, and more realistic,
practical action!
2.
In parishes: in sermons, and in organizations,
explain thoroughly and realistically the need for
the social apostolate, and through a cell system,
train the leaders of the organizations to
implement a first class apostolate program.
Father Doherty asked: ―Can you give any instances of alumni
of your school and parishioners who have become involved in efforts
to solve community problems?‖ George answered:
―In many works of the Knights of Columbus
throughout the Philippines, I have met many alumni of
Jesuit schools who are socially apostolic. Perhaps the
outstanding example would be Oscar Ledesma, who is
the generous and dedicated President of the Knights of
Columbus Community Services, Inc., to say nothing of
his other apostolic activities.
265
The Gentle Warrior
From the organization of the Knights of Columbus
itself, we have been able to assist in the formation and
direction of 160 credit unions, added more than 100
charity medical clinics, and a few free legal aid clinics.
Needless to say, countless individual Knights of
Columbus have assisted with generous apostolic
contributions.‖
The dynamic thoughts of George appear so strongly in this
survey! The intellectual professors in the schools were concentrating on
research. George wanted action first, and research later. He felt that
social action needed to embrace the whole man, the whole woman. It
should include media, and the media should be down to earth, grass
roots level, including comics. It should include practical piety — the
Sodality, the Apostleship of Prayer, Chaplains in the schools hearing the
confessions of the students, medical clinics, credit unions, cooperatives,
realistic practical help to the farmers, roads!
The most important thing about George Willmann were the quiet
thoughts that filled his mind when he was alone. The ideas that surface
in this social action survey were the outline, the blue print, the battle
plan for all the beautiful things that George did for the poor through the
Columbian Farmers Aid Association, and through the Community
Services of the Knights of Columbus. He was leading the Knights not
only while he was working at his desk in the office of the KC
headquarters in Intramuros, not only while he was travelling to the
provinces to give retreats to the Knights and to their families — he was
their leader night and day, like a gas station open 24 hours. He was
thinking of their work at breakfast. He was praying over it during his
morning meditation. He was begging for light and love, to direct it, at
every mass. It was through the Knights that he served God. It was
through the Knights that he met God, in the poor.
George celebrated his sixtieth anniversary in the Society of Jesus
in 1975 — sixty years since he climbed the steps of Saint Andrew’s,
with Miriam, and Agnes, and Dorothy and Ruth weeping, standing on
the road beside the rented car. He wrote to Vince Kennally about this.
Vince had entered with him, but Vince was now a Bishop, in the
266
The Home Front
Carolines and Marshalls.
Excellency‖.
So George addressed him as:
“Your
Vince wrote back. His stationery had, as its letterhead:
ISLAND MEMORIAL CHAPEL
Kwajelein, Marshall Islands
Mailing Address
Box 1711
APO San Francisco 96555
He was writing from a strange place — the Carolines and
Marshalls, in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, but now a part of the
United States of America, the fiftieth State of the Union. And he was
writing from a new position — Bishop of the Holy Roman Catholic
Apostolic Church, one of the successors of the original twelve apostles.
But it was the same Vince Kennally, whom he knew at Saint Andrew’s,
who polished floors with him at Saint Andrew’s on the Hudson.
The letter of Vince Kennally said:
―Dear George,
P.C.‖
P.C. stands for ―Pax Christi‖. The peace of Christ. It is the
usual greeting of Jesuits to each other, all around the world, since the
days of Iñigo Lopez in 1521.
The letter went on:
―Your letter addressed to the Jesuit Seminary and
Mission Bureau finally reached me here on Kwajelein
today — so this is really a prompt reply!
Please skip the ‗Excellency‘.
As the letter head indicates, I‘m a working man this
267
The Gentle Warrior
month, taking over for Garry Fitzgerald the regular
civilian Chaplain for this Base, while he is off on
vacation, touring the Islands.
I agree with you one hundred percent that ‗sixty years‘
does not call for any celebration, though I did enjoy
the Golden One with you ten years ago. My speech on
the ‗sixtieth‘ goes like this: They call it a ‗Diamond‘
Jubilee. But diamond means seventy-five, so stick
around, and we‘ll have a big ‗smash‘ when that comes
around. I think the Good Lord would approve of that
decision.
So let us cooperate by extra prayers to Saint Ignatius
that we may accomplish something for God according
to his desires, but otherwise let the occasion pass
quietly.
It was good to hear from you, even on business. I pray
that your health is good to enable you to continue the
wonderful work you are doing for the Church in the
Philippines.
My own health is excellent. While in the States after the
Bishops‘ Meeting in Washington, I visited my sister
Adelaide (84) in Boston, and we had a pleasant visit. It
was providential, as the very day I got back to Truk,
December 21, I received a cable announcing her sudden
death. Please say a prayer for her. It is not a cause for
grief as she had led a full, holy life, and all her children
are married with good families, thanks to her training
and guidance.
So, George, a Blessed, Holy New year to you. Let us
continue to pray for each other.
+ Vincent K. S.J.‖
268
The Home Front
3. Friends
One of the fronts, on which George Willmann fought the good
fight, was making friends, and keeping them. Friendship was one of the
facets of his life, which he thought was very important. He really made
friends — good friends — and kept them.
Basilio King, Knight of Columbus, came to him at one time, with
a request. He wanted to place his daughter in a Catholic convent
school, in the United States. George wrote to all four of his sisters. At
least twenty-four letters passed across the Pacific Ocean — from Manila
to Saint Louis, from Saint Louis to Manila; from Manila to Providence,
Rhode Island, and from Providence to Manila — on a possible school
for the daughter of Basilio King.
George wrote to Miriam on March 27, 1965.
―I wonder if you or Dorothy could look around and let
me know the situation in one or two or more of the
Catholic colleges in Saint Louis for a girl from Manila.
Her name is Elizabeth King. Although born in Manila,
both of her parents are Chinese. She is graduating this
May from the Immaculate Conception Academy High
School and has been consistently an honor student, 17
years old…. Her father, Basilio King, has been one of
my closest friends for over twenty years. Recently, he
and all of his family became American citizens. A
special bill was passed by Congress to this effect,
because of his wartime record.
And, of course, if there‘s anything in the way of
scholarship available, that aid would be most welcome.
In a few days, I hope to send you the transcript of
records of the young lady — that is, so far as that is
available before graduation.
With much love and prayers,
George‖
269
The Gentle Warrior
He made friends with the Chairman of the U.S.O. in Manila, an
American. He was invited to the man’s home. He knew his wife and
children. Eventually, the man asked him if he would accept the post of
Vice-Chairman. George accepted, because the work was so good, and
so necessary. Then the Chairman went to the United States on leave,
and George became the Acting Chairman of the U.S.O., for years. This
was a great responsibility, and a great opportunity for doing good.
George really worked at this job, and worried about it. But he came
into this position only because he had such a beautiful talent for reaching
out to people, for making friends.
Sister Ruth wrote to him: ―I just hope that your big hope of
getting through to the right people for your U.S.O. project works out,
and that you see results!‖
George wrote back to Ruth. The letter reveals the state of
things in Manila, and in the mind of George:
―We have just experienced a healthy typhoon. Not
really a first class ‗humdinger‘, but strong enough to
flood the streets and give us fairly strong winds. Our
house in Pasay City — which 40 years ago was
probably a rice field — is quite low. Until two years
ago, the street on which our house faces, the principal
thoroughfare too, was always under water, ten or fifteen
times a year. Then they raised the surface of the road
with strong cement-top, so now, usually, the street is not
too bad. But the private properties on either side of the
road were not heightened, and so our yard is a pretty
wet place in times like these.
Along the waterfront, where the Manila Bay is fringed
by a beautiful boulevard, two or three fairly big boats
were blown ashore, to say nothing of many small
fishing vessels. However, not very serious compared to
a blizzard, which is much worse because of the freezing
weather.
270
The Home Front
Apart from other things, as you may remember, I am
also helping with the U.S.O. (United Service
Organization for American Military Personnel). For
about twenty years, we have had a moderately nice
location at the back entrance of the Manila Hotel.
Quite respectable, and acceptable too, since it is near
the landing area where the sailors would be brought
ashore, from the big ships anchored out in the harbor.
But now, the hotel is expected to be completely
renovated, and we have to look for another location. A
regional USO executive from Thailand has come over
to help in the decision making. I am only the ViceChairman of the USO Volunteer Committee. But since
the Chairman is out of the country, I have to take his
place in the conferences and in the negotiations.
We have big problems to solve. And, right now, we are
lacking in funds.‖
George wrote to Sister Agnes:
―As I mentioned in a recent letter to Sister Ruth, I am
helping with the U.S.O. in Manila. Tomorrow we are
having another meeting, and probably in a new
location. Our beautiful Roxas Boulevard runs along
Manila Bay for maybe five miles. And if we can get a
proper kind of quarters here, it will be very
advantageous for the Navy personnel, with landing
craft that come to the small docks near the Boulevard.
But rental of buildings there is quite expensive, and our
budget is limited.‖
George succeeded with the U.S.O., because he had a talent for
making friends, and for keeping them!
And he was so proud of Mrs. Dalupan, and of all the ladies who
worked with him for the Daughters of Isabella — Mrs. Aurora
Rodriguez, Sister Divino Amor. They worked with enthusiasm and
271
The Gentle Warrior
with a certain amount of joy — not only because they were doing a
good thing for people, and for God — but also because Father
Willmann was so appreciative of their work, and so grateful! This
sense of pride and appreciation and gratitude was not ―put on‖ by
George. He really felt it. He wrote to his blood sister Ruth, who was
then ―Sister Godfrey‖ in her religious congregation.
―My daughters are interfering with my sisters. That is to
say, the Daughters of Isabella are preventing me from
writing letters to my Willmann sisters. Especially of
late. I happen to be the National Chaplain of the
Daughters. Had long been insufficiently active at that
job, and resolved a year or two ago to do better. And
just then, more or less, their National President, Mrs.
Dalupan, was taken seriously ill, so there was an added
reason to make me get busy. And for the last two
months it has taken quite a little time.
Mrs. Dalupan, mother of eight, grandmother of 28, and
now a Great-grandmother, is much better now. But
their apostolate still beckons. This morning, for
instance, a small meeting. Agenda number one, how to
purchase supplies in the Philippines instead of in the
United States…. Agenda number two, medicines for
free clinics…. We receive some gifts, order much more
on a quasi wholesale basis; and are now thinking of
manufacturing some, to save the middleman‘s profit,
which is quite legitimate for him, but also may be saved
for us. In this latter category, are medicines for
tuberculosis and for intestinal worms.
Sunday morning….this is the ‗morning after‘. At
yesterday‘s meeting, two of the important ladies didn‘t
show up. But I found that they had good excuses. One
was making her annual retreat, in our Betania Retreat
House; the other was down in the market, getting prices
and sample materials for some of the supplies we need.
Over the telephone, I was asked about a preferable color
for a certain ornamental table cover which must be
272
The Home Front
produced in small quantities. I‘m about the last person
in the world to help with such things.
But a couple of men did appear….also, our old friend,
Sister Divino Amor, and we made some progress. We
discovered that we can probably use a plastic container
quite similar in size and in appearance to a glass bottle,
but much lighter and less breakable.
As you may have heard, Sister Divino Amor is now
relieved from school work, and is engaged in the other
good apostolate of charity clinics, and their orphanage
on Legarda. And she is doing well!
This morning, we have an appointment with President
Marcos about released prisoners. Quite a problem
here, as in every country. Our organization is called
Friendship, Incorporated, with a retired lady judge at
the head of it….
And special blessings for your birthday. How happy I
used to be in Suffern, when allowed to wheel your baby
carriage! And later when we went rowing on the
lake….Sixty years ago. Imagine.
With love and prayers,
George‖
His interest in the Daughters of Isabella, like his work with the
Knights, gave him friends on both sides of the Pacific Ocean — in the
Philippines, and in the United States.
He wrote to Miriam and
Dorothy:
―Perhaps you have heard from Ann Walsh that her top
assistant, Miss Mary Barron, died a couple of weeks
ago. She had been unwell and hospitalized in January
or February. And I recall that even a couple of years
ago Miss Barron said that she was not feeling very well.
This is a big loss to the organization of the Daughters of
273
The Gentle Warrior
Isabella.
The Daughters in the Philippines have also had their
losses. You recall that I told you that Mrs. Dalupan
died. That was last December. And now, last week,
April 11, we lost our National Treasurer, in the person
of Mrs. Aurora Rodriguez. She was comparatively
young — only 51 years of age. Not only was she an
excellent Treasurer, orderly and reliable, but we were
thinking of her as one of the most likely candidates to
succeed Mrs. Dalupan.
Her death was quite
unexpected.
Although she comes from San Fernando, Pampanga,
about 80 kilometers from Manila, she also had a home
in Manila, especially for the convenience of her
children who were attending Manila schools.‖
The interest that George had in people was personal! He did
not look upon anyone as a mere worker. With Mrs. Dalupan, he knew
her husband, her children, her grandchildren and her great
grandchildren, personally. With Mrs. Rodriguez, he not only knew that
she had two homes — he knew the reason why. He knew her children,
who were going to school in Manila.
He never looked upon a donor as merely a donor. They were
his friends. He not only acknowledged every gift, with a personal letter
— he really remembered his old friends, with a deep personal friendship.
In his file, which he kept in magnificent order, names keep popping up,
out of the blue — old friends of George, friends he made in New York
City when he was working in the bank, friends he made in Brooklyn
when he was going to grade school.
George wrote frequently to an old friend whom he called
―Charlie‖. He would visit Charlie, or Charlie would visit him,
whenever George made it to the United States. This was Charles J.
Morgan. They met on Wall Street, in downtown New York, in 1914,
when World War I was sweeping over Europe. Charlie wrote back on
his office stationery:
274
The Home Front
Morgan, Halligan, Lanoff and Cook
Attorneys at Law
First National Bank Building
33 South Clark Street, Chicago 60603
When he was seventy years old, George wrote occasionally to a
girl named Regina. She was his classmate in 1909, when he graduated
from Our Lady of good Counsel, in Brooklyn. The occasion for writing
was usually a gift, a donation, for the missions.
―Mrs. Regina O‘Shea
1160 Ocean Avenue
Brooklyn, N.Y. 11230
Dear Regina,
Again your Christmas greeting arrived, together with
your very generous gift. Many, many thanks. As
always, it will be very helpful to me for various works of
charity.
As you can easily grasp, here in the Philippines we are
uncomfortably close to Communist China. It is just an
hour or two by jet flight from Vietnam. Occasionally,
my job takes me to the Clark Field Air Base which is
about fifty miles north of Manila. Its magnificent
airstrips are very busy, as you can imagine, and its
modern hospital is constantly receiving a flow of
wounded boys from the Vietnam jungles.
I have contact with them also here in Manila as Vice
Chairman of the U.S.O. Usually we have daily flights
filled with servicemen who come here by rotation to
enjoy five days of R and R — rest and recreation.
Helped by many fine ladies of our local American
community,we are able to greet them with refreshments,
home hospitality (if they want), and everything else
which only the kind female hearts can think of.
275
The Gentle Warrior
In our work in the slums, I am helping among others a
wonderful Filipina nun, who — at her own request —
was relieved from her school occupation to work in our
ghetto. Just at present, she asked me to find someone to
teach judo or karate to her gangster charges. She said
they would like that very much. I‘m sure they will.
I hope this finds you well and vigorous. Again
thanking you for your never failing generosity, and
praying that all the best blessings will fall upon you….
Gratefully,
George‖
It was not only George, remembering others. It was others,
remembering George. From Okinawa came a letter on U.S.O.
stationery, from a man named Norman Hogg:
―Yesterday I said goodbye to an Air Force Chaplain
here, a priest who is leaving Okinawa, and I was
reminded of you. Occasionally Sallie and I come across
news about the Philippines, which also reminds us of
you.
All continues well with us, here in Okinawa. Our
children have a dog and a cat, are active in scouting,
and apparently keep growing — or their clothes are
growing smaller.
We are all in good health, and hope that you are, too.
Thank you for the Christmas card — and for all you
have done for U.S.O., for the servicemen, and for us.
And our best wishes to you for a very happy Easter.
Sincerely,
Norman‖
276
The Home Front
Norman Hogg was a military man who wrote to George about
twice a year. But he expected George to remember the first name of his
wife, and to be interested not only in his children, but in their dog and
cat.
The friendships that George formed in the Philippines were so
deep and so strong that they lasted for three generations. He was
travelling all over the Philippines, for the Knights of Columbus —
Baguio, Zamboanga, Tuguegarao, Cotabato, Dagupan, Cebu. And in
the middle of this he wrote to Miki:
―Over here we manage to keep busy — or we think we
do. Did some travelling to the North — Baguio,
Tuguegarao, Dagupan. And also to the South —
Zamboanga, Cotabato, Cebu. In Cebu we had a two
day crash training course for the Knights from
approximately forty regions in the south of the
Philippines.
Before taking the plane to Cebu I had the happiness of
officiating at the wedding of the son of one of my
students of long ago. My student, who was with me in
1924, was named Ricardo Liquette. His father was one
of the leading journalists at that time, of Spanish blood
and a gifted pen. The old journalist and his son, my
student, are now dead. And the grandson of the
journalist was happily engaged to be married, and —
as a touch of ‗auld lang syne‘ — asked his father‘s old
teacher to officiate.‖
On June 29, 1967, when George was seventy years old, every
Council of the Knights of Columbus in the Philippines sent him a
telegram, or a card, or a letter, or a gift. He acknowledged every one
— gently, reverently, respectfully, gratefully. This was his reply to the
Council in La Carlota City, in Negros Occidental:
Mr. Francis Ordoñez
Grand Knight
Council Number 5376
La Carlota City
277
The Gentle Warrior
Worthy Grand Knight:
Your Council‘s greeting and best wishes, on the
occasion of my seventieth birthday, have been received.
Will you please allow me to express my belated sincere
appreciation and heartfelt gratitude for your
thoughtfulness?
In return, be assured of my own poor prayers that our
good Lord will bless you, and the other officers and
members of your Council, in every way.
Gratefully in Our Lord,
George J. Willmann, S.J.
Carlos P. Romulo remembered George after fifty years, though
they had very little contact with each other, over that whole half
century. George wrote to Miki:
―I attended a convention in Antipolo….The guest of
honor arrived. It was the Honorable Carlos P. Romulo,
who is the Foreign Minister of the Philippines. He is
really quite a figure in the diplomatic world, having
served as the Secretary General of the United Nations,
and in other diplomatic posts, for thirty years. He is a
fine writer and speaker.
I met him in the corridor. One of his companions said:
‗General, do you know Father Willmann?‘ He smiled,
and gripped my hand, and said: ‗Of course I
remember Father Willmann! We go back fifty years,
to the days when I was writing for the Herald!‘
I was amazed at his memory. But it was true. We knew
each other fifty years ago, when he was a young
newspaper man, and I was a Jesuit Scholastic, teaching
at the Ateneo.‖
George might have been amazed at the memory of Carlos P.
278
The Home Front
Romulo, but his own memory was sharp and clear. He remembered
people. Not only the boys and girls with whom he went to school, but
the young adults whom he met while he was in charge of the Jesuit
Seminary and Mission Bureau, in New York City. He wrote to Miki:
―My old friend Malcolm Wilson, the incumbent New
York State Governor, ran for re-election. He was
defeated by a Brooklynite named Carey.
In the early thirties, Malcolm was a member of the
Inter-Collegiate Club, also known as the Jesuit Leper
Guild. It was composed of young men and women,
mostly college graduates, who helped the missions by
running benefit dances of which Harold Boyle, Sr. and
I were chaperones.
Malcolm had just recently
graduated from Fordham.‖
Harry Boyle, Sr., whose son became a Jesuit, was the business
man who taught George accounting, and finance, and how to manage
money. George remembered the names of his old friends. He
remembered their faces. He remembered the things they did. All this
with his mind…. But the unusual thing about him was that he
remembered with his heart. He felt for these old friends, across the
mountains and the seas, even though they had been separated from each
other for years. He reached out for his friends, through time, and across
space. He was never really alone, because his old friends lived so
strongly in his mind, in his heart, in his memories. It was one of the
marks of this man: he was extremely sensitive; he liked people; and he
treasured their friendship.
George wrote to Miki:
―This afternoon we have a meeting of the Board of
Directors of Friendship, Incorporated. It is one of the
two or three organizations in Manila helping prisoners
either in their incarceration or after their release. But,
although in the Knights of Columbus we have our own
groups helping the same poor victims,we have to course
279
The Gentle Warrior
some of our limited energy to Friendship, Incorporated,
whose President is a certain elderly lady — a former
Justice of the Court of Appeals — on the distaff side.
With our own group, we are in the middle, at present, of
rebuilding a part of the jail with limited private
contributions which we hope will add to the much
needed freedom, without interfering with the necessary
security measures.
Another field of charity — that of helping the blind and
the near-blind sufferer — means more to me now than
it used to, because of Mary Ruth‘s wonderful work.
In union of prayer for all of our dear ones….
Devotedly in our Lord,
George‖
Well might George Willmann be a member of ―Friendship,
Incorporated‖. To him, friendship was the heart of the gospel. It was
―Love thy neighbor‖, in action. It was the Mystical Body of Christ,
where every man is your brother, and every woman is your sister, and
every child is your own.
4. Ebbing Strength
It is a strange coincidence that — during the last twelve years of
George’s life, from 1965 through 1977, when his health began to fail,
when he began to slip and fall, and to break bones — the Catholic
Church also began to slip and fall, and to suffer. During those twelve
years religious men began to leave the monasteries, secular priests began
to leave the priesthood, nuns began to come out of the convent, to leave
their congregations. Books appeared, describing this phenomenon. To
those who left the ranks of religious orders, it was like ―Jumping Over
the Wall‖. In 1965 the religious order of George Willmann — the
280
The Home Front
Society of Jesus — numbered 36,000. In twelve years the numbers
dropped to 24,000. The Jesuits lost one man out of three.
When Father Willmann came to the Philippines as a priest, in
1936, there was a belief among the American Jesuits that any Jesuit who
came to the missions would die within the ranks of the Society of Jesus.
There was no record of any Jesuit, who came to the Philippines as a
missionary, leaving the Order. But suddenly priests began to leave.
They left the Society of Jesus. They left the priesthood. On rare
occasions, they left the Catholic Church.
It was not only the Jesuits. It was all the religious orders. They
were all losing men — the Franciscans, the Augustinians, the
Dominicans, the Benedictines, the Society of the Divine Word, Don
Bosco, Maryknoll, the Columbans. A restlessness was running through
the ranks of the religious, men and women.
And it was not only among the ranks of the religious. Marriages
began to break up, even in the Philippines, where once upon a time, the
leaders of the Church could say with pride: ―The Filipino family is the
finest in the world!‖ To George, it seemed that husbands and wives
were separating much more frequently, and easily, than ever before.
When he came to Manila as a Scholastic, if a marriage broke up, it was
a scandal, a conversation piece, a shock to the families of the bride and
the groom, a tragedy to be discussed in whispers by all their friends.
But now, when a husband and wife split, no one seemed to notice it, and
no one cared.
For the American Jesuits who were working in the Philippines,
there was an added misery. The students in the schools began to march
in protest, with placards saying: ―Americans! Go home!‖ In the
Ateneo de Manila, where George had taught, where he had been Prefect
of Discipline and Dean of Studies, there was a movement to make the
head of every Department a Filipino. Some of the American Jesuits
took this to heart. They did not want to be removed. They went home,
voluntarily back to the Province of New York, or to the Province of
Maryland, or to the Province of New England. They said: ―Why
should we stay if we are not wanted? Why should we force ourselves
on people?‖
281
The Gentle Warrior
George could not take these demonstrations seriously. He never
believed that the Filipinos hated the Americans. He himself had
experienced so much kindness, so much consideration, so much real
love, that he felt the demonstrators were telling a lie…. And they really
were!…. The Jesuit priest who was the Head of the Mathematics
Department in the Ateneo de Manila — wounded by the
demonstrations, hurt by the placards, reacting strongly to the shouts of
the demonstrators, in Tagalog — left the Ateneo, left the Society of
Jesus, and left the priesthood. Some of the lay faculty — angry and
resentful that the demonstrators should have caused this — took a
survey among all the students in the University who were taking
mathematics. They discovered that 99% of the students taking Math
wanted the American priest to remain as Head of the Math Department.
1% wanted him to leave…. The Jesuit priest was gone when the survey
was taken. And there was no other Jesuit in the Philippines, at that
time, capable of taking his place.
George Willmann, from the beginning, was unruffled by the
demonstrations. He said: ―They are a wild, vociferous, irresponsible
minority…. It is a free country…. Let them march…. Let them shout
and holler…. But do not take them seriously! The great majority of
the students, who are reasonable, do not care if the Jesuit is an
American or a Filipino. They do not care if he is white or brown —
so long as he is a good man, a good teacher, and a good priest!‖
George was wise. Like the Knights during the war, during the
Japanese Occupation, he ―stayed on the job‖. But his health began to
fail.
George had been through a war, in which he had endured nearstarvation for three years and three months. Eight of those months
were in a concentration camp. When a doctor examined him, at the end
of the war, he said to Sister Ruth: ―He is the most emaciated man that
I have ever seen!‖…. A heavy truck had crushed the bones in his feet,
when he was five years old. It took a full year for him to recover from
the accident…. He gave himself little sleep, as the District Deputy and
Territorial Deputy of the Knights. He would start his day, very often, at
2:30 in the morning….the schedule he set for himself — travelling all
282
The Home Front
over the country, by bus over bad roads, by banca through treacherous
waters, by plane — then giving retreats at the end of each journey,
listening to the problems of each Council, talking to the men
individually, praising them, encouraging them, trying to settle
differences between hostile human beings….this schedule was calculated
to wear down even a strong young man at the peak of his physical
powers. George carried the pressure cheerfully, always, with a quiet
smile. He maintained his peace of soul. He carried on by sheer spiritual
strength. His stamina came from the realization that this work was
good; it was the work God wanted him to do; and he loved doing it.
When George referred to his miseries, it was always with a sense
of humor. His nephew, Jim — the son of his brother Ed — was not
writing to him. Jim was having trouble, and George wanted him to
write, to open the door, so that he could help the boy. He wrote to Ed
and Miki:
―Perhaps because of my beri-beri, I occasionally get
cramps in the legs. But I‘m inclined to think that my
pal Jim must have beri-beri especially in the right arm.
At least for the last two years, he certainly has suffered
from writer‘s cramp.‖
It was the first reference George ever made to his beri-beri, and
to the cramps. He really had them, as early as December, 1964.
After Ed died, George had his own reflections on pain. He
wrote to his little sister Ruth, who was then Sister Godfrey:
―Strangely enough, just two or three days before Ed‘s
death, I had been thinking especially about him. It was
the Holy spirit, I think, Who had reminded me of the
countless people in the world who were suffering
greatly. And so my thoughts turned to Ed, with his
enforced immobility and probably frequent spells of
pain, and great and continued discomfort. And now,
after the fact, distant as I am, I can do little but
reminisce. And among the memories, you are often
283
The Gentle Warrior
linked with him. Our two enfant terribles — you and
Ed — one of whom, I don‘t know which of you it was,
calmly informed us older folks one time that the two
youngest were definitely the two brightest in the family.
The truth of which, strange to say, I was quite ready to
admit.‖
George never complained of a tooth ache. The closest reference
he ever made to it was in another letter to his little sister, Sister
Godfrey:
―This afternoon, I have been quite busy….Doing
what?….Searching for my dental bridge which had
disappeared in the drain of my wash-bowl. With the aid
of a monkey wrench and a long piece of wire, we finally
recovered it.‖
When Miki had trouble with the doctors, because they could not
diagnose the sickness of her grandson, Paul, George wrote to her:
―Reminds me of my own experience during World War
II Occupation days. I‘d been feeling down for a couple
of days, and when the fever got high, I consulted a
young lady doctor, the only one available at the time.
After a stethoscope examination, she said my lungs
were somewhat congested, and gave me some medicine.
The fever continued, very high, and I consulted an
older doctor. After checking, he gave me another
medicine. I asked him if the lungs were congested.
‗No‘, he answered. ‗You have intestinal flu.‘ With the
help of this medicine, my temperature was down to
normal the next day.‖
Writing to two friends, husband and wife, who were smashed up
in an automobile accident, George says: ―The combination of pain
and inactivity must be trying on your patience….But problems make
life interesting!‖
284
The Home Front
George never seemed to worry much, about himself. The ones
who worried were his family. Dorothy heard, from someone else, that
when George had returned to the Philippines, after a meeting with the
Knights in the United States, he slipped, fell, sprained his back, and was
in the hospital. She wrote to him:
―We are terribly sorry to hear about your mishap, which
must have given you great pain. Sprained muscles,
especially in the back, can cause terrible misery. Word
that you were getting along was welcome, and I hope
the additional time spent in the hospital gave you a little
degree of needed rest, too. You were so tired when you
reached Saint Louis — and I‘m sure you were overly
tired even before you left Manila.‖
The first member of the family to mention ―Parkinson‘s‖, to
George, was Dorothy…. Dorothy, the brave…. Dorothy, who was
working with Jesuits at close range for most of her life…. Dorothy, who
knew that these men — crusty old bachelors who had lived in a barracks
since they were eighteen years old — did not want to talk about any
private problem that they had, especially sickness….. Dorothy, who
loved George with all her heart, and really tried to be a mother to him.
On October 15, 1970, when George was seventy-three years
old, Dorothy wrote him a beautiful letter about a friend of the family,
Bill Short, who died very suddenly:
―Irma told us last night, by phone, that Bill, as usual,
prayed for a half hour before going to church; then
participated in two Masses — usual, too; had made the
way of the cross — all before breakfast. Bill was really
an epileptic, seemingly the result of a fall while in
service.‖
Then she wrote:
―Now, to you. How are you really feeling? Are you
taking medicine for Parkinson‘s? And what, really,
285
The Gentle Warrior
are the side effects? Miriam‘s doctor is trying L‘Dopa
on one patient, but was slow to do so. However, some
of the other medicines the neurologist gave Miriam
some years ago have kept her going. And she has great
gumption.— So let us know!‖
More than a year later, George wrote back to Dorothy:
―A few days ago, I received a small package containing
some medicine pills. These pills were in a very small
box which had a label saying ‗Dennison‘s‘. As for the
sender, there was no name of any person.
I firmly suspect that you, or some good angel inspired
by you, sent the package as one of your many
meritorious kindnesses.
Quite probably I will be using the pills very soon,
leaving the doubt to my guardian angel. But still, if
you can confirm that you, or some friend, sent those
very useful pills to me, I will not have to involve my
guardian angel.
Speaking of the medicine reminds me that the doctor
who has been treating me for Parkinson‘s was very
encouraging when I saw him last week. It was almost
two months since my last visit to him, and after the
check-up he was very pleased. He said that there was
no need of my returning until after four months! He
said that the rigidity in the joints was practically gone,
and that the tremor, especially in my right arm, was
now very slight. Add to that the very much, much less
tension than before. No wonder that I feel like a
teen-ager again! I hope I don‘t get punished for being
so optimistic that I am almost vain about it.
Best love to Miriam and yourself, and a most Blessed
New Year.
George‖
286
The Home Front
George wrote a long, detailed letter to Miriam about one of his
falls. Always he considered these falls to be nothing….stupidity on his
part, carelessness, foolishness….a ridiculous thing for a grown man to
do….nothing at all. But the falls were dangerous. It was a fall that
really got to George, in the end. His letter read:
―It is more comical than tragic that I am in the hospital
with more trouble about my poor right arm. I have
been slow in telling you this trifling news. It happened
when I was in Baguio, about 150 miles north of
Manila. We had been holding what we call a District
meeting in Trinidad Valley, just a few miles from
Baguio. After a Sunday morning which was busy
enough, I arranged to take a shuttle bus from Baguio
during the course of heavy storms. One of the
important national bridges was out, so I was told to
continue on to a place called Damortis, to catch the
train leaving there at 2:30 p.m. Our KC supervisor in
Baguio District, Mr. Ireneo Gacad, had said he would
pick me up at 12:30 noon to take me in his car to the
Baguio terminal.
I was waiting for him up to about 12:45, but when he
did not appear, I took a taxi to the bus station. As I got
off the taxi, I grabbed my bag and raincoat, and began
looking around for my friend, Mr. Gacad. But I looked
too hard for him and not for the other various obstacles,
and suddenly found myself on my face, having tripped
on the steps. The pain in my right arm, although not
too intense, was a bit uncomfortable so I asked Mr.
Gacad to show the arm to a doctor. We hurried over to
Our Lady of Lourdes Hospital, where an X-ray showed
one or two fractures. Needless to say, I did not take the
train that day, but stayed in the hospital until Friday,
with a big cast around my chest, back and arm.
When I arrived in Manila, we showed the poor arm and
the X-rays to a Manila doctor. He made his diagnosis
and also insisted that I stay in the hospital for a few
287
The Gentle Warrior
days. Although not much suffering, but with a little bit
of inconvenience, I am still in the hospital. Man
proposes — God disposes.
One of my regrets is that we do not have a place like the
Alverne. Omitting many clinical details, that is the
latest story.
With much love and prayers,
George‖
Sister Ruth — who was at that time working professionally
with the blind, and with the elderly — wrote to George about this
accident:
―All my sympathy goes out to you in your latest
misfortune. One marvels at the resistance of one
person who has to suffer so much! Long and fervent
prayer begs for the great grace you need.
From the little I know, I‘ve been adding up some of the
odds. Two things now contribute to your immobility:
the cast, and the tendency of Parkinsonians to remain
inert. Please God, someone near you has the isotonic
exercises indicated. They help the circulation and
muscles so much. No motion is involved, just ‗tense-23-4; relax-2-3-4‘ muscle by muscle, side by side, with
music, preferably. Or in waltz time. All day, and even
at night. It prevents pain.
At this age, immobility brings on pneumonia and stroke
so fast!‖
By January of 1973 George was talking freely of Parkinson’s,
and of what to do about it. He wrote to Dorothy: ―I‘d say that
COGENTIN would be most useful. It has been safely recommended
for my variety of the Parkinson. But since you have so many other
things to do, please do not bother sending it unless a good
opportunity presents itself.‖
288
The Home Front
In that year George wrote to Dorothy about the Jesuit house in Pasay,
that the level of the street had been raised, and now the water from the
street was flooding the grounds around the house. He said: ―Maybe we
should go into business and start a Jesuit fishpond!‖ At the end of
the letter he quoted one of his old favorite poems:
―My candle burns at both ends,
It cannot last the night.
But, Oh! My foes,
And, Oh! My friends,
It sheds a lovely light.‖
Thanking Dorothy for the COGENTIN, he added: ―My health
is really quite good. Better than it was years ago. I believe this is
partly due to the medicines. But they are very expensive. Just now I
am taking about 7 or 8 different pills, and some several times a day.‖
The sickness must have troubled him, at least a little, but all his
letters home were cheerful: ―Over here, the really hot months have
passed and we are enjoying the comparatively cooler days of October.
Which reminds me that the trees and foliage of Long Island and
other places are now glorious with the changing colors!‖
In February of 1973 Mary Ruth, the daughter of Ed and Miki,
received the annulment of her marriage to Henry Kroyer, from the
Marriage Tribunal in the Diocese of Brooklyn. Then Hilda, the wife of
Jim, gave birth to a baby boy, and they called him ―Mark Eamon‖.
George wrote cheerfully: ―Well, that is good news! And now we have
two grand nephews by the name of Mark. Hope we do not have the
same problem as we had with the Ruths!‖
He reported to the family that he had seen a specialist who told
him that both of his ears were a bit defective. George got a ―second
opinion” on this, from another specialist. He said exactly the same
thing. But neither specialist recommended a hearing aid….so George
never wore a hearing aid.
George wrote to Agnes: ―I have observed that sickness can
289
The Gentle Warrior
either burn away a person‘s defects, or — if not properly accepted —
can increase those defects.‖
George laughed about his hard head smashing the windshield of
his own car: ―Last week I had a close escape from serious injuries.
In driving, one afternoon, to the suburbs in the south, to avoid a
collision, the driver jammed on his brakes very, very suddenly. I was
riding in the front seat next to the driver, I was thrown up against
the windshield. It suffered quite a smash, with a small hole — like a
bullet hole — and around this, cracks like a big spider web. I was
unharmed, except for a slight reddish spot on the forehead. My
fellow Jesuits insist that this is proof positive of what they have
always told me — I am hard headed!‖
Various doctors, at various times, urged George to slow down a
little, to take it easy, to lighten his schedule, but George found this hard
to do. Dorothy wrote to him: ―God help you! — As long as you‘re
you, people will give you responsible jobs…. But please, please,
please take them — the jobs — easily!‖
During the rainy season, in 1974, George reported: ―Here we
have been having many typhoons and heavy storms in the last five or
six weeks. Going out on a bad road one afternoon, I found the mud
deeper than I expected. And, while plowing through it, I simply
found myself flat on my face! But it was soft material to fall on. All
my clothes, and even my nose, were covered with mud! But there
were no wounds, and no other damages, except for my soiled
clothes.‖
Later, George reported again: ―Talking about falls — during
a heavy rainstorm, with the streets flooded, I tried to make a trip
down an alley on the side of our house. I was trying to keep on solid
ground but there was one soft muddy section about ten feet across. I
tried my best not to get mud on my shoes,legs and trousers. However,
I did not bargain on tripping over a rock. I found myself face down,
in the mud. When I finally got to a mirror, later, there was still one
great blob of mud on my nose. I think that I have a nose for finding
soft places to fall, where there will be no serious results.‖
290
The Home Front
He confided to Miki: ―Might be that I am not so young
anymore. Especially my feet and lower limbs are pretty stiff now, and
soon I might be sporting a cane. Apart from this, probably, a bit of
beri-beri…. But it could be much worse!‖
George laughed at his falls, and laughed at his teeth — losing his
bridge down the drain, and fishing for it with a wire. He made light of
the pain in his right arm, and the trembling in his hands…. But he felt
it…. Every active man, when he feels his physical powers slowly
slipping away, broods over this — at least a little. George had a deep
peace of soul, and a joyous bouncing sense of humor, but in one quiet
moment he wrote to Sister Agnes:
―I thank God
that despite my years
people still tolerate my efforts
to help a little,
here and there.‖
Even when his knees were stiffening, and his right arm was
paining, and his hands were trembling — George Willmann did much
more than ―help a little, here and there‖.
In the novitiate at Saint Andrew’s on the Hudson, George had
memorized — with all the other novices — that famous battle cry of
Ignatius Loyola:
―A brother,
backed by a brother,
is like a stone wall!‖
The irreverent Jesuits in the Philippines, after long and sad
experience, were accustomed to change that battle cry, a little. They
said it this way:
―A brother,
backed by a brother,
is like a hole in the wall!‖
291
The Gentle Warrior
But it was not that way with George. To the Jesuits with
whom he lived he was always a source of strength — confessor, father,
friend. If George could come in to the house covered with mud, and
laugh — then everyone else could laugh. If he could look at the
grounds flooded with water, and joke about building a fishpond —
suddenly the flood did not seem so bad. If he could work night
and day, and say Mass at four in the morning, and pray — the
younger Jesuits felt that they could do that, too.
With the Knights of Columbus he wrote out his resignation
and submitted it, many times, but New Haven would never accept
it. They thought that George was a treasure. Like old wine, he got
better with the years. His experience was invaluable…. And the
Knights in the Philippines would never let him go. Even when Oscar
Ledesma was named as his successor, Oscar held back for as long as
he could because all the men, who really wanted the Knights to
succeed, felt that George was doing a magnificent job.
The flesh was weak, but the spirit was strong. In fact, as
the flesh grew weaker, the spirit grew stronger. Until that final hour
in Murray Weigel, in New York, when God called him home, George
Willmann was a powerhouse.
*
*
*
292
*
*
CHAPTER EIGHT
Command Responsibility
1. The Welfare of the Knights
W
hen Father Michael J. McGivney, at the age of twenty-nine,
called his first meeting in the basement of Saint Mary’s
Church in New Haven, he wanted to form a fraternal society
among Catholic men ―to aid each other in time of sickness; to provide
for a decent burial, and to render pecuniary assistance to the
families of deceased members.‖
This was his primary objective. He had a deep concern for
Catholic widows and orphans. When he was only a teenager himself —
the eldest of thirteen children — his father died. He began working as
soon as he graduated from grade school, in a factory. He knew the
terrible hardships that fell on Catholic families when the father died, and
the children had no security.
As soon as the Knights of Columbus were organized, he tried to
affiliate the Knights with a Catholic insurance society in Brooklyn…. It
did not work…. He tried to affiliate the Knights with a Catholic
insurance society in Boston — the Massachusetts Catholic Order of
Foresters…. It did not work…. He took inspiration from the Red
Knights, who were committed to ―extend a helping hand to needy
Brothers, and to assist them in the time of sickness and death‖. All
of the founding members of the Knights of Columbus, except Father
McGivney himself and another priest, were Red Knights. The first
Supreme Knight of the Knights of Columbus was the former Supreme
Knight of the Red Knights…. Michael McGivney and the first founders
of the Knights of Columbus decided to set up a purely original insurance
organization.
293
The Gentle Warrior
George Willmann — who appreciated the troubled thoughts, the
deep compassionate feelings, and the grim determined objectives of
Father McGivney — wanted to follow in his footsteps. He wanted to
set up a fraternal insurance association. He wanted this association to
be carefully organized, to be disciplined, to be orderly, to be efficient –
but above all he wanted it to be a real help to the struggling fathers of
Filipino families, who joined it.
He became the Territorial Deputy of the Philippines, with
authority to appoint District Deputies, on March 1, 1954. He was the
representative of the Supreme Council in the Philippines, the highest
authority of the Philippine Jurisdiction. He was in charge of all the
Councils, and of all the Centers, in the country.
Luke Hart — who was the good friend of Father William, and
Supreme Knight at that time — explains the appointment very simply:
―Soon after the three new Councils were instituted in
the Philippines, Father Willmann asked for permission
to institute others. At almost every meeting of the
Supreme Board, since that time, he has presented
similar requests. All were granted. In every instance,
the result has been a gratifying advancement of the
Order, not only in Councils and in membership, but in
influence and accomplishment. Because of this, Father
Willmann was given the title and position of Territorial
Deputy.‖
When George Willmann joined the Knights, in 1938, there was
one single lonely Council, with headquarters in Manila. When they
made him Territorial Deputy, sixteen years later, there were forty
Councils. One year and nine months later, there were 79 Councils.
George created more Districts. By 1958 there were twenty-nine
Districts. In 1960 there were thirty-eight Districts. In 1961 there were
forty-one Districts. In 1963 there were sixty Districts. In 1964 there
were sixty five Districts. George encouraged District and Regional
Conferences, and then instituted an annual meeting of all the District
Deputies. The District Deputies of Luzon met in Manila on May 19
294
Command Responsibility
and 20, in 1956; the District Deputies of the Visayas and Mindanao met
in Cebu, on May 26 and 27. George was present at all the meetings of
the District Deputies. The growth of the Knights, in sheer numbers,
was incredible. But the thing that amazed George — the thing for
which he thanked God on his knees, every morning — was this: the
spirit of the Knights was superb! They enjoyed each other’s company;
they enjoyed meeting together; they liked what they were doing; each
new Council not only followed dutifully in the footsteps of previous
Councils, they were constantly coming up with something new, suited to
their own local needs, meeting local problems.
George could not introduce the insurance program of the
Knights of Columbus into the Philippines, because that was expressly
forbidden when the American Knights set up their first Council in
Manila, in January of 1905. It was clean and clear in the authorization:
Manila was to be an ―Associate Council‖! This meant: ―No
Insurance!‖ Two explicit reasons were given for this:
1. The great distance between New Haven and Manila.
2. The difference in the currencies of the United States and the
Philippines.
It was felt that these two things were “insurance hazards‖. If
the Knights were going to introduce an insurance program into the
Philippines, it would have to be all their own, completely independent of
the insurance program of the Knights in New Haven.
George Willmann did not pride himself on knowing anything
about insurance. But he did know the difference between a peso and a
centavo; he did have some experience in managing money; he did
understand the perils and the opportunities of investments in the
Philippines; he understood the importance of clean, clear, disciplined,
orderly accounting; and above all he recognized the need of the Filipino
Knights for financial security.
He decided to introduce a local
insurance system for the Knights in the Philippines. He knew that he
had many Filipino Knights who were brilliant in economics, and in
finance. He put out a call for help, and the Knights rallied around.
295
The Gentle Warrior
Knowledge of insurance, George knew, was tricky. He knew
this only because of his experience as a priest. A wife had come to him,
in tears, telling him that her husband was infatuated with another
woman. The woman was working in her husband’s office. She said:
―I begged him to fire her! But he refuses! He will not fire her!‖
George talked to the husband, alone. The man said: ―Father, I swear
on the Bible that there is nothing going on between that woman and
me!…. Absolutely nothing!…. My wife is jealous, and wants me to
fire her, but I can not possibly fire her. She is an actuary!….
Actuaries are worth their weight in diamonds! If I fire her, where
will I find another actuary?‖
An actuary is one who calculates the mechanics of insurance
policies. George realized that he had to proceed carefully, and with
caution. He must not slip, and fall in the mud, on this one.
The first official discussions of the feasibility of setting up an
insurance system for the Knights of the Philippines were held in
February of 1958, at the meetings of the District Deputies, in Manila
and in Cebu. He created a ―Special Insurance Committee‖ to study
the project. The Chairman was Roman Mabanta; the members were the
pillars of strength of the Knights in the Philippines: H.B. Reyes, Justo
N. Lopez, Alejandro Tanabe, Homobono Gonzales, Basilio King and
Faustino Reyes.
The Special Insurance Committee studied the project for four
months, from February until July. Then Roman Mabanta wrote to the
Grand Knight of every Council, inviting the Knights ―to participate
actively in the establishment of this System; to contribute at least
P500 each, which will qualify them as founder-members.‖
The response was enthusiastic. Pasay City Council 4267 was
the first Council to have complete coverage. On August 1, 1958, the
Knights of Columbus Fraternal Association of the Philippines was
incorporated and registered with the Securities and Exchange
Commission.
In its Articles of Incorporation, KCFAPI has four objectives:
296
Command Responsibility
1.
To render mutual aid and assistance to
members and beneficiaries of members
for losses and damages arising from injuries
and/or losses of lives and/or properties.
2.
To render mutual aid and assistance to sick,
disabled and needy members and/or immediate
members of their families (wives and
children).
3.
To engage in relief works and to provide for the
economic, social, religious and educational
requirements and needs of the members.
4.
In general, to do such acts and things and to
undertake such activities not otherwise prohibited by
law which are calculated to help the members and
necessary for accomplishment of the purposes for
which the corporation has been formed and
organized.
The Knights of Columbus Fraternal Association of the
Philippines — KCFAPI — received its license from the Office of the
Insurance Commissioner and became operative on September 9, 1958.
Its initial capital was P32,000, P500 each from sixty-four founding
members. It is recognized by the government as a Mutual Benefit
Association, with these distinctions:
1. It is tax exempt.
2. It has an exclusive market.
3. All of its members are co-owners of the company.
Because it is tax exempt, KCFAPI offers insurance at low cost.
It is non-stock. It is open for membership only to the Knights of
Columbus in the Philippines, and to the immediate members of their
families — wives, parents, children. The Founding Members have
voting rights. All the Regular members, who buy insurance, are coowners of the company.
297
The Gentle Warrior
The charter officials of KCFAPI were:





Roman Mabanta, Sr., Trustee-President
Alejandro D. Tanabe, Trustee-Vice President
Carlos E. Santiago, Trustee-Treasurer
Hermenegildo B. Reyes, Trustee
Basilio King, General Manager
Father Willmann said, of Basilio King:
―Basilio has been a member of the Knights of
Columbus for twenty years. When we began to study
the possibility of starting the KC insurance affiliate in
the Philippines, he participated in the discussions most
helpfully. When the organization was started, he was
requested to be the General Manager. This he agreed
to do, but with the condition that he was to receive no
salary or per diem. He continued in this position until
his death. During later years, again the question of
compensation was mentioned. His reply was that if this
was insisted upon, he would resign from the position of
General Manager.
He was largely responsible for the stable and secure
condition of KCFAPI.‖
When Basilio King died, the Knights launched a scholarship
program, in his honor. The efficiency of his management is reflected in
the growth of KCFAPI:
 In 1958, its first year, the number of insurance
certificates was 1,033, with a total face value of
P 2,431,000.
 In 1968, ten years later, there were 7,611 insurance
certificates, with a total face value of P23,199,139.
298
Command Responsibility
 In 1978, there were 17,600 insurance certificates,
with a total face value of P279,234,500.
The present site of the KCFAPI Building, at the corner of
General Luna and Santa Potenciana Streets, George Willmann bought
from the City of Manila, during the term of Mayor Antonio J. Villegas.
The building was blessed in 1972, and dedicated to Father Willmann.
Roman Mabanta, President of KCFAPI, made the dedication, at the
request of all the Knights.
2. The Welfare of the Nation
Oscar Ledesma and Manuel Lim were the heroes of the
Columbian Farmers’ Aid Association.
Before President Ramon
Magsaysay began to campaign for help to the farmer, Manila Council
1000 was offering that help in an orderly, systematized way. The
CFAA started as a social justice committee, ―giving practical
assistance to small farmers throughout the Philippines, who are not
able to help themselves due to lack of educational background, or
because of poverty‖. This help came at exactly the right time. During
those stormy years, the small starving farmers were the prime target of
Communist propaganda.
George himself said: ―More farmers are completely out of the
reach of our government than those who are getting assistance from
it.‖ In August of 1953, he reported to the Supreme Council:
―We have selected one work of social justice upon which
we are trying to concentrate, and that is the formation of
the Columbian Farmers‘ Aid Association, which is an
organization begun under the auspices of Manila
Council 1000, but now under the auspices of all the
Knights of Columbus in the Philippines — a national
organization whose objective is to bring social justice to
the farmers of the Philippines.‖
299
The Gentle Warrior
The Columbian Farmers’ Aid Association had three objectives:
1.
To take such steps as the circumstances may require to
further promote the general welfare of the Filipino
farmers and tenants.
2.
To undertake activities and to help elevate the
condition of the farmers and tenants throughout the
country by increasing their crop yields through
instruction and the proper use of fertilizers, lime,
treatment of soil, the adoption of modern methods of
farming, the use of irrigation and diversification of
crops.
3.
To solicit and receive donations of real and personal
property for the purpose of carrying out the purposes
aforementioned; and generally to do and perform all
acts and things reasonably necessary and proper for
the carrying out of the foregoing purposes.
The CFAA Sponsored a national conference on ―Rural
Reconstruction‖ in Manila, in April of 1953.
Every Council and
Center was encouraged to set up a CFAA Committee.
George
travelled north to the vast central plain of Luzon, south to the cane
fields of the Visayas, and down to the mountains of Mindanao — where
the principal problem was transportation, lack of roads. He set up a
central advisory office in Manila, with a national Board of Directors. It
was incorporated as an auxiliary organization of the Knights of
Columbus in the Philippines.
Oscar Ledesma — who was both farmer and business man —
served as the President of the CFAA. He was also the Chairman of the
Senate Committee on Agriculture and Natural Resources. Holding
both positions, he coordinated the activities of the CFAA with the
efforts of the government to help the farmer. Father Willmann served
as Vice President of the CFAA for eleven years, from 1955 to 1966.
300
Command Responsibility
The CFAA made a very strong appeal to the farmers “to help
themselves‖. George said to his national leaders, and to the local
leaders in the rural areas: ―We must convince the barrio folk that too
much reliance on government aid is not wise; that it is an affront to
their dignity and is prejudicial to their best interests!‖
Seminars and workshops were organized for farmers,
introducing them to modern trends in farming, teaching scientific
farming methods, proper preparation of the land for planting, proper
selection of seeds, use of fertilizers, proper weeding, control of pests
and diseases. Demonstrations were held to popularize new systems of
rice culture, like ―Masagana‖ and ―Margate‖. They were taught how
to produce their own organic fertilizer, called ―compost‖. To preserve
this knowledge, and to enable the farmers to remember it, pamphlets
were printed and distributed, free. George felt that the pamphlets were
important, and that they should be attractive and understandable to the
farmers, who frequently had stopped schooling in their elementary
grades. In Manila he was the Vice President of APEPCOM, the
Association of Philippine Editors and Publishers of Comics. He used
his knowledge of their appeal to the poor, and his friendship with the
publishers of comics, to make his pamphlets for the farmers a usable,
effective, attractive tool.
With Xavier University in Cagayan de Oro, and with the help of
the great William Masterson, S.J. — who once held the job that George
had, as director of the Jesuits Seminary and Mission Bureau in New
York — he organized: ―Operation Hibok-Hibok‖. It was a three
week crash course in modern trends of farming, given at Mambajao on
Camiguin Island, in the shadow of the active volcano: Hibok-Hibok.
The results of this course were evaluated, scientifically, in a neutral
survey. It showed that positive instruction, and careful training, really
led to self reliance. The CFAA not only taught farming. They taught
the poor in the barrios how to obtain loans from rural banks, or from
farm cooperatives, how to use these loans, and how to pay them back.
They conducted fishing courses for fishermen. Following the
hunger of George Willmann for hands-on training, under real
performance conditions, the fishing courses were conducted on the open
301
The Gentle Warrior
sea, in fishing boats.
In the villages, they taught health care and sanitation. Wives and
mothers were taught elementary medicine. They organized medical
missions in areas where there were no hospitals, no doctors, no nurses.
They organized surgical missions, operating on the poor in field
hospitals, with volunteer surgeons from the big hospitals in Manila.
They ran free dental clinics, using a mobile van. The doctors were
grateful to George, for giving them this opportunity. One of them said
to George: ―You know — after working with the poor for five full
days, eighteen hours a day, I am physically exhausted. But I really
feel good! For the first time, I feel that I really am a doctor! I am
really a help to people!‖
In every safari into the plains and mountains, or to the white
sand on the seashore, George brought his Mass kit, his stole, and a
battery of catechists to teach the children. The religion classes were
simple. They were not sophisticated. They were grass root level. But
they were always there. George tried to bring God into the rice fields,
into the fishing boat, into the kitchen, into the bamboo homes of the
villagers. When they prayed, at the end of the day — as Horacio de la
Costa said so well — it gave a little glory to their lives, as though they
had been touched by a King.
After eleven years, the Columbian Farmers’ Aid Association was
known throughout the nation. The name disappeared, but the
organizaton did not dissolve. Its activities were expanding so swiftly,
and so well, that it seemed wise to change the name to: ―Knights of
Columbus Community Services‖.
The CFAA was committed to helping small farmers, who could
not be reached by the government. The KCCS tried to help both rural
and urban communities; it was concerned with the poor, wherever they
were.
In its Articles of Incorporation, these were the official objectives
of the Knights of Columbus Community Services:
302
Command Responsibility
1.
To encourage Knights of Columbus Councils in
the Philippines to undertake projects which will
serve and promote the welfare of the rural
and urban communities, with special emphasis
on assistance to the underprivileged. Self-help
projects are especially recommended.
2.
To serve its members as an exchange center of
information and ideas, which will ameliorate
and uplift conditions in the various communities
of the Philippines.
3.
As far as its resources permit, to cooperate with
the various agencies of the government, which
are engaged in the material and social uplift of
the masses, and to coordinate with other
associations, especially Catholic groups, working
under the Hierarchy.
In all of its projects, the KCCS concentrated on teaching the
poor to help themselves. In this, it was exactly like the Columbian
Farmers’ Aid Association. It extended this action to the cities and
towns. And it made an honest effort to cooperate with the government.
Oscar Ledesma, who had been President of the Columbian
Farmers’ Aid Association, became the President of the Knights of
Columbus Community Services. Father George Willmann was Vice
President. Francisco G. Tantoco, Jr. was the Executive Secretary for
ten years, from 1964 to 1974. Each Council was urged to do on the
local level what had been done on the national level — to change the
name of the CFAA Committee to the KCCS Committee, and to accept
the two new directions: work with the urban poor, and cooperation
with the government agencies which were supposed to work with the
poor.
There was a quiet genius in this. Oscar Ledesma was a driving
force in the government. The Vice President, Fernando Lopez, wanted
the welfare work of the government to be effective. When the Knights
303
The GentleWarrior
joined forces with the government, they had much more intimate
knowledge of the problems of the poor, more funds, and more
authority. It was a brilliant application of George’s principle: ―Don‘t
care who gets the credit! Work with anybody who is trying to do the
same kind of good that you are trying to do!‖
The KCCS encouraged the Knights to invest in local industries,
and to cooperate with the Bureau of Agricultural Extension, with the
Bureau of Plant Industry, with the Bureau of Fisheries, and with the
Bureau of Forestry.
In the national Convention of 1962, the culminating resolution
urged ―that the Knights of Columbus Councils seriously consider the
establishment of credit unions, cooperatives, cottage industries and
other self-help projects in their respective communities, in order to
help in the uplifting of the living conditions of the masses.‖ In 1966
the KCCS exhorted all the Councils to rally behind the ―Anti-Poverty
Program‖ of the Catholic Church, which involved all the parishes in the
country.
The KCCS adopted the principle that self-sufficiency in food
was necessary for the betterment of the masses. In 1966 Father
Willmann was appointed to the national ―Freedom From Hunger
Committee‖. The appointment was made by Fernando Lopez, who
was the National Chairman of ―Freedom From Hunger‖. Fernando
Lopez was then Vice President of the Philippines.
The theme of the National Convention in 1967 was: ―The
Knights of Columbus and the Upliftment of the Masses‖. The
Keynote Speaker was Fernando Lopez, who was not only Vice
President of the country, but also Secretary of Agriculture and Natural
Resources.
In 1973 the theme of the National Convention was:
―Focus on food — Food for the Body, Food for the Soul.‖
Father Willmann wrote to Larry Mannion:
―Well, it‘s within this Intramuros section we‘ve built our
Knights of Columbus Clubhouse. Almost surrounding
304
Command Responsibility
us are hundreds of squatter shacks where live the
poorest of the poor.
We have several charitable
projects for giving not only religious and spiritual but
also material aid as far as our means permit.
We‘ve set up a playground with swings, bath for the
little kids, and a sewing room for the ladies, and a tiny
library. Then we have Boy Scout Troops for the little
fellows, basketball leagues for the teenagers, and
softball leagues for the men. Also, there‘s a daily milkfeeding project, and a Saturday afternoon clinic.
At one of these clinic sessions, we discovered many
patients whose marriages have not been canonically
blessed. The women are embarrassed to go into a
church, because they don‘t have a decent dress, and
they do not have any shoes. They wear chinelas. We
are trying hard to validate their marriages, fix up
baptisms, prepare the kids for First Communion, and
give out religious instruction.‖
George really had a deep concern for the poor.
3. Training the Troops
The Knights of Columbus in the Philippines had multiplied like
rabbits. In 1938, when George became the Chaplain of Manila Council
1000, there was one Council in the whole country. In his last year as
Territorial Deputy there were more than four hundred Councils. The
Knights had a building in every city and town. They were a power in
every parish. Every schoolboy recognized the spectacular uniform of
the Knight. They were everywhere.
George knew that mere numbers mean nothing. What touched
him most was the extraordinary spirit of the Knights — their energy,
305
The Gentle Warrior
their cheerfulness, their spontaneous generosity. He did not feel
responsible, either for the numbers, or for the spirit. He felt that the
Order was touched by the grace of God, which ran through the
Philippines like electricity. He felt that the spirit came from the men —
it rose out of the ranks, a strong sense of joy that they had found
something worthwhile, that they were working together for a good
cause, that they were helping people who needed help, that they were
part of an army, that somehow they were soldiers of God.
It was that strong spirit that filled George with quiet pride. It
was the spirit of the men that had to be kept alive, nourished,
strengthened. He wanted that spirit to be institutionalized, built into
the system.
And that needed training — constant training.
He
travelled all over the country, meeting the men, watching with intense
interest the things that they were doing. He felt that if each of these
activities —which were all good — could be made permanent, a part of
the system, the spirit would survive forever.
The most obvious activity was the work of the Knights with
youth. The Knights of Columbus Summer Basketball Tournament was
known in every town. It filled the days of the teen age boys, all
summer long. Their mothers and fathers, and sisters and brothers and
girl friends, all came to watch the games…. George wanted to reach out
to the drop-outs, the ―Out of School Youth‖, the boys who could easily
become juvenile delinquents.
In every Council he promoted the
Squires. He was grateful that some of the Columbian Squires had
introduced marathon races and boxing tournaments. He encouraged
this….. he was grateful when he found so many C.Y.O. units
distributing food to the poor. Whenever this was being done, he tried
to link the C.Y.O. with Catholic Relief Services, so that the boys would
have more to give, and the food would come regularly. He made the
C.Y.O. part of the Asian Youth Institute of the Philippines, and a
member of the World Assembly of Youths. They represented the
Philippines in Ghana, Africa, and in Vietnam, at world conferences….
he encouraged the Boy Scouts, and the Girl Scouts, and the
Squirettes…. Above all, he tried to make sure that they were being
given a strong spiritual foundation.
306
Command Responsibility
George wanted every Council to be conscious of the barrios. He
launched a nation-wide ―K of C Barrio Uplift Program‖. Nicanor
Fuentes — the K of C District Deputy from Pasig, Rizal, and at the
same time the Assistant Director of Planning of the National Economic
Council – said that this program was an excellent scientific approach to
a problem which the Order had been trying to solve for years. Each
Council adopted a barrio, and tried to maintain in that barrio a project
that would teach the people to help themselves. Oscar Ledesma,
President of the Knights of Columbus Community Services, was happy
to make KCCS the principal sponsor of the ―Barrio Uplift Program‖.
He liked the variety of projects that sprang up in this program. He said:
―The different Councils of our Order — located as they are in distant
areas, where people live in diverse conditions — have created projects
of their own particular choice, and of infinite variety, but all with the
same objective: the social and economic good of our people!‖
President Ferdinand E. Marcos wrote to the Supreme Knight
John W. McDevitt, in New Haven: ―The Barrio Uplift Program of the
Knights of Columbus in the Philippines is one of the most advanced
projects of the private sector and indeed blends well with the
government‘s own program in this area.‖ The blending came from
the fact that Nicanor Fuentes and Oscar Ledesma, both driving forces in
the government program, were also Knights of Columbus.
Father Willmann instituted May 15 as the ―Day of the Farmer‖
— ―Araw ng Magsasaka‖ —for all the Philippine Knights. It is the
feast day of San Isidro Labrador, the Patron Saint of Farmers.
The National Cottage Industry and Development Authority —
NACIDA — provided training for the livelihood projects of the Knights,
not only in the barrios, but also in the towns. They trained in
handicrafts like sewing, bag making, furniture making. The Knights
themselves built shops for wood working, kitchens for the preparation
of food, and a shop for blind workers who made doormats.
What Oscar Ledesma said was true: the work of the Knights in
the barrios was of infinite variety, but all the Knights were of one mind
and of one heart — they wanted to help the poor.
307
The Gentle Warrior
George promoted Credit Unions, and Consumers’ Cooperatives.
But he wanted to be sure that these were fully understood, and properly
implemented. So he composed, printed and distributed pamphlets that
were idiot proof.
―We began to help in the promotion of credit unions
and cooperatives. In order to educate our people,
we prepared four different pamphlets:




The Credit Union
Cooperative Principles
Study — the Foundation of Cooperative Success
The Credit Union or Money Miracle
About 125,000 copies were printed and distributed, at
that time.‖
The full-time organizer of credit unions, for the Knights of
Columbus, was Augusto Mier. He set up and supervized 250 credit
unions in various parts of the Philippines — Batangas, Tabuk in
Kalinga-Apayao, Pasig in Rizal, Nueva Ecija, Laguna, Negros, Surigao.
And the Knights gave financial help to the Federation of Free Farmers
to enable them to establish their own credit unions. In 1964, Francisco
Tantoco, Jr., Executive Secretary of Community Services, announced
that this year would be ―The Year of the Credit Union‖ and ―The Year
of the Consumers‘ Cooperative‖. By that time Augusto Mier had set
up credit unions in Lipa, Sorsogon, Borongan, Antique, Ilolilo,
Tuguegarao and Laoag. The apostolate of the credit union and the
apostolate of the consumers’ cooperative, was really nation wide.
In the campaign against Communism, George Willmann
prepared, printed and distributed 230,000 pamphlets! He wanted to be
sure that, when the Knights spoke about Communism, they knew what
they were talking about!
George set up a Legal Assistance Center for Indigents. It
was sponsored by Community Services. This was to protect the poor
308
Command Responsibility
farmers in Mindanao who were losing their ancestral lands to strangers
who came to them from the north, armed with documents from Manila.
The stranger would say: ―This document proves that this land is
mine!‖ The farmer would protest: ―But my father worked this land,
and my grandfather and my great grandfather!‖ The stranger holds
up the document. And the farmer can not read. And he has no money
to pay a lawyer…. The legal assistance center of the Knights was an
effort at restoring justice, and it was a blessing to the destitute poor.
Taking their lead from what George was doing in Manila, the
Knights in almost all the Councils were maintaining free medical clinics.
The Catholic Church was sponsoring a ―Free Medical Clinics
Program‖. Father Willmann was so deeply involved in this that in
1961 he became the National President of the ―Free Medical Clinics
Program‖, for the whole country. This is an excellent example of the
way George worked. The Knights were working earnestly for the poor,
as an integral part of a national program, directed by the Catholic
Church. And the national director, for the Church, was George
Willmann.
Who was also the Territorial Deputy for the Knights.
There was complete harmony in this work, which involved the Church,
the State, Catholic Relief Services, and the Knights of Columbus. The
unifying factor was this quiet unassuming gentle priest who was Vice
President of the national organization of the Catholic Church for six
years, before he became the President. He was so weighted with
experience that all the other leaders of Church, State, and the Knights of
Columbus, accepted his decisions without questioning.
It was typical of Father Willmann that an important component
of the medical missions to the countryside was the health information
campaign. The people in the barrios were taught sanitation, nutrition,
and basic health care.
At the National Convention in Davao, in 1969, graced by the
attendance of His Eminence Julio Cardinal Rosales of Cebu, the Knights
launched a nation wide project to assist prisoners. Whenever he
spoke about this, George mentioned that he himself was an
alumnus of the national penitentiary at Muntinglupa, where he lived in
309
The Gentle Warrior
Cell Block Number Four. This was his home for a full month, after the
liberation of the civilian internees from the prison camp at Los Baños.
His Excellency Carmine Rocco, Apostolic Nuncio to the
Philippines, said of this program to assist prisoners:
―It is to the credit of the Knights of Columbus in the
Philippines that they have responded courageously and
generously to this challenge. Many projects have been
started, under their initiative, to help our less fortunate
brethren.
Their latest project concerns the welfare of prisoners.
They have found means to assist these unfortunate
members of society not only during the period of their
detention, but also in view of their eventual
rehabilitation, in order that they could become useful
citizens again.‖
The Knights of Columbus Philippine Foundation, under Roman
Mabanta, Sr. as President, was organized to undertake relief activities.
Their stated objective was broader than that. It was ―to undertake any
charitable, relief, educational and social welfare activities‖. But the
real purpose was to be ready to come to the aid of disaster victims, at all
times. They were like the firemen of the Knights, always on duty,
sleeping with their clothes on. They went into action when the floods
came, when the typhoons struck, when the fire wiped out the whole
town, when the earthquake left the city in ruins. Instead of hurrying and
scurrying to muster aid, they were ready to meet the disaster, before the
disaster happened. George liked to be prepared for everything. All
relief was channelled through his office. It was a wise move. He
coordinated relief to the boat people who landed in Palawan from
Vietnam, and to the people who lost their homes in the eruption of
volcanoes. He supervised the donation of blood to the Philippine
National Red Cross.
The Knights gave willingly, and without
complaint — their time, their talent, their treasure, and their blood.
310
Command Responsibility
During Operation Quick Count, in 1961, twelve out of fifty
Provincial Coordinators were Knights of Columbus. The Knights did
not take a stand, as a body, for or against any particular candidate or
any particular party, but they adopted the policy of the Church:
vigilance, at all times, in the agonizing effort to insure honest elections.
In 1969, the Knights of Columbus Community Services was part
of the National Movement for a Non-Partisan Constitutional
Convention. This Movement had three objectives:
1. Equitable representation of the people in the
Constitutional Convention, on the basis of
population.
2. Impartial Board of Canvassers.
3.
Resignation of appointive and elective officials from
public office who file their certificate of candidacy
as delegates to the Constitutional Convention.
Of 320 elected delegates to the Constitutional Convention, 40
were Knights of Columbus. George issued a monthly newsletter called
the ―Knight Owl‖, to cover Council activities against graft and
corruption.
The Knights were campaigning against the problem of pollution,
as a by-product of industrial progress, in 1973. They were deeply
involved in the preservation of our environment, long before it became a
common popular concern. In 1975 George launched a ―Conservation
Education Project‖.
His stated objective was ―to create and
encourage an awareness among our people of the need for wise use
and proper management of those resources of our country upon
which our lives and welfare depend.‖ He held a nation wide photo
contest on environment ―to focus the attention of our people on the
need to conserve our dwindling natural resources and to combat
pollution of all kinds.‖
311
The Gentle Warrior
The Knights went at ―Community Service‖ with a will, and with
imagination. Some Councils installed traffic lights all over the town,
for safety, for order, and to save time. Some Councils installed street
lights, so that students would be safe, coming home from night classes,
in the dark. One Council instituted ―Operation Vigilance” — teams of
Knights patrolling the streets at night, to prevent theft and robbery.
One Council installed sanitary toilets in every house of a poverty
stricken barrio. Another Council contributed to the salaries of the local
fire department. All the Councils were vigorously Pro-Life.
Probably the most unusual and unexpected activity of the
Knights in the Philippines was this: they reached out, in friendship, to
the Freemasons! Pope Leo XIII denounced Freemasonry in 1884. For
almost a hundred years, Catholics and Masons were enemies. But in
1967, in the United States, K of C Supreme Knight McDevitt met with
the top leader of the Masons — Sovereign Grand Commander of the
Northern Jurisdiction of the Scottish Rite of Freemasonry, George M.
Newbury. They agreed to cooperate in a constructive effort toward the
promotion
of
―patriotism….good
citizenship….respect
for
constitutional authority, law and order….responsible leadership in
the democratic way of life.‖
In the Philippines, it began with two golfers. They were friends.
And it just happened that one was a Knight, and the other was a Mason.
The Knight was Doctor Faustino F. Turla of Capitol Council 3695, and
the Mason was ―Illustrious Pat Gonzales of the Luzon Bodies,
Ancient and Accepted Scottish Rite‖. On the first tee of the golf
course, the titles did not seem to make much difference. The real
differences — there on the course, in the sunlight, with the smell of the
grass and the light wind blowing — were only the swing on the drive,
and the accuracy of the putt on the green.
These two friends thought of organizing a golf match between
the two organizations. A joint committee was created. They planned
and managed a one-day golf tournament between the two fraternal
organizations. After the tournament, there was a fellowship banquet,
―to raise funds for charity‖. Walking down the fairway, and over
black coffee, there did not seem to be much difference between the
312
Command Responsibility
Knights and the Masons. The Knights discovered that — at least to
many of the Filipino Masons — Freemasonry was only a social club, a
business club, a friendly club, very much like the Rotary and the Lions.
If there was any dark plot to destroy the Catholic Church, deep in the
historical roots of Masonry, these Filipino Masons had never been
introduced to it.
A second golf tournament, and fellowship banquet, was held the
next year. In 1970, a Ladies’ Bowling Tournament was organized,
between the Daughters of Isabella and the Ladies of the Order of the
Eastern Star. Talking together, over the Coca Cola, while waiting for
their turn to bowl, the wives of the Knights and the wives of the Masons
found that they had much in common. They had exactly the same
problems!
In 1971, there were bowling and tennis tournaments for the
adults, and a basketball match between the Columbian Squires and the
teenagers of the Loyalty Chapter, Order of Demolay. After the game,
many of the players became friends. They introduced each other to
their families. They did not hold a fellowship banquet, but they invited
each other to their teenage parties. The spirit was much like the spirit
of the canteens that George ran, during the war. They did not argue
with each other about theology. They were just young boys, enjoying
each other’s company. They were good friends.
Fred Uy of the Knights of Columbus approached Joe Abejo,
accompanist of the choir of the Scottish Rite Chorale, about the
feasibility of a joint concert. A joint Planning and Coordinating
Committee representing the two fraternal societies presented
―Fellowship '72‖.
At Philamlife Auditorium in Manila the choral
group of the Knights of Columbus and the Daughters of Isabella sang
with the Masonic Scottish Rite Chorale and the Ladies of Melody of the
Eastern Star . The proceeds were donated to the National Mental
Hospital, to the Quezon City Jail, to the Masonic Ward for Crippled
Children, and to the Home for the Aged.
The second choral concert was held in 1973. It was called:
―Alay Kalayaan”, and it featured Filipino songs, composed by
313
The Gentle Warrior
Filipinos. The proceeds were given to Ephpheta, to the Farmers’
Assistance Program, to the Home for the Aged, and to the Mindanao
Refugees.
This spirit of fraternalism between the Knights and the Masons
spread throughout the country. It did not solve any of the deep
historical differences between the two organizations. But it was a small
step toward peace, rather than war.
At this time the country was under martial law. After George
had heard the confession of an innocent little girl, eight years old, about
to make her First Holy Communion, the child said to him: Father,
could I ask you a question?‖ George felt completely competent to
answer the question of an eight year old. He said: ―Sure!‖ The little
girl studied him for a moment, and then said, slowly and carefully:
―Father….do….you…hate….Marcos?‖
George swallowed. This was a painful question to answer, in
those days.
He coughed, and blew his nose, and then said:
―Well….you should not hate anybody.‖ The child accepted this,
eagerly. She said: ―Yes! That‘s true! We should not hate anybody
— should we? Even if they don‘t do everything right!‖ Her father
had suffered much from martial law, and at home he was saying very
harsh things about the dictator, and about the dictatorship. The little
girl was frightened at this, because the Benedictine nun in her school
had told all the children that they must not hate anyone! They must love
everyone, even if they don’t do everything right!
George accepted this, completely, because it came right out of
the gospel. He never complained of martial law. He wrote to his
family: ―We are suffering inconvenience. You could hardly call it
hardship…. Martial law is a burden to many…. But I can see the
reasons for it.‖
In all areas of conflict, George reacted in that same way. He
went for peace, and not for war.
When he was discussing the friendship between the Knights and
the Masons, the golf tournaments, the bowling, the tennis, the
314
Command Responsibility
basketball, the choral concerts, he said: ―It is a laudable example of
men and women working together, for a good and worthy cause.‖
George wanted to be friends with everyone. Even with the
Japanese, during the Occupation. Even with the guards, in the prison
camp. He wanted to fight his wars with the weapon of the Gospel.
The weapon of the Gospel is love.
4. Strength of Soul
George Willmann did not want his Knights to be ascetical
mystics. He did not want them to be monks of the desert. But he did
want them to be good husbands, good fathers, good Catholic men. The
spirituality that he promoted was extremely simple. As he said to Terry
Barcelon, S.J.: ―The ten commandments….Going to Mass on
Sunday.‖ He wanted the men to be close to God, in a practical way.
Oscar Ledesma started a move, among the Knights, for practical
positive help to the parish priest. He suggested that the Knights
volunteer to take up the collection, at Sunday Masses, because the
Knights had dignity and prestige in the community, and this would
inspire the congregation to be more generous in the collection.
The Knights, in almost every Council, were very visible to the
parishioners. They were readers at the daily Masses. They were lay
ministers, distributing Holy Communion at the crowded Masses on
Sunday. They volunteered, personally, to clean the grounds around the
parish church, to repair the fences, to organize the activities of the
Parish Council.
The Pastors of the parishes appreciated this, and so did the
Bishops.
Archbishop Jose Maria Cuenco, of Iloilo, thanked the
Knights ―for spreading the gospel, and reforming the masses, and
fighting the battles of the Lord‖. He said that ―the influence of the
Knights as lay apostles is often greater than the clergy. You are in
315
The Gentle Warrior
contact with people whom the priests can not reach.‖ This referred
especially to the charitable work, being done by all the Councils, for the
poor.
The Knights stood up publicly, in support of the Bishops,
whenever civic action was necessary for the welfare of the Church. The
Bishops’ Conference — which was known at that time as the Catholic
Welfare Organization — proposed a constitutional amendment on
religious instruction in the public schools. Led by Ramon F. Campos,
Master of the Fourth Degree, the Knights backed this amendment to the
hilt, in the newspapers, over radio, in public addresses, in seminars
organized precisely for this. The proposed amendment read:
―In the public schools, religion shall — at the option of
a parent or guardian — be taught to his child or ward,
as a required subject in the curriculum.
The option shall be expressed in writing which shall be
filed with the head of the school. Instruction in
religion shall be under the responsibility and direct
control of the priest, minister or rabbi of the town or
locality where the public school is situated, and such
priest, minister or rabbi shall teach religion in person or
through a teacher or teachers designated by him;
provided that religious instruction shall at all times be
under the administrative supervision of the authorities
of the public school concerned.‖
In 1959 the Knights supported Archbishop Juan C. Sison,
President of the Catholic Welfare Organization, in his opposition to the
bill introduced in Congress for the compulsory nationalization of all
schools in the Philippines. This was the stand of the Philippine Catholic
Hierarchy on that bill:
―If nationalization of schools is imposed on us by law,
many of our Catholic schools will suffer. In those
places where there is still a scarcity of Filipino priests,
our parochial schools are directed by foreign
316
Command Responsibility
missionaries. They are meeting financial difficulties in
the maintenance of their schools. If they are made to
engage the services of Filipino lay directors, many of
these schools will be forced to close for lack of funds. It
is also hard to persuade our Filipino teachers to teach
in those remote, almost inaccessible, places of our
missions.
The Catholic Church believes that Catholic education
of the youth is an essential part of her life. To force
her to close many of her schools by legislation is to do
her a great harm.‖
The Knights wrote a letter of protest to the President of the
Philippines, asking for the removal of a Professor from the University of
the Philippines, because he was teaching a Godless philosophy. The
Knights — many of them expert lawyers — said: ―This is a violation
of our Constitution, which recognizes the existence of God.‖
In cooperation with the East Asian Pastoral Institute, the
Knights published ―The Spark‖. It was a catechetical and liturgical
magazine, published every two weeks, to guide KC Chaplains in
instructing members who might still need religious instruction. It was
used by the Knights to teach religion to their own children at home, and
by their catechists when they gave catechetical instruction in public and
private schools. This teaching of catechism was a universal concern of
the Knights. In 1966 they held a Regional Convention in Cagayan de
Oro, on the ―Lay Apostolate‖.
Some Knights taught catechism,
personally. All of the Councils sponsored catechists, who taught the
poor.
Spiritual retreats were organized, by the Knights, for students,
professionals, married couples, policemen, firemen, business men. They
promoted the Cursillo, and took active roles in it, as rectors, staff, and
auxiliaries. They ran Bible study groups and were active in Father
Patrick Peyton’s ―Family Rosary Crusade‖. They printed posters and
set up billboards in prominent places, saying: ―The family that prays
together stays together!‖ They distributed copies of the ―Golden
317
The Gentle Warrior
Code‖, which was composed, personally, by Father Willmann as one of
the Directors of the Association of Publishers and Editors of Philippine
Comics. In every apostolate, the Knights tried to keep both feet on the
ground. The spiritual activities which they promoted were all ―doable‖, all reasonably attractive to simple folk, and all answering the felt
needs of the people. They tried not to waste motion or money. They
invested in things that the Filipino knew, loved, and wanted.
Father Willmann studied each apostolate, and — as far as it was
humanly possible — he backed the apostolate personally. On the
Lenten campaign of the Church for the poor, he wrote to all the
Councils:
―The Catholic Bishops‘ Conference of the Philippines
has embarked on a nationwide program of
Evangelization and Sharing for human development
during Lent of this year, under the name Alay Kapwa.
Alay Kapwa means an offering or sacrifice for our
fellowman and neighbour. It is being translated into a
Lenten Action Program which calls for an
intensification of all our activities in the field of social
action and charity.
Alay Kapwa is in accord with the highest objectives. We
are greatly pleased to endorse this Lenten Action
Program and we hereby urge all our Knights of
Columbus to support it.‖
Father Willmann started a Fund for Seminarians, to provide
tuition for boys who wanted to become priests, and who had talent, but
no money. The Councils followed this lead. They had drives for
vocations. They contributed to seminary buildings. They sponsored
the education of individual seminarians — each Council in its own
diocese.
The last message of Father Willmann to all the Knights in the
Philippines, written on July 1, 1977, just six weeks before he died,
―From the Desk of the Philippine Deputy”, was this:
318
Command Responsibility
―This year, while we are not forgetting our community
projects, we would like to emphasize once again the
religious and spiritual program of the Order, including
the promotion of priestly vocations.
In our preoccupation with nation building through
economic development, and its concomitant material
activities, we are prone to forget the purely spiritual —
‗Unless the Lord build the house, they labor in vain
who build it‘.
A program for religious revival accompanied by
intensive prayer, a return to morality, through religious
instruction or catechetics, should be our priority this
year and should continue indefinitely.‖
George believed that the power of the Knights came from the
spirit. He said this many times and in many ways: ―There is more to
the Knights of Columbus than money and finance.‖ He
communicated this belief not only by what he said, but by what he did,
and by what he was. He himself was immersed in a thousand different
activities. People wondered how he could do it. They wondered why
he did not break down.
Other priests did break down. A brilliant young La Salette
priest, Bob Garon, who was extremely successful as a television
personality, and doing very good work against drug addiction with an
organization called DARE, quite suddenly gave up. He left his
religious order, left the priesthood, and married.
A sympathetic
admirer wrote to him, much later: ―I can see that a warm, emotional,
sensitive character like you really needed human love. You needed a
wife, and a home, and a family.‖ Bob Garon replied at once, in a
published article: "No! I did not leave the priesthood to marry! I left
because I was burned out!‖
Then he described his life as a priest, starting long before
daybreak. The daily strain of counselling drug addicts….Appearing on
television when he was physically exhausted and had no time to
319
The Gentle Warrior
prepare… Making decisions on finance for a rehabilitation center….
Making decisions on staff workers, on policies, on what to do with
individual patients…. Talking to people on the phone…. Trying to write
detailed reports when people kept coming into his office, giving him no
time to think…. Writing articles for newspapers and magazines in the
middle of the night, splashing his face with cold water, drinking black
coffee…. Trying to pray…. Trying to counsel young religious…. Trying
to persuade his Superiors that his work was really worthwhile….
Stopped by people in need on his way to Mass….People waiting for him
in the sacristy after Mass…. People talking to him at breakfast….
People waiting in his office, four deep, five deep, six deep…. And no
hope that this would ever end. He said: ―I just couldn‘t do it
anymore. I just couldn‘t do it.‖
This happens to the zealous priest. A young Jesuit priest came
to work with Father Willmann just before the war, and during the
Japanese Occupation — Ernest P. Hartnett, S.J. As a Scholastic in
regency, Hartnett was an inspiration to the students. He taught at Saint
Peter’s Prep in Jersey City. He was teaching Latin, Greek, and English.
And Religion. He was in charge of the school canteen, and of the
Book Store. He was the Director of Dramatics, the Coach of the
Debating Society, the Moderator of the Monthly Magazine, and the
Moderator of the Year Book. It was a boys’ school, and he knew each
boy by name. He was positive, always. He never said a negative word.
He worked night and day, and the students loved him.
In the Philippines, as a young priest, he was assigned to the
Culion Leper Colony. He did splendid work there. The spirit with
which he worked is shown in this incident, which happened while he
was in Culion. Another young Jesuit priest came to the colony, hoping
that he would work there permanently. But when this priest saw his
first leper, he became physically sick. This is not unusual. It happened
to Robert Louis Stevenson, who was a tough sailor. The visiting Jesuit
wanted to return to Manila, at once, but the boat only touched at Culion
every two weeks. So the visitor stayed in the convento, waiting for the
boat to return. One morning the visitor was in the convento alone, and
a phone call came from the hospital. An old leper was dying. Could a
priest come and anoint him? The visitor wanted to go, but he could
320
Command Responsibility
not force himself to go out the door. When Father Hartnett returned to
the convento, hours later, the visitor told him about the phone call.
Father Hartnett ran the whole distance from the convento to the
hospital, at top speed. It was more than a mile. But when he arrived
at the men’s ward, the poor old leper was dead.
He liked the work of George Willmann in Manila. He was
brought up from Culion, and assigned to help George, in the early days
of the war. He liked working with boys — he was constantly refereeing
basketball games on the court of Santa Rita Hall. He worked with
George, taking care of the pigs. He went to the poor with a will,
bringing food, taking care of them while they were sick. He was a
father and a friend to the refugees…. The fact is, he seemed to have the
spirit of Father Willmann. He bore the sun in the streets of Manila. He
grew as thin as George, and thinner. He worked night and day, as
George worked night and day.
When George was interned in the prison camp, somehow, Father
Hartnett was not interned with him. The Jesuits in Barracks 19, in
Vatican City, were guessing that the Japanese took Hartnett for a
Spaniard. George never saw him again.
But when the war was over, George learned that Father Hartnett
was in the United States, at Monroe, in New York State. Monroe was
the home of the Jesuits in the New York Province for those who were
mentally ill. The friends of George told him: ―Ernie has become a
recluse. He doesn‘t want to be with people. He does not come to
meals with the community. In fact, you rarely see him! He is
always disappearing around a corner, or vanishing into the woods.
He has withdrawn from people.‖
The diagnosis of George — which was only a guess — was this:
Ernie Hartnett was a sensitive soul. He was probably too sensitive to
survive in this world. He was hurt too badly, and too often. He
withdrew from people. He withdrew from the world.
People wondered why something like this did not happen to
George Willmann. He was doing much more than Bob Garon ever did.
321
The Gentle Warrior
His days were just as full, just as hectic. But George always came home
smiling, with great peace of soul. He never burned out. He did speak
of his ―candle burning at both ends‖ but always, with him, ―it gave a
lovely light!‖. He seemed to grow stronger, in his mind and heart, with
the years! Like Ben Hur pulling the great oar in the hold of the ship as a
galley slave, ―what weakened others made him strong!‖
George was just as sensitive as Father Hartnett. He really loved
the boys with whom he worked.
He loved the poor. He was
surrounded by squalor, and by abject poverty, and by suffering — just
as much as Ernie was. He worked just as hard, and harder. Why did
he not break down? Ernie had a tremendous sense of responsibility, but
so did George! Whenever he became involved in work with people
who needed him, Ernie carried the world on his shoulders — he felt
responsible for everything. But so did George!….What sustained
George?
Saint Ignatius Loyola is always misquoted. He had an axiom,
which editors print again and again, this way:
―Pray as if everything depended upon God….
But then work as if everything depended upon you!‖
They print it that way, because that is an attitude which they can
understand. It is a good old pagan philosophy: ―Pray as if God
were going to help you, but never depend upon God. Do it yourself!‖
Ignatius Loyola never said that. He was a soldier, a warrior, a
leader of men — but he was also a mystic. What he said was:
―Pray as if everything depended on you
— knowing that of your own strength you can
not do it —
But work as if everything depended upon God
— knowing that, if you do your best,
God will take care of the outcome.‖
322
Command Responsibility
That is the way George worked. He prayed with all his heart,
knowing that he could not possibly do it by himself. But then he
worked with great good cheer, smiling, confident that God would take
care of the outcome.
Some of the Saints are accused of using ―God will provide‖ as
an excuse for their lack of planning. George did not do that. He
planned carefully. He estimated the odds before he went into battle, as
the Gospel says we should do. But once he was engaged in battle, he
was the laughing warrior. He was a joy to all the other Knights,
because he was sure that God was on their side. ―And if God is with
you, who can be against you?‖
The body of George grew thin with the years, and his bones
grew brittle.
His eyesight dimmed a little, and sometimes he had
trouble hearing. But his spirit stayed strong until the end.
He was strong, with the strength of God.
*
*
*
323
*
*
CHAPTER NINE
Good Night, Sweet Prince…
1. The Last Mission
F
ather Willmann celebrated his eightieth birthday on June
29, 1977. Greetings poured in, from the Councils of the
Knights of Columbus. From Laoag. From Zamboanga.
From Borongan in Samar. From Bangued in Abra. From
Cotabato. From Palo in Leyte. From Jolo. From Baguio. From
Calbayog.
From Surigao. From Vigan. From Isabela. From
Bacolod. From Cebu. From Malolos. From Ozamiz. From Tawi
Tawi. From Baler. From Lipa. From Sorsogon. From Tacloban.
From Davao. From Puerto Princesa in Palawan. From Batanes. From
450 Councils! Representing 30,000 Knights!
And congratulations from all of the Bishops, most of whom
were Knights, themselves Cardinal Sin, who was his good friend.
Bishop Gaviola, who worked with him among the squatters. Bishop
Labayen, who was so deeply involved in Social Action. Bishop Lino
Gonzaga, the scholar. Bishop de Wit, who was six feet six inches tall,
and was called ―the High Priest‖ of Antique, the sacada Bishop.
And then from the organizations with which he worked — from
the Ambassador of the United States to the Philippines, because of his
work with the U.S.O. Ambassador William McCormick Blair, Jr. had
given him the U.S.O.’s 25th anniversary award for ―distinguished
services to the men and women of America‘s armed forces‖.
Ambassador William H. Sullivan had inaugurated the new headquarters
of the U.S.O. at the Knights of Columbus building in Intramuros. From
the Association of Philippine Editors and Publishers of Comic
Magazines. From Boys Town. From Girls Haven. From the Red
324
Good night, sweet Prince…
Cross. From the Community Chest. From the Mayor and the
Employees of the City Hall. From the Free Medical Clinics, the
Patronatos. From the Department of Agriculture, for his work with the
farmers. From the Department of Social Welfare. From Malacañang,
on the Presidential stationery.
President Ferdinand E. Marcos had given him an unusual
birthday present two years before, in 1975. It was Presidential Decree
Number 740, granting him Filipino Citizenship. That decree was
hanging on the wall of his office:
―WHEREAS, Rev. Fr. George J. Willmann, S.J., a
citizen of
the United States of America, has
continuously resided in the Philippines since 1936 and
during such period has shared with Filipinos their
ideals and aspirations and dedicated his life in social
work and humanitarian service to the Filipino people;
WHEREAS, by virtue of his long and invaluable
services as officer of the Knights of Columbus to the
moral, spiritual and material growth of the Philippines,
George J. Willmann has proven himself worthy of all
the rights, privileges and prerogatives of a citizen of this
country; and
WHEREAS, Rev. Fr. George J. Willmann has
manifested his desire to make the Philippines his
permanent home and become a Philippine citizen;
NOW, THEREFORE, I, Ferdinand E. Marcos,
President of the Philippines, by virtue of the powers
vested in me by the Constitution, do hereby order and
grant Philippine citizenship to Rev. Fr. George J.
Willmann, with all the rights, privileges and
prerogatives appurtenant thereto.
This Decree shall take effect immediately.
325
The Gentle Warrior
DONE in the City of Manila, this 1st day of July, in the
Year of Our Lord, nineteen hundred and seventy-five.
Ferdinand E. Marcos
President of the Philippines‖
There were also greetings from his family in the United States.
From Sister Agnes. From Sister Ruth. From Dorothy. From Miki.
From the children of Miki — Jim and Mary Ruth. From the four
children of Mary Ruth. From Bill and Martha. And from his army of
friends in the United States and in the Philippines. From the employees
of the Knights in their national headquarters in Intramuros — all of
whom he knew by name.
And then, from His Holiness Pope Paul VI in the Vatican, the
award ―Pro Ecclesia et Pontifice‖ — for distinguished service to the
Church, to the Holy Father, and to the children of God.
There had been some trouble among the Knights, years before.
There was a move to make the position of Philippine Deputy elective.
This move was not backed by any strong element of the Philippine
Jurisdiction. It was instigated by a Knight who himself wanted to
become the Philippine Deputy. Many of the Knights, who knew him,
said openly — and in letters to the Supreme Council in New Haven —
that they thought he was a cheap politician, that he was thoroughly
dishonest, and that he should be expelled from the Order. George
himself — who was really very humble, but also very wise, and honest
— felt that the man would not make a good Deputy. He wrote to John
W. McDevitt, the Supreme Knight at that time:
―About my resigning or retiring, I am, of course,
entirely at your disposition.
But from present
indications, I still have some years of health left in me,
and our Jesuit Father Provincial seems quite willing
that I continue in the work, if your office wishes me to
do so.‖
326
Good night, sweet Prince…
Supreme Knight John V. McDevitt wrote to him: ―I note that
this project — that the Philippine Deputy be elected by the delegates
in convention assembled — is conditioned on either your resignation
or retirement. I suppose in Christian charity you should refrain
from passing to your Maker.‖
George wrote to Luke E. Hart, when Hart was Supreme Knight:
―I have repeatedly discussed privately with some of our
best Filipino members and also publicly at meetings of
District Deputies the advisability of requesting from
your office the permission to establish a State Council
here, with the consequent election of a State Deputy.
The unanimous and emphatic advice given to me on
this score was that, for the present at least, it would not
be a wise thing to do.
Imperfect as the activities of the Philippine Jurisdiction
have been under my direction, my co-workers tell me
that the situation might deteriorate and not improve
under an elective State Deputy. Especially they seem to
be afraid of the maneuvering and jockeying for office
under such circumstances.
However, if your good self or the Board of Directors
ever want that step to be taken, just say the word.‖
Luke Hart wrote back to George:
―Thank you for naming possible successors to take
your place, but I trust that will be a long, long time in
the future.
I have been privileged to be associated with some
wonderful men in the work of our Order and without
any thought of flattery, I say frankly and in all
sincerity, that you are the equal of any of them.‖
John McDevitt wrote:
327
The Gentle Warrior
―I hope that you will arrange to be at the Supreme
Council meeting, and that you will not allow anyone to
come as your substitute. There are some reasons for
this which I would be glad to discuss with you when I
see you.‖
George reported the whole affair to the Jesuit Provincial of the
Society of Jesus in the Philippines, Father Francis X. Clark, S.J. Father
Clark wrote to him:
―Upon my arrival yesterday from Cagayan, I found
your report awaiting me. Thank you very much for
such a thorough report of the various activities of which
you have charge. I was very much consoled and
surprised at how much you have been able to do
through these activities for the Church and for the
Society in the Philippines. God grant that your work
may continue to flourish as it has.
My attention was especially called to the copy of your
letter to Mr. Luke Hart regarding your possible
successor as Territorial Deputy, and to the response
from Mr. Hart himself. Personally, I do not think that
you should resign from the position, while God gives
you the necessary health and strength. Repeating what
Mr. Hart himself said, you are accomplishing so much
with your prudent and efficient management of the
Knights of Columbus in the Philippines; and I entirely
agree with his evaluation of your services to the
Knights.
Again thanking you very much for the very thorough
report and hoping that it did not take too much of your
time.
Sincerely in Corde Jesu,
Francis X. Clark, S.J.‖
328
Good night, sweet Prince…
When this crisis about electing a Deputy had passed, George did
tender his resignation, and Oscar Ledesma was named as his successor,
but Oscar begged George to remain in office, at least for some
time. George was still in full command, exercising authority,
when he celebrated his eightieth birthday in 1977.
His last mission to the United States of America took place in
this year, 1977, just after his birthday. Sister Ruth describes it this way:
―Under the Philippine Military, under martial law, a
new ruling demanded an exorbitant financial backing
for insurance companies. This applied to the Knights
of Columbus. Father Willmann was urged to use his
influence at the coming convention in Indianapolis,
Indiana, in August.
Although he had desired
retirement for years, had submitted his resignation, and
had nominated three potential successors, no one had
actually replaced him. The Knights begged him to
perform this last service for the people of the
Philippines. He agreed to go.‖
George was willing to retire, not because he felt he could not do
the job, and not because he wanted a rest from work, but because — at
the age of eighty — he thought that others might be able to do the job
better. That is why he said: ―I thank God that, despite my years,
people still tolerate my efforts to help a little, here and there.‖
No one really wanted to step into the shoes of George, but he
himself knew that he was not operating on all eight cylinders. The falls
that happened to him disconcerted him, a little. He wrote to Miki:
―I might do something weird. Such as I did a month
ago. I had a crazy little accident and fractured or
dislocated the bones in my shoulder and perhaps in the
elbow, too. The weird happening was that I started
walking in my sleep and the nurse found me parading
in the hospital corridor. Due to what? I think the
doctor had given me something to lull the pain.
329
The Gentle Warrior
Anyway, it was the hospital nurses who were shocked
more than my old self. And now, thank God, the arm is
much better!‖
He wrote to his good friend Charlie:
―Why didn‘t I write? Am lazy, I guess. And I haven‘t
even a third rate stenographer to help me, most of the
time.
Even this note, I‘m poking away at the
typewriter, using my good left hand and a pencil in the
crippled right hand.‖
Whenever George went home to the United States, it always
caused a flurry of correspondence between him and all the members of
his family. He wanted to see each one, but he did not want to be a
bother, or an inconvenience.
He would send them his itinerary,
accurate to the day, the hour and the minute. And the family would
plan where to go, and how to group themselves, so that he would be
able to visit everybody.
He wrote to Bill and Martha:
―I just received your letter, Martha, in which you told
me about Elsie‘s misfortune.
You said that she had a mild stroke and a broken hip
caused in a fall. But you added that the doctors are not
sure whether the stroke caused the fall or the fall
caused the stroke. In any case, we offer earnest prayers
that she may recover soon.
Because of your extra difficulty with Elsie‘s misfortune,
I beg you not to worry too much about my own plans.
Of course, I do want to see you and Bill and Elsie but in
a way that would not inconvenience anyone.
With much love,
George‖
330
Good night, sweet Prince…
Bill was his half brother. Elsie was his father’s second wife. But
George was more concerned about them than he was about himself.
He was dead serious about this. Two weeks after his first letter, he
wrote a second:
―If it is convenient to you, I would like to stop over in
Los Angeles for a day or two before going on to the K of
C Convention. Would that be agreeable to you? Of
course I am looking forward with much pleasure to
seeing you all again. But please do be frank and tell
me if it is not convenient, especially with Elsie‘s
sickness. I can imagine that you have many unexpected
complications. So again, please tell me frankly if it is
not convenient.
Perhaps then, if I do not see you on my way East, I
could see you later on my way back — which will
probably be about early September.
With much love,
George‖
He kept his priorities, even with his family, whom he loved so
much. He wanted to see Dorothy, who needed him. But he did not
want this to interfere with his primary purpose in coming to the United
States — the K of C Convention, and the job he had to do there. He
wrote to Dorothy as gently as he could:
―I hope not to have too hectic a schedule just before the
convention, so that an old fellow like myself will be as
fresh as possible for those important days.
With best love and prayers,
George‖
At the meeting of the Supreme Council — on the afternoon of
Wednesday, August 17, 1977, in the Hilton Hotel at Indianapolis,
Indiana — Supreme Knight Virgil C. Dechant introduced George
331
The Gentle Warrior
Willmann. Virgil Dechant remembered George, vividly. A few years
before he had refused a proposal of Philippine Knights, and his reasons
for refusing were all financial. It was at that time, and to Virgil
Dechant, that Father Willmann said: ―Young man, there is much
more to the Knights of Columbus than money or finances.‖ Virgil
Dechant remembered this, for years. He spoke of it when he came
to the Philippines with John Paul II for World Youth Day, in 1995. He
remembered the words of George twenty years after they were spoken.
Standing on the stage in the great ballroom of the Hilton Hotel
in Indianapolis, facing the leaders of the Knights of Columbus from all
over the United States, Virgil Dechant said:
―This past June, Father Willmann celebrated his 80th
birthday. The Philippines has over 450 councils, with a
membership in excess of 30,000. On June 29, every
Council had a Mass in his honor and all participants
offered up their Mass for his intention. The Supreme
Officers at New Haven arranged to have a Mass
celebrated at Saint Mary‘s Church in New Haven, the
birthplace of the Order, at 10:00 a.m. on that day. In
addition, the Board of Directors forwarded 75,000 pesos
to the Philippines to be used to establish a Father
Willmann Seminary Burse. Father Willmann is so
much a part of the Order, not only in the Philippines,
that I think it would be appropriate for all of us to hear
from him now. May I present, Father Willmann.‖
Sister Ruth says: ―As at several conventions previously, he
shuffled up to the stage, a skeleton of a man, erect, feeling his way,
acknowledging the standing ovation tendered to him…. In his strong,
booming, musical voice, he addressed them: ‗Fellow Knights, it was
through a Knight of the Catholic Church that I chose to be a priest,
to devote my life to helping all in need. So I appeal to you for help
in our need….‘‖
In that talk, George told the story of the Knight of Saint
Gregory, whom he knew on Wall Street, who encouraged him to
332
Good night, sweet Prince…
become a Chaplain of the Knights of Columbus. He told of his
interview with Supreme Knight Flaherty in 1925, when he asked for a
second Council in the Philippines. And the effort in 1945, when he tried
again — this time as a Knight himself. Then how Luke Hart interceded
for the Philippines in 1947. “And now, with the blessings of God, we
have over 400 Councils.‖
He spoke of two considerable differences between the Knights in
the Philippines and the Knights in the United States: the Filipino
Knights had a monthly Corporate Mass and Communion, and the
Knights in the Philippines were a mandated Catholic organization of
Catholic Action, the right arm of the Hierarchy.
He thanked the
Knights ―for your great help to me personally, and most of all, for all
you have done for the Philippines.‖
The assembly gave him a standing ovation as he moved off the
stage, down the steps, and through the center aisle to his seat in the
ballroom, the Convention Hall. The American Knights, standing up
from their chairs, and applauding, did not know that they were giving a
magnificent despedida to a man who was going home to God in exactly
four weeks. But they did know that they were cheering for the spirit of
Father McGivney, which was incarnate in this man.
What George himself wrote of Father Michael J. McGivney, the
founder of the Knights, was a precise description of George’s own life.
In April of 1953, for the Philippine National Columbian Conference in
Manila, George wrote this of Father McGivney:
―With self-sacrificing zeal he worked out, with the small
group associated with him, details of organization for
this new Catholic society; he calmed their fears; he
exhorted them to patience and he travelled the length
and breadth of Connecticut to sell the gospel of
Columbianism. He drove his frail frame to the point of
exhaustion and to the grave because of devotion to this
new group which his vision saw would expand
nationally, at least in its great campaign of charity. He
breathed into the Order a burning desire to be an
agency of Catholic Action through the years and the
333
The Gentle Warrior
yearning restlessness to find new field of activity to
serve God, to save Country and to spread Church.
Priestly charity, kindness to the sick and unfortunate,
inspiration for young and old, wise guidance of
children, tenacity of purpose are the characteristics
which are recalled of Father McGivney‘s priesthood.
He was a good priest who was known for his
exceptional charity; he was a hard working priest, even
though not of robust health, and by his kindliness he
was enabled to get along well with men and to persuade
as well as inspire them to carry out plans he conceived.
In the Providence of God he was to be the chosen
instrument to found the great agency of Catholic
Action, the Knights of Columbus.‖
The applause subsided, and George settled down in his chair.
He took a deep breath. It was not all over yet, but he knew that he
would be able to write to the Knights in Manila:
―Mission accomplished.
With love
George‖
2. The Thief in the Night
George was very conscious of Death. The presence of Death
was a reality to him. He knew that Death was always a shock. Always
a surprise. He knew that — even when God gives signs that Death is
coming — when Death actually strikes, it is always like a thief in the
night.
On March 26, 1974, he wrote to Dorothy:
―Last night about 9:00, my dear Jesuit Brother and
friend, Father Jim Moran, died after an illness of only
two or three hours. He entered the Jesuit Order just a
year after my entrance and was born about nine months
after I saw the light of day in Brooklyn. He was a
334
Good night, sweet Prince…
Boston man.
He had suffered at least two serious heart attacks the
past years and was quite careful about climbing stairs
and straining himself in other ways. But another attack
hit him about 6:00 last evening and he breathed his
last, apparently, in the ambulance that was taking him
to the hospital about 9:00. He was a devoted and
dedicated priest. May he rest in peace!‖
On April 20, 1974, he wrote to Sister Ruth:
―Do you remember, about eight years ago, you and
Sister Agnes borrowed the convent station wagon and
drove me over to Melrose, Massachusetts, to visit the
Doucette family? We had very pleasant hours with
them. If I recall, Mrs. Doucette was 90 years old, and
Alma, the daughter, and a son, entertained us. Mrs.
Doucette, as I recall, insisted on us exploring their nice
little garden, including a treasured pear tree. You, with
your fabulous memory and tons of energy, held the
rostrum for much of the time.
Well, the Jesuit son, Father Bernard Doucette, died last
Tuesday morning after a long distressing illness of
about five years. He was partly paralyzed or crippled
most of the time, somewhat passive but not
unconscious.
He had been one of the scientists at the Manila
Observatory most of his life, specifically in Seismology.
Of course, the Observatory Fathers took excellent care
of him during his long, long illness.
Last Sunday, I visited him and he gave us some little
signs of recognition. But we felt he was declining
although not at all sure that the end would come so
soon. He was about 78 years old.
Another old-timer Jesuit by name of Father James
335
The Gentle Warrior
Moran had gone to heaven just about two weeks before,
on March 25 to be precise.
He was also a
contemporary. He entered the seminary a year after
myself and had celebrated his 76th birthday on March
24, just a day before he died. On the 25th, he had not
come to supper and about 7:30 p.m. requested Holy
Communion. In fact all the sacraments of the sick were
given to him while he was perfectly conscious, and he
was dead within two hours. His illness was mercifully
brief. Although he had two or three heart attacks during
the last 10 or 20 years.‖
On the same day, April 20, 1974, George wrote to Sister Agnes:
―About two months ago, one of our Jesuit Brothers, Brother Dio,
also passed away. Thus, during the last two months, we have lost
three of our dear old Jesuits — septuagenarians all. Brother Dio was
78; Father Moran 76; and Father Doucette 78.‖
On February 7, 1975, George wrote to Dorothy about five more
Jesuit deaths. Five deaths in one letter!
―As you remember, our winter usually lasts from
November to February but is never very cold. But this
year has been even milder with scarcely more than a
slight shiver in the early mornings. However, the
weather does not always agree with the Jesuits, I guess.
Within the past six weeks, we‘ve had five deaths among
our Province members. Four Americans and one
Filipino.
The Filipino was my dear, old friend, Father Edralin,
the only really old member of the group that died. He
was just a couple of years older than I and a marvelous
apostle. He had first been ordained as a secular priest
and, during my years as a Scholastic, I heard of his fire
and zeal in the Northern Province of Luzon.
336
Good night, sweet Prince…
The other four were Fathers Miller, Collins, McCarron
and Mitchell. They were more or less in the 55 to 60
age bracket. Father Collins came from Brooklyn and
was a classmate, I think, of Father Harry Boyle. His
mission was in the mountains of Mindanao. Father
Miller was a scientist in the Manila Observatory.
Father McCarron was a schoolman in the Ateneos.
And Father Mitchell, also a schoolman, in the Ateneos
of Mindanao, met a tragic death last Monday in a plane
crash. A Philippine Air Lines plane crashed and
burned just a few moments after taking off from the
Manila Airport. As far as I can remember, there has
never been such a number of deaths, so close to each
other, in the Philippine Province of the Society of
Jesus. Thank God I have been feeling well, and able to
help a little in various projects.‖
When Mrs. Lorenza A. Dalupan, Territorial Deputy of the
Daughters of Isabella, died, George wrote to Miki:
―One of my most capable and esteemed co-workers died
ten days ago. A wonderful little lady who weighed
about ninety pounds, and National Head of the
Daughters of Isabella in the Philippines.
Active in other organizations too, of a wealthy family,
and nationally esteemed, she was very humble and a
wonderfully gracious person. Her husband founded the
University of the East here in Manila and built it up
from zero to a vast enterprise of 65,000 students. In her
quiet way she helped him effectively in that tremendous
achievement.
Of course, I visited her a number of times in the
hospital, including the evening she died. She was 78
years of age and, apart from some trouble with the
heart, the doctors found she had a malignant
abdominal tumor. I had thought that she would last
337
The Gentle Warrior
a few days, or at least a few hours, but the report is that
apparently pneumonia had hastened her death. As I
heard directly that pneumonia is often a post-operative
development due perhaps to the reaction upon the lungs
of strong anesthesia.
I am the National Chaplain of the Daughters of
Isabella and with those ladies, and with other
Chaplains, we will miss her very much.‖
The Willmann family, of course, took death in stride. Ruth, the
baby, the little sister, the compassionate one, the brilliant one, was the
sister who was closest to Ed. When Ed died, her letter to George was
not only cheerful, it was ecstatic:
―I think Ed is the happy one, now! Think of stepping
on the shore, and finding it Heaven!…. of taking hold
of a Hand, and finding it God‘s Hand!…. of breathing
a new air, and finding it celestial air! …. of feeling
invigorated and finding Immortality!…. of passing
from storm and tempest to an unknown calm…. of
waking, and in an ecstasy of joy, finding ourselves in
the loving embrace of Jesus…. To be united forever
with our dear departed ones, mother and father and
sister and brother, whom we have loved and cherished
during life.‖
The irreverent Jesuits, with whom George lived, did not express
it so beautifully. They said it this way:
―Working for God is hard, but the retirement plan is out
of this world!‖
The fall came suddenly, unexpectedly, after the Convention of
the Knights of Columbus, when George was in his own native city of
New York. His bones were brittle, and he broke his hip. He submitted
to the necessary surgery, though he was suffering from low blood
338
Good night, sweet Prince…
sugar and from poor blood platelets. In the hospital, deprivation of his
medicines for Parkinson’s resulted for a time in loss of intelligible
speech. Without his friends, or his sisters, to interpret, he found it hard
to make his needs known. But he recovered enough to be moved to
Murray Weigel — the Jesuit home for the sick, of the New York
Province, located within the campus of Fordham University, in the
Bronx.
On September 8, 1977 — the birthday of the Blessed Virgin
Mary — Father Gerard E. Braun, S.J., who was the Director of the
Jesuit Seminary and Mission Burueau, which George Willmann founded
as a young priest in New York in 1930, wrote to the Provincial Superior
of the Philippines, Father Joaquin Bernas:
―Yesterday George Willmann was transferred by
ambulance from Saint Francis Hospital in Roslyn,
Long Island, to Murray-Weigel Hall, the New York
Province Infirmary. There, under the care of George
Butler, he will convalesce, we hope.
It was thanks to the intervention of the New York
Provincial, Father Eamon Taylor, that George was
brought to Murray-Weigel Hall. I was afraid that the
facilities were over-crowded, and that George might not
be able to get in. The alternative would have had to be
a nursing home, for the kind of care George will need
for the next six months, before he will once again be
able to function normally, or at least so we hope.
His sister, Sister Ruth, was not so optimistic about his
complete recovery, and feared that he might never be
able to return to the Philippines. Perhaps his
companions, Isagani Tolentino and Cornelio
Cagurangan, may be able to fill you in on the details of
his current condition. Isagani has already returned to
Intramuros , and Cornelio will soon be following.
Incidentally, the Knights of Columbus have been most
solicitous and generous in their help. Much credit
339
The Gentle Warrior
must go to Father Harry Boyle, Minister of the Retreat
House at Inisfada, who managed all the details of
George‘s care, visited him regularly in the hospital, and
arranged for his transfer; he accompanied him by car
along with Sister Ruth and Cornelio.
I will be holding George‘s Passport and return plane
ticket, pending the resolution of his recovery. Your
cablegram arrived and was sent on to George. Not
only has he managed from his bed to send me a letter
of instructions, but he also called me on the phone!
Sister Ruth has kept us very well informed of his
condition. At 80, and with both Parkinson‘s Disease
and osteoporosis, his prospects are not too bright. So
don‘t become too optimistic about his recovery. We‘ll
keep you informed.‖
George slipped away quietly, on the late afternoon of
Wednesday, September 14, 1977, while the doctor, who was visiting
him, was standing at his bedside. It was not dramatic. There were no
beautiful last words. He just went home to God.
It was General McArthur who made famous that old song from
West Point:
―Old soldiers never die —
They just fade away.‖
Gerry Braun wrote to Cornelio Cagurangan: ―He was a
fighter…. He had a strong will to live…. But the accumulation of his
maladies was just too much for his debilitated, human frame!‖
The phone call from Father George Butler, that Father Willmann
was gone, came as a complete surprise to the Jesuit community at
Fordham, to the Jesuits in the Philippines, and to the Knights. Death did
not come like a thief in the night. Death came to George in the late
afternoon. He left this world in the beautiful glow of evening. He went
340
Good night, sweet Prince…
out into the sunset.
He went quietly home to God.
3. The Warrior’s Return
The New York Province of the Society of Jesus planned to have
the funeral at Saint Ignatius Church on Park Avenue, and the burial in
New York City, but the Knights of Columbus in the Philippines begged
that the body should be sent home to Manila. They gave two reasons
for this: George had worked for almost his whole life as a priest, for
forty years, in the Philippines, among the Filipino people whom he
loved; and he had become a Philippine citizen. The Jesuits in New
York and in Manila agreed to this. The Knights of New Haven
shouldered all the expenses. They made all the arrangements, carefully,
together with Father Gerry Braun and with Father Harry Boyle.
Father Harry Boyle was the son of Harry Boyle, Sr., the old
friend of George on Wall Street, who introduced him to the study of
accounting, and led him through the labyrinthine ways of managing
money. George never seemed to lose a friend. His friendships ran from
father to son, from generation to generation.
Gerry Braun, as the Director of the Jesuit Seminary and Mission
Bureau, sent out a press release:
―Father George J. Willmann, S.J. died at the age of 80
at Murray-Weigel Hall, Fordham University, on
Wednesday, September 14th, after a brief illness. He
was the Philippine National Deputy of the Knights of
Columbus since 1938. He first went to the Philippines
in 1922. The funeral Mass will be at Saint Ignatius
Church, Park Avenue and 84th Street, on Friday
evening at 7:30 p.m., September 16th. The body will be
returned to the Philippines. A Memorial Mass will be
offered in the Manila Cathedral, with Cardinal Jaime
Sin presiding. Burial will be in the Jesuit cemetery at
Novaliches, Quezon City.‖
341
The Gentle Warrior
The body of George was flown to the Philippines.
Father
Joaquin G. Bernas, S.J., Provincial Superior of the Jesuits in the
Philippines at that time, wrote to Virgil Dechant, Supreme Knight in
New Haven, ―to thank the Knights of Columbus of the United States
for all the gracious things you have done for our departed Father
George.‖ His letter mirrored the sadness and pain of the friends of
George in Manila, but it also vividly portrayed the strong, cheerful,
military spirit of the Knights:
―We feared, of course, when we heard he had a fall,
that he might not be able to recover. But we were
comforted by the news of his release from the hospital
and his recuperating at our Jesuit residence. The news
of his death was a final blow to our faint hope that he
might still be able to continue his work for the Knights
here in the Philippines. However, the sorrow that we
felt about his passing away outside the Philippines has
been mitigated by the understanding and generosity you
showed in effecting his return here.
Father George‘s return to the Philippines was a
homecoming! He had become a Filipino citizen. It
would have saddened the thousands of Knights in the
Philippines if he had been buried elsewhere. We
sincerely thank you, therefore, for all the arrangements
and the expense involved in sending Father George
back to us.‖
The body of Father Willmann arrived at the airport in Manila in
the early morning of Monday, September 19. He was met at the airport
by a sea of Filipino Knights. There was a government inspection, which
was required by law, and then the body was brought in solemn
procession to the Manila Cathedral, down Roxas Boulevard, by Manila
Bay, with the Knights on guard beside the body. It was reminiscent of
Rome. The Roman mother said to her son: ―Come home with your
shield — or on it.‖ George came home on his shield. He died in
action, in line of duty. He died on a mission for the Knights.
The body was placed in the center aisle of the Manila Cathedral,
in front of the high altar. The Knights, in full regalia, stood guard for
342
Good night, sweet Prince…
forty-eight hours, changing the guard at intervals.
There was a concelebrated Mass each evening, attended by the
Knights, and by their families. On the evening of Tuesday, September
20, there was a necrological service after the Mass. Cardinal Sin spoke
for the Church. The Mayor of Manila, Ramon Bagatsing, spoke for the
State. Oscar Ledesma spoke for the Knights of Columbus. Father
Francis X. Clark, S.J. spoke for the Society of Jesus. Mrs. Remedios
Mijares Austria represented the Daughters of Isabella. They all said
beautiful things about George.
For two full days the Knights stood guard, while the people of
Manila — rich men, poor men, beggar men, thieves, politicians, business
men, housewives, young teenage athletes, secretaries, guards, janitors,
children who had just made their First Communion — filed by, to look
at the face of this man, whom they loved.
His face was peaceful, completely peaceful. He was smiling —
the quiet smile which all of them knew. His eyes were closed. They did
not see the bright light in them, like blue gems, looking at them when
they came to him. They knew that he was with his friends — with John
F. Hurley, with Mickey Keane…Russell Sullivan….Francis Dowling
Burns….Vince Kennally….Heinie Greer….Old Joe Mulry….the
laughing warriors… The brave men… The good men.. The men of God.
George was with them, now.
4. Memories of a Man
During those days, when the body of Father Willmann was lying
in the coffin, in the center aisle of the Manila Cathedral, and while the
Knights were standing guard, many telegrams came, and many letters,
and wonderful things were said about Father Willmann.
Almost all of the Councils made resolutions. The resolutions
were couched in legal language, but even through the legal language
you could feel the heartache of the men who made these resolutions.
343
The Gentle Warrior
KNIGHTS OF COLUMBUS IN THE PHILIPPINES
Council Number 3938 Dumaguete City
Resolution of condolence on the demise of Philippine
Deputy Reverend Father George J. Willmann, and
an appreciation of his great deeds and exemplary
Christian Life
(Adopted by the Knights of Columbus,
Council Number 3938, at their Special Meeting
on September 19, 1977)
WHEREAS, the late Reverend Father George
J. Willmann, in his great love for the Philippines and in
his ardent desire to stay for good, eventually, was
granted Filipino citizenship in 1975;
WHEREAS, as a missionary priest dedicated to the
ideals and principles of his Order, he had served the
Filipino people in various capacities as a teacher, an
educator, a friend, and guidance counselor of the
youth, and until his death as Philippine Deputy of the
Knights of Columbus for almost forty years;
WHEREAS,
through
dedicated
service
and
perseverance, he had accomplished a phenomenal and
unparalleled feat of directing the growth of the Knights
of Columbus in the Philippines — an increase of more
than a hundredfold within a period of 30 years;
WHEREAS, his demise is an irreparable loss to the
Knights of Columbus in the Philippines, especially the
Knights of Council 3938 who revered him with love and
respect as their spiritual leader;
WHEREAS, the Knights of Council 3938 in their deep
remorse over the death of the Philipine Deputy could
not help but respite with profound appreciation of his
great deeds and exemplary Christian life….
344
Good night, sweet Prince…
NOW THEREFORE BE IT RESOLVED, as it is hereby
resolved, that the Knights of Columbus of Council 3938
gathered in a special meeting for the purpose, pause to
express their deep sorrow and sublime feeling of
sadness over the demise of their fatherly spiritual
leader, late Reverend Father Willmann;
BE IT FURTHER RESOLVED, that the Knights of
Council 3938 shall always treasure and venerate his
memory with a great desire to be true to his teachings
and principles;
BE IT FURTHER RESOLVED, that the Knights of
Council 3938 express their deep sympathy and heart-felt
condolence with his bereaved family, his religious
Order and the Office of the Philippine Deputy….
Some of the Councils were almost passionate in their
resolutions:
WHEREAS, Father Willmann has spent the best years
of his life in the service of the Knights of Columbus,
and devoted all of his efforts and energy in promoting
and upholding the principles and ideals of the Order,
in an exemplary manner, making possible the
tremendous growth of the Association in this country….
WHEREAS, as a man of God and a plain citizen,
Father Willmann demonstrated his genuine love and
affection for the Philippines and for the Filipinos….
The Knights were deeply impressed by the sheer brutal statistics:
when Father Willmann joined the Knights there were 35 active
members. When he died in New York, 39 years later, there were 457
Councils and 29,408 members.
Father Willmann instituted the Knights of Columbus Fraternal
Association of the Philippines, on September 9, 1958. From an initial
345
The Gentle Warrior
capital of P32,000 — representing the total contributions of 64 founding
members at P500 each — KCFAPI has tremendously grown by yearend 1996 with consolidated assets of 1.2 billion pesos. It has disbursed
429 million pesos in benefits to the K of C members, and to their
families.
As Father Benigno Mayo said so well: Father Willmann was a
miracle worker.
Father Bernas wrote to Cardinal Sin:
―We, Jesuit Brothers of Father Willmann, together with
the Knights of Columbus, are grateful to God for
having known a man so dedicated to his fellowmen.
Many other men would have retired years back, at a
time when Father began to feel more feeble and weak.
But Father Willmann carried on in spite of all his
sicknesses and weaknesses, until the Lord very kindly
took him in the midst of his self-sacrificing service for
others.‖
Cardinal Sin wrote back to Bernas:
―I deemed it an obligation to give him the best which in
my capacity I was able to render to him. I could not do
otherwise. He was indeed a Priest of God, who had
given his best to the Church — in particular to the
Archdiocese of Manila. His apostolate in the Knights of
Columbus can never be appraised. This prestigious
organizaton in the Philippines is his brain-child. He
was instrumental in establishing the Knights of
Columbus in the whole archipelago.
It was my privilege to have him at my beck and call
whenever there were problems in this organization. He
was always ready with a solution.
He is now of greater help in the bosom of the Lord.‖
346
Good night, sweet Prince…
In the United States, Sister Agnes wept — because she had written
a beautiful book about the foundress of her religious congregation, the
Franciscan Missionaries of Mary, but she had never written anything about
her brother.
Sister Ruth wept, because George was gone, and she could not
help him anymore.
Dorothy wept, because she loved him.
At eight o’clock in the morning of Wednesday, September 21, a
concelebrated Mass was held, in the Manila Cathedral. The principal
celebrant was His Eminence Jaime L. Cardinal Sin. Assisting him at the
altar were Father Joaquin G. Bernas, S.J., and Father Francisco
Tantoco, Jr. Concelebrating with them were two Bishops, and forty
priests. The Cardinal gave a simple, strong, touching homily. He
blessed the body. The Knights looked down at the quiet face of Father
Willmann, with his small smile. They had to look through the glass of
the coffin, which was wet with holy water. And the eyes of many —
though they were men, accustomed to emotional control — were wet
with tears.
And then they closed the coffin.
The funeral procession moved across the city….past the
squatters shacks on Commonwealth Avenue… Over La Mesa
Dam….the long narrow road winding its way into the Sacred Heart
Novitiate, with trees standing on both sides, like sentinels….the cracked
cement of the road….the branches of the trees touching each other,
over the winding road, like Knights with their drawn swords held high,
touching each other….the hearse rolling up to the white novitiate….the
young Jesuits all around, only boys, holding candles, singing.
The coffin of Father Willmann in the foyer of the novitiate, the
open space within the building, between the front gate and the residence
of the novices….the front gate was iron, with I H S on it, in metal
letters….the prayers of Father Bernas….Angels of the Lord, come
to meet him…. Angels of the Lord, lead him safely home….the smell of
347
The Gentle Warrior
the incense….the smell of the candles….the sweet smell of the
flowers….so many flowers!
The slow procession moving out of the foyer….out into the
sunlight….around the big white building, on the cement road….past the
laundry, and the basketball court….past the kitchen and the silent
cloisters….and now the long path leading to the little white
cemetery….the crunch of gravel under the feet of the mourners….the
Novices singing ―He will raise you up….He will raise you up….He
will raise you up….on the last day.‖
The iron gate of the tiny little cemetery….the opening of the
crypt into which the body of George was to be placed….the plaques in
the other crypts, where the friends of George were buried…. Horacio de
la Costa….the plaque was still new…..white, with black letters…. Born,
1916….Entered, 1935….Died, March 20, 1977….Only six months
before George, almost to the day…. The murmur of the prayers….The
litanies, the voices coming like waves…. The birds, singing in the
trees….the fluttering leaves…the smell of the incense….the sound of
the coffin, sliding over the stone, into that open crypt….the white slab,
with no name on it, or dates….that would come later….the workmen
adjusting the slab, making it firm with little stones, wedging the stones
around the edges of the slab, with a little hammer….the cement, around
the edges….it took so long….the cement.
In the fifth act of Hamlet, Horatio is touched to the soul. He looks
down at the quiet face of his friend, and says, softly:
―Goodnight, sweet Prince….
May flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!‖
The knights were touched to the soul. But they had no words.
There were no words for this.
George was home, with God.
*
*
* *
348
*