Yes, that is the Hudson – an ode to Uncle Jack

“John, is that the Hudson River?” I heard him ask my father, again. I could hear every member in my immediate family groan in the car. Only it was a silent groan, one in which only people who are very familiar with each other can hear.  For over a hundred miles in our car trip in upstate New York, he had asked if every body of water to the right of the vehicle was the Hudson River.  It didn’t matter that we left the Hudson out of sight for over an hour.

 

“No, that’s a lake,” my father patiently replied.  Only a brief moment of time went by before he asked again.

 

So now the phrase “Is that the Hudson?” is famous in our family. It’s a bond that we share built from a common memory. But along with that familial joke is a shared bond with the man who kept asking: our Uncle Jack.  For now, years later, a phrase bothered us so much in the six hour car ride in upstate New York, is a phrase that lends itself a certain endearment to a man we all loved tremendously.

 

Monsignor John McEneaney was my mother’s uncle. He grew up in Massachusetts, joined the priesthood, and worked out of the Boston Archdiocese.  He was sent to Sioux Falls “on loan” for 18 months in the 1940’s and he stayed in this city until his last day.

 

In the Catholic community in Sioux Falls, Uncle Jack is famous. People know him here, even years after his death.  If you talk to people from the Dakotas, as I spoke to two priests outside of St. Joseph Cathedral in Sioux Falls, everyone knows how devoted he was to the priesthood and to Catholicism.  Since he lived so far away from me, I only got to see him during important family occasions. But every time he was around, you could feel the presence of his warmth. 

 

He had a gentle soul, one that left anyone who met him with no doubt that he cared for everyone and everything he ever met. He treated everyone with respect and love and the kindness that the priesthood should be known for.

 

It could go without saying that Uncle Jack and I saw things differently when it came to me being gay. We rarely talked about it. But even though he had very different views than me, he always treated Marc with the respect and love that I remember him for. While I don’t think he could understand our marriage and our relationship, I know that he understood that Marc made me happy. And he afforded Marc the same deference given to all of the other extended family members.

 

My family always assigned a high amount of respect for Uncle Jack; just as I would imagine any family with a clergy member would.  Even when a lot of my mother’s family moved away from the Church, he still was there as the powerful family force that he was.

 

And so I would occasionally see him in action. As a kid, I saw him marry many of my mother’s siblings and Christen their children. I also remember seeing him, this time as an adult, give a moving, loving, and thought-provoking eulogy at my grandfather’s funeral. He had a way about him.  He always knew what to say – a skill that could only come from a deep wisdom that I can only hope to one day gain.

 

I missed his funeral. Though I heard it was very well attended. After his passing, a group of people got together to create and dedicate a statue in his honor. They erected the statue at O’Gorman High School; a private, Catholic school in which he was heavily involved. A year or so later, they named the football field after him.

 

And so, when we started to plan the trip, I thought I would be able to come here and see Uncle Jack’s statue to say good-bye to him.  I now realize that I don’t have to say good-bye. His statue stands at the entrance of the football field named in his honor. He looks as though he’s welcoming you and cheering you on. And that’s exactly how I will always remember him.