Month: February 2014

Personal Memories of Msgr. Vincent Foy: “Saving St. Michael’s Palace”

The following article was originally published in Emeritus.

Saving St. Michael’s Palace

By Monsignor Vincent Foy

St. Michael’s Palace, the rectory for St. Michael’s Cathedral, has a long and glorious history. That long history nearly came to an end in the spring of 1961. But before speaking of that, I take a brief look at the Palace’s past.

St. Michael’s Palace, as is called, was built at the same time as the Cathedral, but finished before it. It was blessed on December 7th, 1846, and was to be the Episcopal residence, Chancery Office and cathedral rectory. First to move in were Bishop Michael Power and his secretary, Fr. J. J. Hay.

Every bishop or archbishop of Toronto has lived at the Palace, had offices there or dined there. It has been the residence of a long and distinguished list of rectors, from the Very Rev. John Carroll in 1848 to Msgr. S. Bianco as of this writing in 2005. Four rectors became bishops: Very Rev. John Walsh (rector 1861- 1864) later Archbishop of Toronto; Very Rev.John Jamot (rector 1864-1874) later first Bishop of Peterborough, Fr. Martin Johnson (rector 1936-1937) later Archbishop of Vancouver, and Fr. Pearce Lacey (rector 1966-1979) later Auxiliary Bishop of Toronto.

Cardinals, and countless bishops and priests have been Palace guests. Cardinal Mindszenty and his secretary, I recall, dined there shortly before the Cardinal’s arrest and torture. Again, he was a guest after his mass in the cathedral in 1973. In 1951 a guest at the Palace was Msgr. Giovanni Montini, Pro Secretary of State, later Pope Paul VI. I recall that Cardinal McGuigan asked me to show Msgr. Montini around our matrimonial court offices. This I did. I have often said that if I knew he was to become pope I would have offered him coffee and biscuits.

In 1984, after ceremonies in the cathedral, Pope John Paul II was escorted to the Palace. Other distinguished guests were Msgr. Fulton Sheen, later Bishop Sheen and Fr. Patrick Peyton, the “Rosary Priest”, when he was promoting the Family Rosary in Toronto. One late evening he and I sat in the kitchen while he had a bowl of shredded wheat. He had missed his supper. I was much impressed by his humility and dedication. Msgr. Ronan founded St. Michael’s Choir School in the Palace in 1937.

This rather disordered list gives but a glimpse of the ecclesiastical notables who lived or were guests at the Palace. I do not detail the many momentous ecclesial decisions, appointments and sometimes little tragedies that took place within its walls. An interesting note is that in the excellent website for St. Michael’s Cathedral, we learn that St. Michael’s Palace is the oldest building in Toronto still dedicated to its original purpose – rectory of St. Michael’s Cathedral.

My own experience with the Palace began in the summer of 1940. After my first year of studying Canon Law at Laval University in Quebec City I was assigned to work in the Chancery Office as assistant to Msgr. Hugh Callaghan, the Chancellor, and to live at the Palace. I was also to be the notary in the Archdiocesan marriage tribunal. My desk was the end of the large desk of the Chancellor.

My first day at the Palace was the last day of Fr. Gregory Kelly, the rector, just appointed pastor of Our Lady of Lourdes parish. The next day Fr. Alfred McQuillen arrived as rector. The following summer I lived in the Palace as well and on completion of my studies in 1942 lived for most of a year in Blessed Sacrament rectory and went to the Chancery each day by streetcar. In the spring of 1943 I took up residence in the Palace and with the exception of two years spent at Hamilton Mountain San and San Gabriels near Saranac Lake, was there until June of 1966. At that time I held the record for the number of years lived at the Palace, but then Msgr., later Bishop, Thomas Fulton later broke record. In this period, Father Peter Hendriks succeeded Msgr. McQuillen as rector and Msgr. Bernard Kyte, who died in 1966, succeeded him.

It would take a book, as the saying goes, to recount even a portion of the events and changes at the Palace during my time. There was a constant change of faces at the long dining room table, the great majority no longer with us. I recall only two members of the laity invited to the table. About 1943 my cousin Freddy Cartan, about 22 years old and in Air Force uniform, came to say good-bye to me before going overseas. An Air Force friend accompanied him. Archbishop McGuigan saw them and invited them to lunch. About three weeks later Freddy was killed in his first bombing raid over Hamburg. He was the tail-gunner in a Lancaster bomber and although the plane arrived safely in England, Freddy was mortally wounded.

No one appeared at the dining room table except in full clerical dress. To that I remember one exception. Fr. Matt Schnitzler, my mother’s first cousin, ordained about 1913, was the first secular priest of Edmonton Archdiocese. He was a guest at the Palace for a few days in 1948. Once he came down to the dining room wearing slippers and a black shirt over which was a pair of rustic suspenders. He seemed completely unaware of the mild sensation he caused.

Living conditions at the Palace were somewhat primitive compared to today. On the top floor there were three very small rooms and four large ones. Only one of these, Fr. Cantillon’s room, had its own bathroom. The washroom opposite the top of the stairs served six priests. Fr. Cantillon had a phone in his room; the rest of us had the use of a phone in the corridor, near one of the small rooms. We could phone out through the switchboard until 9 p.m. For incoming calls each had his own signal. Mine was one long ring and three short ones. I lived at various times in all three very small rooms. When Fr. Cantillon went to Mercy Hospital, I had the great luxury of occupying his former quarters, replete with phone and bath. Here I once entertained two then good friends, Fr. Alex Carter, Montreal pastor, later Bishop Carter and his younger brother, Canon Emmett Carter. Later Cardinal Carter, then Director of Catechetics in Montreal as I was in Toronto. I recall taking them to a fine dinner at the Ports of Call restaurant on Yonge Street.

In 1957, when I was named Presiding Judge of the Toronto Provincial Matrimonial Tribunal and Domestic Prelate, I was given the two room suite on the second floor facing Church Street and opposite the top of the stairs. I remained in these prestigious accommodations until my departure in 1966.

In 1961, because of his ailing health, Cardinal McGuigan was given a Coadjutor Archbishop in the person of Archbishop Philip Pocock, Archbishop of Winnipeg. Until he could make other arrangements Archbishop Pocock was to live at St. Michael’s Palace, in the visiting bishop’s rooms on the second floor.

The rector, Msgr. Bernard Kyte, decided that the whole Palace should be spruced up in preparation for the arrival of the new guest. My own quarters on the second floor were given wall to wall carpeting. I was given a new reclining chair and other improvements. The walls of the Palace were repainted and even the baseboards were redone, after removal of the old varnishing,

It was my custom, after the morning’s work at the marriage tribunal offices on Bond St., to retire to my quarters at about five minutes to noon to wash up prior to lunch in the Palace dining room.

One morning during the Palace renovations, I climbed the stairs to the second floor and in front of me, just outside my door, white smoke was coming up between the boards, not just in one place, but in several.

I rushed to my phone and called Mary Downey at the switchboard. I said “Mary, call the Fire Department at once; there is a fire up here.” Instead of calling emergency, Mary rushed up the stairs to see what I was talking about. When she saw the smoke she went screaming down the stairs to the front office and put in the call.

Within minutes firemen came up the stairs. It was sloppy spring weather and they came into my room leaving large dirty boot-marks on my new rug. They took axes to the lower wall of my study inside and out and to the corridor floor and turned on the hoses. It was not long before all trace of the fire was extinguished.

What had happened was that a worker on the main floor, using a blowtorch, was burning off the old varnish on the baseboards and a spark had somehow got into the inner space. There is no doubt that in a few more minutes the whole Palace would have gone up in flames. The fire-chief remarked “That was a close one”.

That is the story of why we still have that glorious repository of history and memories called St. Michael’s Palace.

For a printable version of “Saving St. Michael’s Palace” click here.

Personal Memories of Msgr. Vincent Foy: A Vocation Almost Lost

The following article was originally published in Emeritus, Volume 1, Issue 6.

A Vocation Almost Lost

By Monsignor Vincent Foy

Every priest walks a unique path to the altar. Some vocations come late, others early. Here I briefly recount my own providential journey, for which I am eternally grateful.

My hope of becoming a priest began when I was eight years old, in December of 1923. It was on December 22nd of that year, in St. Michael’s Hospital, that my mother gave birth to my sister Doreen, now a retired nurse. Soon after my mother, then 38 years old, grew gravely ill with double pneumonia, and was not expected to live. There were no antibiotics in those days.

As though it were yesterday, I recall our father gathering together my older brother Edward, my younger brother Jack and me, in our parlor. The doctor had told him that it would be most unlikely that mother would last the night and that the children should be prepared. Our father told us that mother was very sick and God might be calling her to heaven and we should be brave.

Shortly afterwards I went into the dining-room, separated from the parlor by sliding doors, and paced up and down, tears streaming down my face. I promised God that if mother lived I would do my best to become a priest. That is not the best way to choose a vocation, but that is the way it was with me.

Remarkably, my mother passed the crisis and next day was considerably better. From that day I never wavered in my hope and resolve. I never told my mother or anyone of my promise. Incidentally, while mother was in hospital, her younger sister, Anna, also in St.Michael’s, died of pneumonia after giving birth to my cousin Barbara. Mother was not told of this until some time after.

It was in 1926 that Fr. James Fullerton, then a curate under Father Cline at Holy Name parish, entered our Junior Fourth classroom and asked my close friend Billy McGuire and me to step into the hall. He told us we were to be altar-severs and would join a group of younger boys the following week to begin learning the Latin and ceremonies. Soon after he dropped into our home at 40 Fulton Ave., and told my mother in my absence that I was to give a talk at the next meeting of the Junior Holy Name Society. The subject was to be: “The Duties of a Priest”. That would be my first speech.

Throughout high-school I was encouraged in what I believed was my vocation by Father Cline, Fr. Fullerton, who would preach at my first Mass and my Silver Jubilee  Mass, Fr. Hodgins, and Fr. Fred McGinn – all great role-models.

In September of 1933, just turned eighteen, I entered St. Augustine’s Seminary. No Xray or doctor’s report was required. Shortly after the Fall retreat, the newcomers lined up on a Thursday morning for a medical check-up. I was behind Albert Goetz from Hamilton. We talked about age and Albert said: “I will never see a quarter of a century again”. I thought to myself:  “They are taking in old men now”.  Conducting the examination was Dr. Brown, the seminary physician, in the presence of Dr. Davis, the Prefect of Discipline. Dr. Brown had been my mother’s doctor when I was born and had brought me into the world at home in 1915. The exam took about one minute. Dr. Brown listened to my heart, thumped me a couple of times on the abdomen and declared me fit.

For the first two years in the seminary my health was good and I took part with exuberance in all the sports: touch football, golfing on the “flats”, handball, hockey, bowling in the gym, and cliff-climbing.  Because I had one weak eye and did not have three-dimensional vision I was always on the “bizz-cat” teams reserved for the poorer players.

Joining our class in September 1934 was Jack Myers. He had been to St. Michael’s College for a year after High School and so was admitted into second year philosophy. We were related. His mother was Kathleen Foy, daughter of George Foy, the wealthy liquor importer, younger brother of Nicholas Foy, my grandfather. All during the 1934-1935 year, Jack sat opposite me in the refectory.

Jack Myers was a fine-looking, polite and always good-humored young man, though quite frail. During the year he had several facial boils, which I was told later were sometimes a sign of early tuberculosis. In any event, during the summer of 1935, he was admitted with tuberculosis to Mountain San in Hamilton, where he spent the next two years; he was unable to return to the seminary. We kept in touch until his death about ten years ago.

In the Fall of 1935 my health deteriorated rapidly. I did not suspect it then, but learned much later that it was my own first bout with tuberculosis. I thought it must be the strain of the rather exacting seminary discipline. Studies were more difficult and my marks took a dip. I was no longer able to enjoy the sports. I remember dragging myself around the chapel dusting the pews when I was on Thursday morning “sacristy duty”. My weight dropped from 150 to 140 lbs. Shortly before our Christmas break of 1935, Msgr. Carroll, the President, called me aside in the corridor. He said  “You are not looking well at all. I am afraid that if you do not pick up we may have to send you home”. To me that was like a stab in the heart, yet I knew I could not continue the way I was.

Shortly after, just before our fifteen-day Christmas break, I packed everything I owned into my trunk and labeled it with my home address of 40 Fulton Ave., Toronto. It was my firm intention to have the trunk sent me during the holiday season and write a letter to Msgr. Carroll saying that my health would not permit me to return.

By God’s merciful will, I felt considerably better during the Christmas break, resting much and eating well. I decided to give the seminary one more try.

Early in January of 1936 I discovered a book which I believe saved my vocation. In those days students were not allowed to visit the reference library on the top floor without the written permission of a professor. We did have a list of books, mostly lives of saints and other spiritual books, available in the students’ library, which was at the north end of the main corridor. We were not permitted to enter it, but the librarian, that year Bill Capron of Ogdensburg, was at the door for a short time on Thursday evenings and would give us the book or books requested. The book that attracted me was entitled “My Water Cure” by Father Sebastian Kneipp, a Bavarian priest. This book was first published in 1886, and became a world-wide best seller.

Father Kneipp, later Msgr. Kneipp, was a pioneer in hydrotherapy. As a  young  man he wanted to become a priest but had a break-down in his health due to consumption. A little book on water therapy changed his life. He regained his health by walking barefoot on the grass in the morning, cold water applications, and wading in streams. After his ordination, when he was a parish priest, he opened a clinic to help others. He became world famous and was even invited to Rome by Pope Leo XIII, who sought his advice. In the eighteen-nineties, so widespread was his fame, that scores of New Yorkers could be seen every morning in Central Park, walking bare-foot on the dewy grass.

Taking Father Kneipp’s advice, I began my own “water cure”. My room that year was on the main floor of the Annex, or Kehoe Hall. Just to the right of the door entering the Annex from the main building was the washroom in which there was one bathtub. Near the end of the long recreation period from 4.00 to 5.30 P.M., I began paddling around in cold water in the tub. I knew the danger of shock from proceeding too quickly. At first I walked in only a thin coating of water and very gradually, as the days and weeks went by, increased the water-depth until I was splashing in water up to my knees and then was even able to enjoy a cold shower. At night I sometimes wore a wet shirt or socks, following Fr. Kneipp’s advice. These were supposed to promote circulation and draw off toxins.

So Fr. Kneipp’s cure became my cure. I became stronger, felt more energy and my marks improved dramatically. I started doing push-ups in the morning until I could do more than 200. Once in the winter, Steve Horvath, Frank Flynn, and I were walking along the shore and I was challenged to get on a small raft. It was given a push and when the water was chest high I fell off and went under in the ice cold water. I walked ashore feeling quite exhilarated and had no bad effects.

Although I never regained the health I had when I entered the seminary, because lung tissue destroyed by tuberculosis is never regained, I passed my last years at St. Augustine’s in reasonably good health. On Saturday June 3rd, 1939, in St. Michael’s Cathedral, together with my classmates, I was able to reply “Adsum”, and became a priest forever.

Five years later, living with a priest who had been released prematurely from a Sanatorium, and still had active tuberculosis, I came down with the disease again. By the time I was diagnosed, there was a cavity in one lung and infection in the other. In those days, a lung cavity was a death warrant, unless the lung could be collapsed by surgery. No water cure could have saved me. I spent nine months at Mountain San in Hamilton, and fifteen months at San Gabriels near Saranac Lake. That is another story.

Personal Memories: Seminary Entertainment in the 1930’s

The following article was originally published in Emeritus, Volume 1, Issue 5.

Seminary Entertainment in the 1930’s

By Monsignor Vincent Foy

It was not all prayer and studies in St. Augustine’s Seminary in the nineteen-thirties. Spirits and the energy level were high. The general atmosphere was of exuberant good will. It is not surprising that there were many expressions of this within the bounds of a rather confining Seminary Rule.

All recreation was communal. Seminarians were not permitted to walk alone except on Retreat. I discovered this in September of 1939 when I dared to walk alone to the Regina Cleri cemetery and was reminded that this was against the Rule. Particular friendships were to be avoided. It was forbidden to have a radio in one’s room. Early in the Fall of 1933, the rector, Father Francis P. Carroll, announced that perhaps a few of the new students were not aware of this strict regulation. He said it was known that two seminarians were in possessions of radios. If they left these outside the door of the Prefect of Discipline that night after night prayers, nothing more would be said. Six radios were left there that night, most of them, I was told, little crystal sets.

Sports, of course, varied with the season. There was baseball, hockey, tennis, handball, bowling in the “gym”, golf on the “flats” above the bluffs, cliff climbing, and hiking along the shore. I recall one important ball game between the seminarians of the China Foreign Seminary and those of St. Augustine’s. Emmett Lacey, with his fast ball, was our pitcher and great hope. For some strange reason I was appointed to be base referee. I have only one good eye, do not have three-dimensional vision, and was no expert on rules. In any case, my first call was to call one of the China players out at first. There was a great hue and cry, laughter and cheers on our side and boos and heated indignation on the other. I was summarily dismissed and so ended my career as a referee.

In the winter of 1933-34, after the Christmas break, in an evening recreation  period from 7.30 to 8.30 P.M., a grand skating costume carnival was held. Imaginations ran riot. There was Percy Johnson in a bathing suit over long underwear with the sign “George Young”, on his back. George Young was the great marathon swimmer of the twenties. Sal Cirivello  was dressed in a “maggie” uniform. Where he got it was a deep mystery. The “maggies “ were the ladies dressed in blue and white uniforms who helped  the Sisters in house-cleaning, looking after the quarters of the Seminary professors. Another participant was a China Mission seminarian, speed-skating, dressed in a nun’s habit, smoking a cigarette. I recall watching Father Carroll, the rector, watching this spectacle in apparent shock. The next evening during the spiritual lecture period, he announced that there would be no more female impersonations in seminary events.

Every year we had one great sports event. I still have in my files the program for the “Tenth Annual Track and Field Meet-Oct. 13, 1937”.  In charge were Roy Monahan and Ray Carpenter.  Assistants were J. Mattice and F. Marrocco (later Bishop Marrocco ). Sixteen events are listed, beginning at 1:15 sharp. Here are a few of the grand events: Foreward passing, sack race, obstacle race, relay race, wheel-barrow race, tug of war, and 440 yard dash. It is difficult to describe the intensity of enthusiasm that greeted these demonstrations of prowess and physical strength and agility.

Theatricals were a regular part of our entertainment. In the early and mid-thirties these took place in the old gym, where there was a dilapidated stage in the south end of the north side. I can still see, through the mists of time, a few cameos of the performances. There was Ray Morrison who did an energetic tap dance. The problem was that the dancing raised such a cloud of dust that he could hardly be seen, resulting in loud and sustained applause. In one presentation, little Joe Welch of Ottawa took the part of the lady known as “Lou” in “The Shooting of Dan McGrew”. In real life he did not smoke, but here he was rouged, puffing away at a cigarette and flashing his eyes. This performance, though it provoked loud laughter, led to a second banning of female impersonations, this time announced by our new President, Msgr. Edward Brennan. Another memory is of Gerry Cochran singing a plaintive “I Need Sympathy”. The loud laughter indicated that everyone agreed with him.

In the mid-thirties we had a much better stage, assembled and taken down after each performance. It was erected at the north end of the refectory. Here we had a grand minstrel show in which I was in the chorus. There were stars like Goetz and Kennedy who put on a hilarious magic act. Here we had a Passion Play, with John Carley as Our Blessed Mother, John Brennan as St. John, and Al DeLuca as a convincing Judas. We also had a fine rendering of “MacBeth” put on by the China Mission seminarians. Two episodes elicited unexpected and loud mirth. One was the scene of the three witches mixing their brew over a great black pot; the other was Lady MacBeth walking through a large window instead of a door. Next evening at spiritual lecture time , Msgr. Brennan  reprimanded us severely for our behaviour, when our guests were trying to elevate our literary tastes. He told us that “The ones who laughed so loudly last night were the very ones who, after they are ordained, will be reading the Saturday Evening Post”. We did not dare smile, but all of us knew that Dr. Lucius Barnett, our professor of Canon Law, was an avid reader of the Saturday Evening Post.

In my files is the mimeographed program of a presentation entitled “Silly Sympathy: The Little Red School House- with a Galaxy of Stars-Ten Years Run in New York- Closely Chased by Audience”.  Music was provided by “Steve McGillivrey and his Merry Men of Music”. One of the program Ads reads: “Do you suffer from: Fallen Arches, Athlete’s Foot, Dandruff? Then use Wheat Germ, sold exclusively by Dr. Ray Morrison”.  Another reads: “Why be Weak and Puny? By the Earl Liederman System you can make yourself a Physical Giant in 2 weeks- Apply to Percy Johnson”.

Worthy of mention were two lectures given by Dr. “Louie” Markle, Professor of Dogmatic Theology, illustrated with large colored slides. One was of the life of St. Therese of Lisieux. The other was about his pilgrimage to Oberammergau. Not to be forgotten were two perfomances of Dr. Kirkpatrick, our Professor of Elocution. Without notes and taking all the parts, he gave us, with changes of voice and appropriate gestures, the complete plays “Macbeth” and “Othello”.

These are some of the memories that appear like ghosts in the mists of time. Recreation was a happy interlude as we prayed and studied, with our hopes always on the great goal of the Priesthood.