Children S Shepherd The Story Of John Christopher Drumgoole

DATE DUE

266 D792b

Burton, Katherine (Kurz)

Children's Shepherd

THE STORY OF JOHN CHRISTOPHER DRUMGOOLE

JOHN CHRISTOPHER DRUMGOQLE

Children's Shepherd

The Story of
JOHN CHRISTOPHER DRUMGOOLE

Father of the Homeless and Founder of
the Mission of the Immaculate Virgin

BY
KATHERINE BURTON

With a Foreword by
FRANCIS CARDINAL SPELLMAN

P. J. Kenedy & Sons New York

NIHIL OBSTAT: JOHN M. A. FEARNS, S.T.D., Censor Librorum
IMPRIMATUR: ^FRANCIS CARDINAL SPELLMAN, Archbishop of New York
August 17, 1954

The nihil obstat and imprimatur are official declarations that a book or
pamphlet is free of doctrinal or moral error. No implication is contained
therein that those who have granted the nihil obstat and imprimatur agree
with the contents, opinions or statements expressed.

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOG CARD NUMBER: 54:10203

Copyright 1954 by P. J, Kenedy & Sons, New York

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

Contents

Foreword by Francis Cardinal Spellman vii

Prologue i

1. To a New World 5

2. Boyhood in Old New York 17

3. The Sexton of St. Mary's 31

4. Seminary Years and Ordination 46

5. New York's Children The Newsboys' Home 55

6. The Work Expands 70

7. Visitors to the Home 84

8. St. Joseph's Union and the Great Bazaar 95

9. Growing Responsibilities The Homeless Child 109
10. The Home Overflows Plans for a New One 126
1 1. The Mission of the Immaculate Virgin 135

12. Mount Loretto 149

13. Father of Two Homes 167

14. A "Substitute" for Rome 186

15. The Great Blizzard Father Drumgoole's Death 199

16. Epilogue 215
Bibliography 229
Index 231

Acknowledgments

For their kind assistance in the writing of this book I
should like to thank Right Reverend Monsignor John J.
Corrigan, Mount Loretto, Staten Island; Reverend Edward
Farrelly, Kingston, New York; Mr. P. J. Donoohoe, Scotch
Plains, New Jersey; Reverend J. Franklin Ewing, S.J., Ford-
ham University; Right Reverend Monsignor John M. A.
Fearns, St. Joseph's Seminary, Dunwoodie, Yonkers, New
York; and Sister Mary Loretta, St. Agnes Hospital, White
Plains, New York.

VI

Foreword

THERE is probably no other man in our country's history
to whom we are more indebted for originating and de-
veloping our present system for the care and education of
homeless, destitute, orphaned boys and girls than Father
John Christopher Drumgoole, himself left fatherless when
a young child in Ireland.

Father Drumgoole, founder of the Mission of the Im-
maculate Virgin, popularly known as Mount Loretto, in
Staten Island, N. Y., was among the pioneers of organized
social service in our country and was responsible also for
many features of the system of vocational schools for boys
and girls which is now an important and integral part of
our present educational and training system. It was the
vision, faith and charity of this true father to God's needy
children that gave birth to Mount Loretto which, for over
eighty years, has been a model child-caring haven for
homeless, neglected children.

It was here at Mount Loretto, the "Mount Mary" of my
novel, The Foundling, that the orphaned boy Peter, the
novel's main character, attended school, found friends and
was given spiritual guidance by the priests and Sisters of
this great home-like training school. Upon it I patterned
"Mount Mary," as so many child-caring institutions
throughout the country are modeled upon Father Drum-
goole's wondrous dream.

vii

viii Foreword

No man has been a greater benefactor to society than
John Christopher Drumgoole, whose compassionate under-
standing of the underprivileged was responsible for the
establishment of this character-building institution
wherein neglected, homeless youths are trained to support
themselves economically and sustain themselves spiritually
in the battle of life.

Father Drumgoole's spirit lives on in the life and work
of every priest, Sister and lay worker of Mount Loretto.
It lives, too, in thousands of children who have been shel-
tered and tiained to become self-reliant, loyal and religious
American citizens, and in the charity of those thousands of
men and women who have generously contributed to the
support of Father Drumgoole's providential Mount
Loretto.

FRANCIS CARDINAL SPELLMAN
Archbishop of New York
August 3, i $54

Prologue

WE SAT TOGETHER at a large round table in the dining
room of the New York Athletic Club. In the group were
one Monsignor, five businessmen, and one writer. The
Monsignor had brought us together in order to introduce
me to the others who were intimately connected with a
story I was planning to write.

Below us swirled the busy life of the city. Far off in the
sky an airplane was droning over our heads. Around the
table, over an excellent meal, we were discussing a man
who, in the early years of the nineteenth century, had come
as a little immigrant boy from Ireland, a man who was not
ordained a priest until his fifty-third year, and who died as
a result of exposure in the great blizzard of 1888. Yet he
had, in the less than twenty years of his priesthood, built at
Mount Loretto, on Staten Island, the wonderful home that
has sheltered many thousands of children.

It is a miracle of love today, as it was when he first
brought his neglected, orphaned, abandoned children
there. And it was built from nothing but faith in Divine
Providence, in Our Lady, and Saint Joseph in heaven, and
in thousands of the faithful on earth.

Only one of the men at the table was old enough actu-
ally to have known Father John Christopher Drumgoole,
but all of them had at one time or another lived at his
Home. I do not think I have ever heard anyone speak with
greater affection of his own home and of his own parents

2 Prologue

than these men all successful in business affairs spoke
of their foster home and their foster father.

Some months later I spoke at the Hotel Commodore at
a Communion breakfast where everyone in the large gath-
ering was a graduate of Mount Loretto. They had been
sent to the Mission by those who wanted an orphaned or
neglected child to have a real home. And they were all in-
ordinately proud of being alumni and alumnae of Mount
Loretto.

To the discouraged founder of a struggling congrega-
tion a wise old nun once gave sound advice: "You can never
fail if you keep God in your heart/' And this was the great
secret of the success of Father Drumgoole: always in his
heart was God and God is Love. The great Home on
Staten Island, just as much as the first plain shelter for
newsboys and bootblacks in New York City, was built with
love. The foundation was faith and love and that is why it
has flourished. Next to God, Father Drumgoole put his
faith in people and they repaid him a thousandfold, so that,
incredible though it seems, the great houses at Mount
Loretto have been built with the individual contributions
of twenty-five cents a year which members of St. Joseph's
Union sent him from all over the world. With it he bought
land and equipment, and everything he bought was
promptly paid for; there was never the shadow of debt on
his Homes or against his name*

With this money he set up classes to teach his children
to read and write, knowing the importance of education,
With this money was carried out his plan for vocational
schools, so that he may well be called a pioneer leader of
that work in this country. With this money he first brought
children from the streets, working children who, in the

Prologue 3

years before laws were made to protect them, often had no
place to sleep save an areaway or a cellar entrance. There
was always room in his house, for he was unable ever to
turn a child away.

"He'll hang you up somewhere," said one boy who lived
there to another who was afraid there would be no place
for him.

This is the story of a successful life, the life of a man
who began with nothing but love and worked all his life
with that for his chief coin the coin of the heart, which
is pure gold. In a day when few cared, when the orphan
earned a precarious living and went hungry if he did not
earn it, when the poorhouse or the jail was the only place
to put an orphaned or neglected or deserted boy or girl,
he made a home for them and gave them the affectionate
care of a father.

He worked with no fanfare, but he was known in many
parts of the world before he died. His little magazine
The Homeless Child was familiar in every country, for
it was at one time published in five languages and by the
hundreds of thousands. In only seventeen years Father
Drumgoole amassed a fortune of more than a million dol-
lars, but he died poor as he had lived poor.

At his death his boys and girls and his helpers wept his
loss, for they all knew him personally. From others he had
never seen came letters of sorrow, from high and low
from Italy a letter from Don Bosco, and from Father
Damien in far-off Molokai a letter of sorrow at Father
Drumgoole's death. From Rome came the condolences of
Pope Leo XIII, who had hoped to see Father Drumgoole
in person that very year. Over the years the priest had
been given for himself and for his work fourteen blessings

4 Prologue

from the Holy See. He did not want to be elevated to the
rank of domestic prelate when the honor was offered him
because "it wouldn't help the boys/' nor would he accept
any decorations, saying: "What is to be given, give it to
the Mission." When, through Cardinal Parocchi, was trans-
mitted Pope Leo's desire to see him, Father Drumgoole
answered that this was the greatest wish of his life, but he
begged the Cardinal to explain to the Holy Father that he
could not just yet leave his charges "not even for a day."

He was often called a simple man, but it would be better
to say he had great simplicity. Our Lady and Saint Joseph
were the companions of his days, as much so as if they still
walked the earth; it was they, he said, who gave him the
resources all but limitless in amount that came to him
and which were limited only by the great needs of his
work.

In the spacious dining room of the club and the wide
dining room of the hotel I saw the ripples of his love still
reaching the shore. In his lifetime Father Drumgoole built
good citizens and made unfortunate, helpless children into
men and women who became the backbone of the country.
And it is evident that, in his life in heaven, he is still carry-
ing on that work of love.

To a New World

THE OLD VESSEL creaked to her berth at the dock at Quaran-
tine on Staten Island. Workmen caught the coiled ropes
thrown to them and twisted them expertly around the
piles. Over the worn railings hung the passengers, looking
eagerly at the green, hilly slopes of Staten Island a wel-
come sight after the gray expanse of sea which was all they
had seen for weary weeks of sailing.

The voyage over had been very hard; deaths had oc-
curred from ship's fever during the long passage; there had
been a scarcity of food, and the immigrants to a new land
had lived in quarters even worse than the poor homes they
had left in the old country. But the memories of the days
and nights on the tossing sea were behind them now, as the
ship rocked gently in the lessening swells; and even further
behind were the hunger and the bitterness of the old home.
Ahead was hope, and the promise of a new life. New York
lay before them, and the year was 1824.

Relatives and friends were waiting on the dock for at
least some of the voyagers, though many among them now
found themselves in a strange country where they knew
no one. Those on shore strained to catch a glimpse of their
own in the drab crowd where all the faces looked alike. A
priest disengaged himself and made ready to board the
ship, in his hand a list of girls and young women he was to

5

6 Children's Shepherd

meet and for whom he had made arrangements for decent
lodging or for jobs in hotels or homes.

Off to one side of the dock stood a young woman whose
blue Irish eyes anxiously searched among the passengers.

"I can't see him anywhere," she murmured, and there

was panic in her voice. "Maybe he's sick. Maybe he's "

But she could not finish the sentence aloud.

The woman beside her patted her hand. "Now, Bridget,
look at the hundreds of them up there. How can you find
one tiny boy among them all until they begin to get off?"

But it was clear that Bridget Drumgoole was not listen-
ing. All her attention was fixed in her intent search for the
one small face that mattered to her.

Then she saw him, perhaps because he had seen her and
in his anxiety to attract her notice his waving arm moved
faster than anyone else's. He was pressed tight against the
railing, his brown eyes shining with excitement and his lips
moving, but amid all the noise of shouted greetings she
could not hear what he was trying to say.

The big push on deck began as one by one the pas-
sengers were allowed down the gangplank. To Bridget this
was somehow the hardest part of all to have to wait as the
slow mass of people crawled along. The boy was so little
that again and again she lost him from view, and was be-
sieged by panic.

"Please watch he doesn't get hurt, Blessed Mother," she
prayed, as she had so often during the past year, when the
great sea separated them from each other.

A sudden little surge gave the boy his opportunity and
he dashed down the gangplank, ducking between the legs
of a tall man who began cursing the lad; then, seeing the
woman and child run into each other's arms, he stopped
suddenly and smiled.

To a New World 7

Bridget Drumgoole knelt on the damp, splintery boards
of the dock, her arms around her son, her eyes hungrily on
his face. "But you've grown so, Johnnie, in the year away.
You're going to be like your father, I can see that/' For in
his face she saw the close resemblance to John, her hus-
band, dead these two years and buried in the village ceme-
tery in County Longford.

Around them the crowds wept and laughed at their own
concerns. The two had eyes only for each other. Finally the
boy tugged at his mother's hand and together they walked
to the pier farther down where a steamboat was waiting to
take passengers to New York itself. John carefully spelled
out the name on her stern Nautilus a lovely-sounding
word even though he did not know what it meant.

All the way on the two-hour trip the boy chattered to his
mother and she listened, hearing the loved little voice
rather than the words. He talked of his leavetaking and
told how Granny had packed big slices of bread for him to
carry with him and managed to get him a couple of changes
of shirts and socks for the boat. On the ship people had
been kind, but he admitted that he hadn't had a very good
time. She stole a glance at him, realizing fully the under-
statement of his words, for she had made the trip only the
year before and she knew what it was like dark holes to
sleep in, food half spoiled, sick people all about, sometimes
the splash that meant one more body consigned to the
waves. He was such a little boy to have come alone. It was
true there had been people on the ship who had promised
to watch over him, and no doubt they had. But he had
really been alone.

Johnnie chattered on, pausing only to stare excitedly at
New York coming nearer and nearer, and its many build-
ings huddled down close to the water's edge. At last he

8 Children's Shepherd

could distinguish the men waiting to catch the ropes that
would anchor the Nautilus to her pier.

He talked no more now of the voyage past, but with an
eight-year-old's short memory he was already putting that
all behind him. He fell silent as the ship reached the Bat-
tery and edged into Whitehall Slip. When they left the
ship and were on the street, he was still quiet as he trudged
beside his mother, carrying the cotton bag that held all he
owned in the world.

They walked up The Broadway for more than a mile,
past the rows of red brick houses. The Broadway was a fine
street, thought John, but as they mounted he saw that the
thoroughfares leading from it were only unfinished lanes.
Behind him he heard a clatter of hooves on the cobbles and
turned to see a two-decker stagecoach rattling along, the
driver pulling on the reins, faces of passengers looking from
the windows. The two passed a ship chandler's shop with
its coiled ropes and capstans in the doorway, and a * 'medi-
cal dispensary" where globes held red and green liquids
showing it was a place where drugs were sold. When they
went by a little bakery, John looked at his mother plead-
ingly, "I'm awfully hungry/' he said,

"Just a little longer. There's food waiting at home," she
promised, and hurried him past a shop where the prices
were beyond her slender means. When they came to St.
Patrick's Cathedral on Mott Street, she hesitated. "It would
take only a minute to pay a little visit," she said, "to thank
God and the Blessed Saint for his care of you."

John nodded, and together they entered the Cathedral,
one of the only two Catholic churches of New York City
in that day. There was the other not far off, his mother told
him St Peter's on Barclay Street and another time they

To a New World g

would visit it, too, for it was the oldest in the city and very
interesting.

"This Cathedral was named for the great Saint himself
by the Bishop of Baltimore who is the head of the whole
church in this country," she told him. "And now they're
talking of building still another church near here. Johnnie,
you can go to Mass any time with all these churches so
near. It is a good land, my son, and I'm glad we are here
and together/' she added.

On the cornerstone outside the Cathedral John read:
"Anno Domini 1809. Dedicated to St. Patrick, Apostle of
Ireland." Inside it was cool and dark, and as he stared to-
ward the altar the three naves of the church seemed to
stretch out endlessly before him. But when they walked
down the aisle hand in hand to the sanctuary, he saw it was
because beyond the high altar a series of arches was painted
on the walls, giving an effect of great distance.

There were two side altars, and John and his mother
went to pray at Our Lady's, all white and blue, with little
lights flickering before it. There they knelt side by side,
and Bridget's heart was full of thankfulness and joy. How
often in the months of their separation had she knelt in
this church, beseeching the Blessed Virgin to watch over
her little son, begging St. Joseph to father him. Her whole
heart was filled with gratitude that at last here was her lad
beside her, that now she could forget forever the black day
when her ship pulled away from the shores of Ireland and
he was left on the dock, so little and weeping so bitterly
even as he waved good-by. Now they were together, and
they would not have to be separated any more.

Beside her, John was remembering the chapel at home,
and suddenly this big church and the city outside seemed

io Children's Shepherd

overwhelmingly strange to him. He thought of the Killi-
shandra Road to Granard where the chapel stood, and
could see again the statue of the wounded pikeman which
commemorated the stand of the United Irishmen against
the English in the rebellion of 1798. His father had told
him the story and had pointed out to him that on that
spot men with homemade weapons had charged the most
modern artillery of the day. "And for a good while held
them back, too," he had added proudly.

He also remembered another day when his father had
showed him the ruins of a monastery at Abbeylara, the
little town in Coolcraff parish where John was born. "The
town grew up around that monastery in days long ago,"
his father said, "and is named for it, too, for the old name
was Lerha Abbey. And it was founded by St. Patrick him-
self." And then he had told John many brave tales of the
Saint, so that in the boy's mind the pikeman and St. Patrick
were somehow identified, and as a son of Erin he was proud
of them both.

And now this big shadowy church in America belonged
to his home Saint, too. At first he had felt a sudden home-
sickness, but now he turned to look admiringly around the
fine building. So absorbed was he in this that he forgot even
to say a Hail Mary. When his mother nudged him, he rose
and genuflected, and together they walked out into Mott
Street where he was going to live.

When they had come outside the Cathedral John stared
about him with a child's curiosity. There were houses
farther away but there were none at all around the church
itself; it was surrounded by wide expanses of green grass
and on one side was a quiet cemetery. "This part looks like
country," he said.

"It does indeed/* said his mother, "and last year a fox

To a New World 1 1

thought so, too, for Mr. Idley he's the sexton here
caught one right in the churchyard."

It was only a step from the Cathedral to her own rooms
but they had to stop more than once because people came
up to them with cheery greetings when they saw the boy
beside Bridget.

"The lad's got here," said one. "Glory be, you have him
safe," said another, and a third, "Now, Mrs. Drumgoole,
you've got a man to take care of you, eh?"

Bridget said a few words to them all and John tried to
smile politely, but he was really hungry now and wanted
only to hurry home, and he was very glad when they finally
came to the two clean little rooms, not far from the
Cathedral, where he was going to live. There was a fire
on the hearth, lighted by a kindly neighbor, and the kettle
was steaming on the hob. John sat down thankfully to the
simple meal his mother had made ready before she left to
bring him home. It was very plain, but John opened his
eyes at sight of the white cloth and white dishes, of bread
almost as white as the plate it rested on. There was even,
he saw, an egg that he hoped was for him.

Bridget put it to boil and made tea in the tin pot. Then
they sat down together and John said the grace his Granny
had made him promise to remember in his new home, and
then he munched the fine-tasting bread and drank the hot
tea and ate the egg Bridget had cooked for him. And to-
gether they made plans for the immediate future. John, his
mother pronounced, was to have some schooling. He would
go to the parochial school at St. Patrick's and maybe after
school he could find such work as running errands. She
herself had a job housework for a fine family uptown who
often let her bring home food. But the important thing,
she made very clear, was that he must have schooling.

12 Children's Shepherd

It made all the difference when a boy grew to be a man.

That night Bridget Drumgoole lay awake and listened
with a thankful heart to the breathing of the sleeping child
in his little bed on the other side of the room. The worry,
the fears about him were gone now. Life would be hard,
she knew, and they would be very poor. But they were to-
gether now; they were a family and not a mother and son
with an ocean between them.

She heard the watchman's heavy step under her window,
heard him pound three times on the curb, as he did each
hour of the night, heard him call out, "Ten o'clock and
all's well."

All was indeed well, she thought as she fell asleep.

Next morning, bright and early, before she went to work,
Mrs. Drumgoole and her son John presented themselves
at the parochial school so that he might be entered in his
classes at once.

This school and the one at St. Peter's were the only free
schools in the diocese, and had been set up by Bishop Con-
nolly, the first bishop actually to occupy the see of New
York, soon after his arrival in 1815. Since there was no
building available at the time, he opened classes in the
basement of the Cathedral, with two hundred and forty
boys and girls in attendance. For a time he was forced to
employ lay teachers for them all. He had tried to secure
Christian Brothers for the boys but, chiefly because of lay
trustee interference, he failed. With the girls he was more
successful, for the Sisters of Charity, who had come at his
earnest appeal in 1817 to staff an orphan asylum located in
the Cathedral parish, were eventually able to send him
Sisters for the school also. They lived close to the Cathedral
on Prince Street, in an inadequate little frame structure

To a New World 1 3

which Bishop Connolly had promised to replace with a
brick building as soon as he could afford it. In addition to
teaching the girls in the school, the Sisters also taught
catechism to all the children.

At first John felt shy at being thrown into this large
group of boys who seemed to know so much more than he
did of the contents of the books they were studying. But he
found his teacher, Mr. Ward Farrell, a very understanding
man, and before long John was no longer a stranger but
one of a group. And Sister Elizabeth Boyle, who taught him
his catechism, found in him an attentive listener, so much
so that she promised to recommend him to Father Malou,
one of the assistants at St. Patrick's, as a potential altar boy.

In the afternoons, when school was over, he hurried to
a neighboring dispensary and spent several hours running
errands for its owner. As his mother had said, there had
been no trouble in finding work. The pay, of course, was
microscopic, but it helped to keep the little home running.

In the evenings there was the joy of playing with the
boys who lived round about. And right in the house was old
Mr. Hennessey, who could tell the finest stories in the
world. He had come from Ireland long years before, but
his heart was still there even though the new land was long
in his bones. He was proud that so many of his countrymen
had settled in New York, and even prouder that the Irish
had such a long connection with the history of America.

"In 1757 I read this in a history book," he told the
children, "there was Irish soldiers right at Fort William
Henry and they saluted St. Patrick's Day. And in the Revo-
lution that you will learn about in the books it was the
great Washington himself who gave orders at Morristown
over the river in New Jersey where he was camped to
celebrate the Saint's day. And right he was to do it, for

14 Children's Shepherd

didn't his wife's folks come from Ireland? She was a Ball
and the Ball family was from near Dublin."

To John's delight, Mr. Hennessey had even known
Granard. 'In Longford County/' he nodded, when John
told him where he had lived. "Big people came from there,
my lad. There was Oliver Goldsmith of the fine books, and
Maria Edgeworth who wrote the tales about Ireland. And
that was the place where St. Patrick and his friend St. Idus
whom he made a bishop built the monastery, wasn't it?
There's what's left of an old monastery there, too, eh?"

John nodded excitedly. "Yes, I've seen it lots of times."
And the other boys looked at him with awe and respect.

One evening while the boys sat idly about Mr. Hennes-
sey, waiting for a story, he said suddenly, "And do you
know about St. Brendan who came to America in the long
ago?"

Every boy sat up, and eyes grew wide. An Irish saint
come to America? The old man smiled. "Certainly, and
why not? In the ancient accounts you can find it all in a
big book that I have read myself. It says he came to a land
that he called Irland Mikla' in the old tongue that
means 'Great Ireland/ "

He stopped as if to refresh his memory. "He was an ab-
bot in Kerry, this Brendan, and he sailed one day to the
Isles of Aran to consult St. Enda about some traveling he
planned to do. At that one's advice he set sail, and he di-
rected his course to meet the summer solstice and to
know what that is you must ask Mr. Farrell," he said
hastily, anticipating questions from his audience.

"No oar or sail had he as he went over the summer seas
with his companions, but his ship went right along its
course what with Providence guiding it all the way. And
after a long time he came to a big stream the Gulf Stream

To a New World 15

maybe, the book said, that is down in the south of this
country. Then he landed in what the book says is perhaps
the state of Florida, and he and the others left the ship in
the care of God and marched for fifteen days, observing and
making notes. And then came to meet them a tall man of
noble presence, and he said Brendan had gone far enough
and now he must go back home. He had completed his
task and was to go to the Little Ireland and tell his people
about the wonderful new Great Ireland. On the way home
the ship was threatened with a great sea monster, as big
as the boat, and some of the men, priests and abbots though
they were, got very scared. But not Brendan. He sank the
monster with a prayer."

Mr. Hennessey drew a long breath. "And when he got
home he told the people about his discoveries and others
made ready to go explore this land for God. And Brendan
was so tired from his long journey that he had to take a
long rest I suppose you think? Not him. The next year he
founded a monastery of three thousand monks, the book
says. A great man he was, eh?" And the circle of small boys
agreed heartily.

Sometimes they sat listening to Mary Dermody, one of
Bridget's friends, as she sang fine Irish songs in a sweet lilt-
ing voice. It was when she sang

"Bells of Shandon
That sound so grand on
The pleasant waters
Of the river Lee"

that John sometimes felt a slight homesickness for the town
and river where he used to live, for Granard and the Killi-
shandra Road and the fields, the green fields, of home.
When he shut his eyes he could see himself back in his

16 Children's Shepherd

Granny's house or, even earlier, sitting beside his father as
he was cobbling busily at his bench.

Sometimes John and his mother sat in their own room
and she read aloud to him from a book of poetry she had
brought with her from Ireland. And, as St. Patrick's School
made John more proficient, he used to read to her in turn
while she mended his clothes.

One evening he found a poem about Irish immigrants
and began to read it aloud to her:

"Each silent tongue held converse with the past;
Each moistened eye looked round the encircling wave.
We were alone on the wide watery waste;
We were alone, the pilgrims of the sea."

He looked up and saw tears spilling from his mother's
eyes at memory of that hard voyage. He went over to put
a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"But we're not pilgrims any more, Mother, not now.
We're Americans!"

Boyhood in Old New York

LITTLE John Drumgoole's daily world was limited to Mott
Street and nearby Prince and the neighboring streets, but
sometimes on Sundays he and his mother walked farther
abroad perhaps to the Battery where New York strolled
and watched the fine ships, or perhaps to admire the new
City Hall now almost completed, or to look at the houses
of the well to do on Bowling Green.

The city did not extend uptown much farther than one
could easily walk, though in the other direction it was built
straight to the water's edge where were the principal
wharves and the seats of mercantile trade and the banking
houses; at the upper end were homes of affluence and
prosperous farms which extended past the Bowery Road.
Between lay the houses of the moderately poor and the
tenements of the very poor.

The New York of John's day was a city of great wealth
and great poverty, of old families and new immigrants. In
the early 18205 the settlement in the lower part of Man-
hattan which was the city proper held some 60,000 people,
of whom 14,000 were Catholic. Already the city was spread-
ing north as far as Canal Street, which had been at first
merely a deep drain cut through a big marsh to serve as an
outlet for Collect Pond. Now it was filled in and made into
a thoroughfare, but the chief streets were still the Bowery

17

iS Children's Shepherd

Road and The Broadway, the last two miles long and at
least half of it paved. Between these two streets were un-
finished alleys. The streets were lighted by oil lamps. Coal
was almost unknown and hickory wood was the principal
article of fuel.

The milkman came through the streets early in the
morning carrying a yoke on his shoulders to which were
attached the pails, and shouting, "Milk, ho!" Through the
streets barrels of drinking water were hauled by horse and
cart. Some of it was cheap and not very good; the best and
costliest came from the Water Pump at Chatham Street
and was sold at two cents a pail; painted at the end of the
casks one read the words, "Tea Water."

With water so hard to come by, fire was something to be
dreaded, especially in the narrow, closely built spaces of
the lower town, but it was a fine sight for small boys to see
the fire fighters in white coats and shiny black hats and the
beautifully decorated fire engines, often pulled by hand
over the cobbles. "Jump her, boy, jump her, the men
would roar as everyone pulled hard.

In 1825, the year following John's arrival, many impor-
tant events took place. Gas light was introduced and now
lighted the streets below Canal; there was a great fete for
General Lafayette in Castle Garden, formerly a fortress
and now used as a reception center by the city of New
York, when the citizens bade farewell to the lame and
aging hero and warrior. But most important of all was the
opening of the Erie Canal on November 4, 1825.

John and his mother stood in the crowd on the Battery
when a fleet of steamers, all gaily decorated and filled with
important guests, reached New York from Albany. The
ships were trimmed with flags and the harbor was alive
with large and small steamboats and hundreds of sailing

Boyhood in Old New York 19

craft. At the close of the celebration De Witt Clinton, who
had been responsible for the completion of the great
project, made an address and poured a keg of water from
Lake Erie into the Atlantic.

Some days later one of the boys at St. Patrick's School
told John that he had actually been on a barge on the new
canal. If you wanted you could walk along the towpath, he
said, and wait there until the lock filled up with water and
then climb back in the barge again. And when a bridge
came in sight the lookout shouted, "Bridge" and everyone
ducked into the saloon till it was passed. John hoped fer-
vently that his mother would take him for a ride on the
Erie someday. But he knew that it cost money and there
was very little of that to spend on canal trips.

In 1825 a fi ne new Catholic paper was published for the
first time in New York and everyone was buying or borrow-
ing the first number. A weekly, it bore the name The
Truth Teller, and was published by Bernard Dornin on
Pearl Street.

A neighbor had left a copy with Mrs. Drumgoole, and
John studied it earnestly, from the date and motto on the
masthead "Truth is powerful and will prevail" to the
advertisements at the end. A woodcut headed the first
page, a picture of Adam and Eve, both downcast and with
heads bent, and between them an angel with a sword. The
editorial was on religious hypocrisy, there was an article
on England, Irish news with fine quotations from Daniel
O'ConnelFs latest speech, a sermon by the French Abb6
Papillon on the subject of the rich man who never says, "I
have enough" but always "more more," and a warning
that the only money worth while was the gold coin of
charity which would also be valuable currency in a future

20 Children's Shepherd

life in heaven. And there was poetry which John read
aloud to his mother stirring verses about Greece. Even
the advertisements were poetical. The Fancy Store on
Broadway had for sale:

"Gold miniature fans and kid shoes in nut shells,
Needle cases, scissors for natives or belles;
Tooth brushes, pomatum and nail brushes small
If I counted till Doomsday I could not count all."

John could not read it all, of course, but under the
tutelage of Mr. Farrell he was progressing well and man-
aged to absorb much of the contents of the magazine. By the
time it reached his house it had been in many hands and
was much frayed, but it was a real pleasure to read of the
life of New York there set down as well as of the wonderful
things that were happening in the world outside.

Earlier in that same year of 1825 little John Drumgoole
had attended his first important church ceremony in the
New World a sad event, for it was the funeral of Bishop
Connolly of New York. There were many who mourned
his death, for the Bishop had been loved by the members
of the Cathedral parish and the other Catholics of his
diocese. A member of the Dominican Order, he had acted
as parish priest as well as bishop, always ready to listen to
the woes of the poor, always ready to see the sick, and
usually he had accomplished his errands of mercy on foot,
for he had no money for a carriage. He was a man of plain
tastes, which was as well since there had been little to spare
for good living or elaborate ritual. A small, neat man, he
had gone about his duties quietly but with efficiency. His
rectory at 512 Broadway was a plain, simply furnished
house. At High Mass he did not even use his miter or

Boyhood in Old New York 2 1

crozier, but in his duties and the handling of his responsi-
bilities he was every inch a bishop.

His task, of course, had been very difficult. He had, in a
way, to re-create everything, for when he came to fill his
see, long vacant, many of the institutions planned by
earlier missionaries and the Catholics of the city had dis-
appeared. And here was not only New York but the whole
of his diocese to be cared for. He had visited the whole
territory in those days of difficult travel and had provided
churches for the people in Brooklyn, Buffalo, Utica, Al-
bany, and Paterson. By 1824 his health had been badly
impaired from work and worry. The trustees, realizing a
little belatedly that he had worked too hard, bought him
a horse and carriage and hired a coachman. This pleasure
and he did enjoy it was his very briefly, for only a year
later both his curates fell ill and died; while attending the
funeral of one of them, the Bishop caught a cold which
turned into a fatal pneumonia.

The body lay in state for two days in the center aisle of
his cathedral, and then he was buried close to the altar.
During those two days more than thirty thousand people,
many of whom he had aided with consoling deeds, words,
and prayers, came to visit his bier and say a prayer for the
dead prelate. He had by his kindly gentle ways made many
friends outside his own communion and some who came
were among these, one of them the Protestant Bishop
Hobart who had only recently made a trip to Rome and
taken with him letters from the Bishop to high officials of
the Catholic Church; it had been Bishop Connolly's great
hope to see this prelate a Catholic someday.

After Bishop Connolly's death Father John Power of the
Cathedral staff was named to act as Vicar General until a
new bishop was appointed. Even before a new bishop

22 Children's Shepherd

could be named it became clear that there was pressing
need for a third church in the city, for St. Patrick's Ca-
thedral and St. Peter's Church on Barclay Street were
overflowing, and Father Power knew he dared wait no
longer to begin preparations for the opening of a new
parish. When he learned that a Presbyterian church in
Sheriff Street was for sale, he bought it for $7,500. It was a
good building of wood with a brick front, and in its
steeple hung a large bell.

This last was a fact worthy of note, for neither the
Cathedral nor St. Peter's had a bell, and the new church
to be called St. Mary's would be the first Catholic church
in New York to possess one. The newly arrived Irish pa-
rishioners were especially jubilant for they had grown used
to having no bells in their churches, since the British gov-
ernment had decreed that their chapels must be built
without spires.

The church on Sheriff Street was opened in 1826, in
Our Lady's month, since it was to be dedicated to her.
There was great excitement on Grand Street and in the
neighborhood when the bell was rung for the first time. To
the children it was just a pleasant sound. To some of the
older people it was a peal of joy and triumph, and as its
echoes were heard in Delancey Street and Sheriff and
Grand, men and women stopped to listen, and many had
tears in their eyes.

The church was to be dedicated as soon as the new
bishop arrived. Already there were unhappy rumors as to
who this would be. The people of the diocese hoped it
would be Father Power, but word was spreading that
Archbishop Carroll was considering a priest from Mary-
land Dr. Dubois, a learned man with a reputation for
organization but French 1

Boyhood in Old New York 23

The news proved to be true. In 1826 Dr. Dubois was
appointed and Father Power was made pastor at St.
Peter's. The disappointed Catholics were happy that at
least he would remain with them. As for the newcomer,
there was much muttering about him from the more ex-
citable of the Irish.

As Bridget Drumgoole came home from work on the
day the news arrived of the new appointee, John heard a
neighbor call to her, "The man where I work says the peo-
ple will let the new bishop come but afterwards they'll
give him trouble because he's somebody that's been in-
truded on them by undue influence."

"But why would they do that?" asked Mrs. Drumgoole.

"He's a foreigner," said the other woman distrustfully.
"He comes all the way from France."

"But you and I came all the way from Ireland," said
Mrs. Drumgoole reasonably.

The other woman was not convinced. "It's different
entirely," she said.

The man about whom so many tongues were wagging
had come from France during the Revolution and had
been in the Maryland diocese ever since. He had founded
Mt. St. Mary's College at Emmitsburg and had expected to
end his days there. Already sixty-three years old when the
bishopric was offered to him, he had reluctantly accepted
it. When he came to New York from Baltimore after his
consecration, ready to work hard at the task, he found
only two priests at St. Mary's, one at St. Peter's, and
two at the Cathedral. He was not daunted by this. He had
been a missionary priest and had always worked hard. "I
am bishop and parish priest and catechist," he wrote cheer-
fully to a friend in Lyons, adding that he had 35,000
Catholics in the city alone, with three churches, and would

24 Children's Shepherd

soon have a fourth, which was to be named Christ Church.
He had brought with him from Maryland three young
priests to help with the religious instruction of the children
and hoped he would be allowed to keep them.

It was, in fact, the condition of the children of the city
which had especially appalled him after his first months in
the city. The one Catholic orphan asylum could not take
in half the applicants. There were no charitable associa-
tions to help, and few nuns. Catholic children whom the
asylum could not take or who were friendless or without
relatives were left to the Protestant missions, to the poor-
house, or to the hard kindness of the streets.

Bishop Dubois was well aware that he was not the choice
of his new see. He was an outsider and a Frenchman. He
tried to disarm the members of his flock in his first pastoral
letter when he wrote, almost pleadingly, "We, too, are
American. But we are all Catholics. Are not distinctions of
birth and country lost in this common procession?" And
he divulged his plans for the diocese, carefully and fully,
even though he feared they would not meet with much
friendly approval. He knew well how its three churches
were like a bit of Ireland itself to the weary wanderers who
came, tired, sick, poor, on the ships from the old land. He
tried to please them as best he could, as with his gesture in
1829 ^ ordering a Te Deum sung in each church as a
thanksgiving for Catholic Emancipation in Ireland.

That year he went to Rome to ask for advice on his
difficult new assignment. He collected money in various
countries in francs and gulden and marks, but his chief
hope was not fulfilled: he was not able to recruit more
priests for his ever-growing flock.

In 1826, under the patronage of Dominic Lynch, a well-
known merchant of New York, the famous Garrica troupe

Boyhood in Old New York 25

of singers gave a concert at the Cathedral for the benefit of
the orphan asylum on Prince Street. Many outsiders came,
and the fine sum of five thousand dollars was realized.

Young John and his friends had no money for tickets
but as they stood close to the church walls and listened to
the lovely strains John wished he could sing like these
Italians. When he reached home he learned that all the
strains had not been lovely.

"The Cathedral choir is very angry," a neighbor was
telling his mother. "They think they should have been
asked to sing, too. And they think that maybe they won't
sing at all next Sunday."

Mrs. Drumgoole smiled at that and so did her visitor.
And on Sunday John, who loved singing and had been
really alarmed at this threatened strike, heard the fa-
miliar voices singing placidly and with no hint of past
dissension.

John Drumgoole was particularly attached to one of
the priests brought by Bishop Dubois from Maryland and
now serving as an assistant at St. Patrick's Cathedral. This
was Father Malou, the romantic story of whose past was
recounted with relish by his parishioners.

In his native land Father Malou had been a general of
the army and had planned to retire and settle in America.
He had come alone, meaning to send for his wife as soon
as he found a good home in New York, but he was in the
city only a short time when he received word of her death.
In deep grief he returned to Belgium, saw that a monu-
ment was erected in his wife's memory, and settled his
affairs; then he entered the Jesuit Society as a lay brother,
his identity known to none of the members of his com-
munity. One day when he was at work in the garden his
superior appeared with a group of military officials. Sud-

26 Children's Shepherd

denly the group halted, and to the superior's surprise he
saw they were saluting the gardener who gravely returned
their salutes. The new lay brother was distressed at having
been recognized, but, at the insistence of his superiors, he
agreed to enter the seminary and become a priest, and
later he was sent to the New World.

Everyone at St. Patrick's liked Father Malou very much
his grave dark face which lighted up with a smile when
one of the children approached him, his odd use of Eng-
lish, his kindness with the small difficulties of a child. It
was a sorrow to them all when he died in 1827. He was
buried in the crypt of the Cathedral. He had tried hard
to make good altar boys of some of the younger children
John Drumgoole among them. Sister Elizabeth Boyle
helped, too, with this good work, and the Cathedral was
known in the city for its excellently trained acolytes.

During the years that John Drumgoole was growing
from a little boy to a self-reliant youth the thought of be-
coming a priest had often come to him. There were many
things to foster it and several people had helped Father
Malou who had said Mass so reverently that it held the
attention of even a very young server, the wonderful stories
that Sister Elizabeth Boyle had in her repertory, his
mother's deep devotion to the Faith so that the growing
lad's thoughts were often on the priesthood.

But, as John grew older, though the desire increased, the
possibility became more remote. He knew in his heart that
there was little chance of that for him. Funds for the edu-
cation which such a future demanded were very limited
in fact, all but non-existent. Between them he and his
mother barely managed a very simple living.

John's days of errand running ended when he was of-
fered a job to help a shoemaker on Mott Street after school.

Boyhood in Old New York 27

Small child that he had been when his father died, he had
learned from him a little of the trade and it proved helpful
in getting him the job. By the time he was about fourteen
years old, the rising costs of even their simple living had
made it clear that he must earn more money. Despite his
mother's reluctance and his own regret, he left school and
took on the work of cobbling. Before long he was the
virtual breadwinner of the family.

One evening in 1831 Mrs. Graves, who lived next door,
came breathlessly into the room where the Drumgooles
were eating a quiet supper. "Saints have mercy," she
gasped. "St. Mary's is burned to the ground and they say
Father Barry is so shocked that he's been put to bed by
doctor's orders."

It was all sadly true, and feeling ran high in the neigh-
borhood, even higher when it was discovered that the
church had been robbed and the clapper of the bell tied
so that it could not be rung as an alarm. The inadequate
fire engines, the pails and pails of water had proved un-
availing. Later investigation showed that the building had
been set on fire in three places, so that the arson appeared
to have been carefully planned. And the safe, which was
all that was saved, was found to have been rifled.

That night there were angry words uttered through the
parishes, for many thought the incendiaries were anti-
Catholic fanatics. This was no unreasonable fear, since
with the years the feeling against Catholics in the large
cities had grown. More and more bigotry was being shown
against the increasing Catholic population, due to a con-
stantly growing number of immigrants in Philadelphia
and Boston as well as in New York.

In earlier days there had been a much more friendly

28 Children's Shepherd

spirit. Protestants and Catholics in America were wont to
act together. As late as 1826 St. Patrick's Day was celebrated
in Brooklyn by Irishmen of both creeds, all of them march-
ing to St. James* to Mass and then attending a banquet
presided over by a Methodist minister. Now things were
changing and with an increasing and alarming speed, and
the group which was to grow into the Native American
organization was forming.

Attacks on the Catholic population were extending to
the pages of the press. One violent editorial said they were
"coming hither with hasty strides to take the whole land."
To such remarks Catholics made equally vigorous protests,
but the attacks grew wilder and more gross. "It was the
time of the tomahawk in literature as well as in war/'
wrote a chronicler of the period.

When the excitement over the fire at St. Mary's had
subsided, the parish considered plans for rebuilding. From
his sickbed Father Barry offered suggestions for a new
church, but he thought for the immediate present it might
be wise to lease temporarily a small wooden building on
Grand Street, the abandoned property of the Episcopal
Church. This would do for the time being, and meantime
St. Mary's could buy lots and build a church of its own.
But he did not live to follow up his plans. Only a few weeks
after the fire had destroyed his beloved church, Father
Barry died.

After his death, Father McGuire, his assistant, in con-
sultation with the trustees, rented the old church on Grand
Street, as Father Barry had suggested. It was decided not to
build on the old site but to buy three lots on Grand Street
and there erect a new church. At the same time Bishop
Dubois presented the parish with a lot on which to build

Boyhood in Old New York 29

a rectory, and he himself laid the cornerstone for the new
church in 1832.

But the completion of this building was very slow. It
was in that year that a terrible epidemic raged in New
York. Builders were few; money was hard to find, since
the means of many people were being expended for sick
care or funeral expenses. In one day from one house in St.
Mary's parish five coffins were carried.

By late December of 1832 the basement was ready and
the first Mass was said. The Bishop dedicated the new
church in June of 1833. In tlie autumn a school was
opened, also in the basement, and the Sisters of Charity
came to staff it.

By this time Bishop Dubois, old, weary, and sick, had
been persuaded to semi-retirement, and for some years he
let the younger men do most of the work. Despite the
grumbling about the Bishop, some of which had really
never ceased, he had done excellent work for his diocese.
But he had never, despite his efforts, become popular. He
had not wanted to come to New York at all; he had wanted
to stay the rest of his days at his beloved Mt. St. Mary's.
No doubt he had not fully realized the resentment of the
Irish against him, and it was also true that despite his
thirty-five years in American church work his accent still
made it sometimes hard to understand him.

The trustees made his later years difficult, too. At one
point they threatened to cut off his salary if he did not
appoint the priests they wanted. This time the old man
wrote a letter to his tormentors: "I have seen the horrors
of the French Revolution and could meet them again. I
am an old man. I can live in a garret or a cellar, but, gentle-
men, whether I come down from my garret or up from my

30 Children's Shepherd

cellar, you must remember that I am still your bishop/'
By 1837 he had known that he could no longer carry on
his work and asked for a coadjutor. He was given Bishop
John Hughes, himself an old Mt. St. Mary's student, and
there was rejoicing among the Irish at the selection. By
1838 Bishop Dubois had turned over nearly all his duties
to the younger man. After suffering a stroke, he gave entire
authority to Bishop Hughes. "I obey the bit," he said, "but
not until I have covered it with foam/ 1

The Sexton o St. Mary's

IN HIS HEART John Drumgoole still carried the hope that
had been with him since boyhood and which he had
shared with few. Since his years as altar boy at St. Patrick's,
his desire to serve God as a priest had remained warm and
living within him, and he still hoped that someday what
looked impossible could be accomplished. He knew well
the difficulties of bringing his hope to actuality. For one
thing, his mother could add but little to the common
fund, as she was less and less able to do the hard work
which was the only kind she could procure. There were
various relatives in the country, of course Leveys and
Reillys and Drumgooles but John knew none was well
off and all had their own to care for, their own bills to
meet. But he knew, too, that the will of God could move
mountains. He waited patiently; he said little. But during
the years of his youth he never ceased to hope.

Meantime he worked cheerfully at his daily tasks and
put his future in the hands of God.

November 7, 1838, was a very important day for John
Drumgoole. It was the day he was to receive his citizenship
papers.

Early that morning he went to the New York Marine

31

32 Children's Shepherd

Court where he passed the test to prove he could speak
English and read it. And then he took the oath of loyalty
to his country.

When he brought home his certificate of citizenship, his
mother studied the document carefully and proudly. It
bore not only the seal of New York but the great seal of
the United States; its legal phrases were written in a hand-
some copperplate script and under her son's name in large
letters appeared the words: "A citizen of the United
States."

Mrs. Drumgoole put the paper carefully away in the big
Bible. When she turned, she saw that John was standing
looking pensively out of the window.

"You think you own the land now, I suppose," she said
jokingly.

He looked at her solemnly and with no trace of an
answering smile. "But it is true, Mother," he said. "I do.
I really am one of the people who own it now. I pray that I
will be an honor to it and never disgrace it in any way."

Finally, in 1844, John was able to leave his job of cobbler
to take work that was very much more to his taste. He had
been appointed sexton of St. Mary's Church. It was not by
chance this position had been offered to him, for John
Drumgoole was known among his own people for his de-
votion to his faith. Early churchgoers found him always
at the early Mass, his beads and missal in one hand, in the
other a candle to light the pages of the book. He had been
chosen by a pastor who knew him well and who thought
he would be a good influence, especially among the
younger parishioners.

John and his mother moved from Mott Street to a house
near St. Mary's so that he might be nearer his duties. Be-

The Sexton of St. Mary's 33

tween them they managed well, for she found light work
in the neighborhood.

At St. Mary's John often served the Masses, and he also
helped train the altar boys. He aided with the catechetical
instruction and taught in the Sunday school. In an effort
to keep the children from the streets, he organized several
clubs for boys which met in the evenings. When missions
were held in the parish, he often went after stray sheep
whom he knew personally and begged them to come. From
the docks he brought longshoremen to the mission, having
first made certain that seats in the church were reserved
for them.

Himself devoted to Our Lady and knowing the extent
of this devotion among many others in the parish, he asked
Father Starrs, then the pastor, whether they might have
May devotions at St. Mary's. When he made this request
he showed Father Starrs a book by Father Faber and
pointed out to him one particular sentence: "Can we help
a certain jubilee of heart in thinking that the month of
God's mother has now begun?" These devotions were
started and soon became very popular. It was directly due
to their celebration in St. Mary's parish that four years
later they were begun in various other churches in the
city.

It was during his first years at St. Mary's that he became
aware, through his work with the boys who came to the
church for religious instruction or whom he had seen
running about the streets and had never seen inside the
church, of a condition he had as a child and a boy merely
accepted the grinding poverty of so many of New York's
people a poverty that brought illness and death to many
breadwinners and left thousands of small children home-
less and unprotected.

34 Children's Shepherd

He could not, of course, know the whole picture of the
day, its entire blackness, but St. Mary's immediate neigh-
borhood gave him a great deal to brood over. He himself
was the child of poverty but at least he had always had a
home and the devoted love of a mother. He had gone to
the parochial school where the early teachings of his
mother had been supplemented by the Sisters and the
priests. Now he realized how many little children knew
nothing of home or cleanliness and nothing at all of God.
And many of them were the children of Catholics, little
fragments from the body of Irish faith. Now and then
young members brought to the clubs for boys which he
had set up some friend of the streets and it was through
them that he came to know the problems that faced society
and especially the Church to whom many of these children
belonged. These problems, he knew, were largely the re-
sult of the tides of Catholic and Irish immigration that
had swept the country in recent years.

During the 18305 and to the middle of the 18405 this
immigration had lessened somewhat, for a spirit of opti-
mism had prevailed in Ireland after the Catholic Emanci-
pation Act of 1829. In the United States the Friends of
Ireland were formed; much money was sent to help that
country, but in the end only disappointment resulted. All
the wisdom of O'Connell was of no avail, and by 1847
everyone knew it, and money was again being sent to re-
lieve the latest and worst of Irish famines. Reports of
conditions were beyond belief even to those who had once
known poverty there. It was said that two thirds of all
manufactories were closed; people were in rags, fed on
half-rotten potatoes, lodged often in sties.

When actual deaths from hunger were reported, the
Irish-born in America were not the only ones who hastened

The Sexton of St. Mary's 35

to help. From Catholic and Protestant pulpits alike came
pleas to aid the starving land. The American government
sent two ships of war loaded with food and clothing for the
sufferers. But all the generous gifts fell short of the terrible
need.

The result of this was an increase in immigration to the
United States on the part of those who could raise the
money by selling what they had in the Old World or by
begging passage money from their more fortunate relatives
in the New World. Many of those who came were weak
and sick from deprivation, and the hard voyage had made
their condition worse. Often parents died on shipboard
or after landing, and their children were left without rela-
tives or friends in a city that already had more than it
could care for.

Many charitable persons helped in whatever way they
could, some with money, some trying to find a place where
these children could be housed and fed. Among these was
John Drumgoole, who could help only in a small way, al-
though he did what he could. Often he allowed the home-
less waifs of the street to gather around the heater, in the
basement of the church, and sleep. He rounded up children
who had lost their parents and tried to find at least a tem-
porary home for them; he worked with the boys in the
clubs he had formed and found food for them when they
were hungry. Still he knew that he was touching only the
very edge of a terrible and constantly growing problem,
and he considered with grave concern these guttersnipes,
many of them clever, bright-eyed, independent, but al-
ready old in knowledge of the worst side of life and with
little information about the better side.

He told himself, coming home at night after locking up
the church, or when on Grand Street or Delancey he saw

36 Children's Shepherd

homeless children asleep in the corner of a building or in
an areaway, that someday he would try to extend his little
clubs to other parts of the city. He began to dream of clubs
all over New York, where religion would be made attrac-
tive to the children and where they would find help for
their physical needs, perhaps even a house where they
could sleep at night, one where they could get some edu-
cation and training for a trade. Some of them were such
bright little fellows and they ought to be made an asset to
their country and not spend their adult days in jail for
crimes.

And then, after such grandiose plans, he would smile
sadly to himself the sexton of St. Mary's, himself un-
trained, himself poor, daring to have such thoughts. He
tried to put them out of his mind, but the hopes and the
plans always came back when he met a friendless, homeless
child, asleep in the street, unsold newspapers folded under
his head for a pillow or his shoeshine kit under his arm
so that it would not be stolen while he slept.

Then, too, John Drumgoole realized it was not only the
children who needed help; it was the grown people also.
The immigrants from the incoming boats who were crowd-
ing the city had another enemy besides poverty: ignorance
and lack of education, either formal or in a trade. He saw
the great need of adult schools for these people, places
where they could come at night to learn. He had found
among them some very eager to study, eager to better
themselves but how? Who would help to give them the
opportunity? Some could read fairly well, of course, but
even the available books were too costly for those whose
little money must go for food and shelter.

For some time John Drumgoole had realized that the
time had come for him to seek advice regarding his ambi-

The Sexton of St. Mary's 37

tion to enter the seminary. The deep hope was still with
him, but he knew that soon he must give it up or bring it
to fruition, for he was growing toward middle age. Soon
he would be too old to be received as a student. Then, too,
he must study a great deal before he could even enter a
seminary. The time had come to speak to someone, but
whether to consult his pastor or someone else he was not
certain. In the end it was to his pastor that he presented
his problem.

When he did so Father McCann looked at his sexton
keenly. John was about thirty years old now, strong and
healthy. His dark eyes were full of intelligence, his mouth
showed a firm will, his forehead was high under the dark
hair. The pastor hesitated as to what to say to the man be-
fore him, for he felt grave doubts that he would be able,
at his age and with so little education, to become a priest.

"But you are not young any more/' he began hesitantly,
"and to begin the life of a seminarian now and, be-
sides, the Latin alone may be a great problem and

then, John the money "

"I know, I know," said John despondently, and then, in
a firmer voice and as if pleading his cause, "but I think
that God wants me to be a priest/ 1

"Well, if He does, He will bring it about/' said the pas-
tor, but there was not much in his voice to encourage his
sexton. In fact he had been greatly amazed to learn of
John's desire. He had never once guessed that his faithful
worker had any such aim.

A second talk on the subject disclosed the fact that John
was thinking of becoming a monk.

"No, no, John, surely your work is in the world. Look,
man, how would you like it if you had no boys to fuss with,
no clubs for them? No, John, stay in the world. The boys
need you. And you go talk the whole thing over with your

38 Children's Shepherd

mother/' he added. "She is a sensible woman. See what she
thinks."

That evening, when the boys had gone home and he had
carefully locked up the church, he went home to talk with
his mother. She had, of course, been long aware of his
great desire; he had never been able to conceal it from her
entirely. But she had thought of it as a vague idea in his
mind which would remain just that. Now, almost with a
shock, she realized how deep was his yearning, how firm his
convictions about his future.

She did not hesitate even for a moment. "Then you
must do it, John. I can't help you with money but I can
pray for you and I can live somewhere else so that you can
save your money faster."

But such a solution, he assured her, had never entered
his head. "No, before I go I want to save enough for your
keep while I am away," he said. "I can do it. But I'm going
to begin to study right now. Ill take some courses at St.
John's College at Rose Hill and, if the pastor thinks well
of the idea, I'll take what I've saved so far and open a little
bookstore across the street from St. Mary's and make some
money that way."

At 443 Grand Street he opened his little shop. He spent
his free hours there, often the evenings, because that was
the time when most of his customers were free to come.
His stock was of necessity very small, but he soon saw that
there was also a market for religious cards and crucifixes
and rosary beads. His supply of books grew and he planned
someday to do a little publishing of his own as did many
booksellers of the day. He carried on his shelves The
Practise of Christian Perfection, a popular abridgment of
an old classic; Pastorini's History of the Church issued by
Bernard Dornin; Taylor's Book of Prayer^ and The Chris-

The Sexton of St. Mary's 39

tian's Guide to Heaven. He had Bibles and copies of Free-
man's Journal and the Catholic Almanac, pictures of prel-
ates and saints and Father Mathew Temperance Cards,
these last especially popular since Father Mathew had not
long before lectured at St. Mary's.

It was a tiny shop among New York's booksellers
Kenedy's and Sadlier's and Ryan's and the others but he
was not trying to vie with them. Nor did he make a great
deal of money from his shop, for no one in the parish was
rich, but he did realize, along with his sexton's pay, enough
to set aside a sum for his mother's future needs and for his
expenses at St. John's. There, during the next few years, he
attended classes when he could; and when he could not
come to class, one of the professors was good enough to
tutor him. For he interested the men who taught him, this
man past his first youth, so eager to learn, so willing to work
hard, and for one reason only that he might someday be
a priest.

He enjoyed the trip on the train to the college at Rose
Hill. It was only eleven miles from the New York station,
but the train traveled slowly and once outside the city the
country was lovely. The time spent on this journey seemed
like a brief vacation to him, away from the dust and ashes,
the furnace firing and the sweeping at St. Mary's, and the
long evenings in the bookstore.

St. John's College at Rose Hill had been started some
years before by Bishop Hughes, and Father John McClos-
key was appointed as its president. When Father Mc-
Closkey was named Bishop of Albany in 1844 Father James
Roosevelt Bayley had succeeded him. Only a few students
attended the college at first, all studying for the priesthood,
though it was intended as a college for secular studies as
well. In 1846 Bishop Hughes invited the Jesuits to take

40 Children's Shepherd

charge, and later they bought the property for their own
use, and it became Fordham University.

Eventually the trip to Rose Hill proved too expensive
for John's resources and also took too much of his time, so
he went instead for instruction to the new St. Francis
Xavier's College which the Jesuits had opened in New
York on East Fifteenth Street. When John came to study
there he found the school situated in an unbuilt area but
near a few fine houses and farms. Since the neighborhood
where he lived was very crowded with tenements it was
pleasant to go for a few hours several times a week to
Fifteenth Street; although it was not so green and lovely
as Rose Hill it was a pleasant change from Grand Street.
Then, too, each time he went John had the joy of knowing
that every hour of class brought him closer to gaining the
credits that would enable him to go to the seminary.

So the years passed. Always the hard work of a sexton,
the grinding hours of study, the hurried trips to the school,
where the Jesuits were so willing to help this student who
could appear infrequently but whose intention was so
large, the evenings in the little shop, and always time for
the boys' club in the church basement.

Though each year that went by added more to the sum
he needed for the seminary and to the fund for his mother,
he was well aware that he was still a distance from his goal.
The i86os came, and by that time his mother's hair was
white and she was an old woman. There were times, dis-
couraged hours, when he felt as old as she. But when even
his hope sometimes grew weak, it was she who encouraged
him to persevere. He tried, however, to say as little to her
on the subject as possible, for he knew that she felt he
would have been a priest long ago had it not been for her.
And she knew that John regarded the responsibility of her

The Sex ton of St. Mary's 4 1

care as a compelling duty and one which nothing would
make him give up.

Sometimes he went uptown to get away from the city
for a few hours, to the section now called Fifth Avenue,
where in 1858 had been laid the cornerstone of a new St.
Patrick's Cathedral. Little building had been done, for the
Civil War's beginning had stopped it; men and money
were both needed elsewhere. But during the interval an
American flag flew all day over the half-built walls. Free-
man's Journal, John read, disapproved and declared "flags
from spires will soon mean harangues from pulpits." But
Bishop Hughes had sanctioned this display of the flag, and
each time John walked by, he rejoiced to see the Stars and
Stripes protecting the half-built house of God.

In 1864 John learned, when he came to his sexton's task
early one morning, that Archbishop John Hughes was
dead.

The next day the Archbishop's body lay in state in the
old Cathedral, clad in his prelate's robes, his miter and
crozier beside him, on the very spot where young John
Drumgoole had seen him kneeling when he had been
consecrated by Bishop Dubois many years before. John
knew that Archbishop Hughes, like himself, had come to
America as a poor Irish immigrant boy, that he had worked
for a number of years as a gardener before he had the op-
portunity to study for the priesthood, and he drew inspira-
tion and encouragement from the thought of the achieve-
ments of a man who had done so much for his Church and
for his country. In those days, when anti-Catholic bigotry
was rampant, the Archbishop had many times averted
trouble by his wise advice to his own people and by his
fearless and determined attitude during the "Know-Noth-
ing" and other disturbances. Because of his stanch char-

42 Children's Shepherd

acter and intense patriotism, he had won the respect and
admiration of his opponents and the friendship of many
distinguished American statesmen. Only the summer be-
fore, although he had been broken in health so ill that he
had to sit in a chair while he spoke to the crowds from the
balcony of his residence he had, at the request of Gov-
ernor Seymour of New York, made an effort to put an end
to the terrible draft riots that were raging in the city. And
his words had done much to quell the bloody tumult that
had lasted for four days, a time when looting was general
and all business had been brought to a standstill.

John Drumgoole attended the Archbishop's funeral, a
very imposing ceremony in which eight bishops and 200
priests took part. The city courts were closed that day as a
mark of respect, and members of the state legislature as
well as the federal government expressed their grief at the
prelate's passing.

One day in the same year John came wearily home from
St. Francis Xavier's, pondering on how hard it was to be
among young men and to know his own youth gone for-
ever, that each year that passed meant one less to serve
God as he yearned to do. But this day his mother met him
at the door in a state of great excitement. Her eyes, still
warmly blue in her wrinkled face, were smiling and filled
with delight.

"John," she all but threw the words at him, and spoke
so fast he could hardly understand her. "John, you can go.
You can go to the seminary. It will be all right. Mrs. Kerri-
gan came in this morning with a fine plan. She and her
Michael want me to come to live with them while you are
away/'

He looked at her keenly. This sort of plan had been dis-

The Sexton of St. Mary's 43

cussed before and always something had gone wrong. "Are
you sure you would be happy there?" he asked doubtfully.

"Yes, John, very happy, and I can help in their home.
I'm not an invalid, you know, and I've kept house for you
right along. Annie will be good to me, you know that. And
I'll be right next door to St. Mary's and praying for you to
become a priest at last. Please be happy, John, for both
of us."

There was no doubt that she spoke sincerely. The
Kerrigans were good people, the salt of the earth, and he
could safely trust his mother to them. He felt a load slip
from his heart. And when Mrs. Kerrigan came and dis-
cussed arrangements, he knew this was right. This was the
will of God, helping him.

Now matters moved swiftly to a climax. It had been de-
cided that he would apply to the Seminary of Our Lady
of Angels at Suspension Bridge, New York, to be re-
ceived there as a student for the priesthood. The hard
days at St. John's, the weary hours of study at St. Francis
Xavier's, were going to pay off.

He learned he had been accepted at the seminary.
Money would still be a problem, but he had saved for his
mother's expenses and thought he could manage for his
own. This time he felt his course would run to its ap-
pointed end.

He was invited, a few days before he was to leave, to
come one evening to the Kerrigan home on Attorney Street
right next to St. Mary's rectory, where his mother was al-
ready installed. He knew the fondness of the Irish for a
farewell party and was not surprised when he found a
goodly number of St. Mary's parishioners present.

They were all sitting around drinking hot tea and eating
buns. The windows were opened wide, for it was a pleasant

44 Children's Shepherd

evening in September and the sound of children playing
came to him from the streets. And now, for the first time,
he realized that he must leave these children whom he had
known and to whom he had taught not only how to play
games but the love of God. He promised himself that
when he was ordained he would come back here and help
them again, for he could not imagine a life of work in
which children had no part.

Suddenly he realized that someone was getting ready to
make a speech, as Mr. Kerrigan was making a space in the
center of the room and William Dougherty, one of the
church trustees, was rising and clearing his throat. John
assumed that this must be the prelude to a farewell speech
to make the party complete. But he was not prepared for
the content of that speech which, moreover, Mr. Dougherty
was actually getting ready to read. A formal speech from
one who could talk so readily and fluently was surprising.

He now addressed John directly. "Esteemed friend," he
began, "I speak for a committee sanctioned by the approval
of our beloved pastor and representing a portion of your
numerous friends in the parish of the venerated old St.
Mary's Church. Your going away affects us more than
words can describe or action portray. Your friendly ad-
vice, the cheerful greeting, and the brotherly sympathy
remain graven in our hearts. The glorious monuments of
Catholic progress that have arisen in our day under the
blessing of Almighty God and the invocation of our Pa-
troness, while fostered by our venerated pastors, owe no
small measure of their success to your unremitting zeal."

He stopped for breath, and around him heard the mur-
mur of approval of his words. "Representing the laity of
the parish in their share of the work/' he went on, "we
bear testimony to the fact that in carrying out the worldly

The Sexton of St. Mary's 45

efforts which God allots us to perform, toward the work
designed for His services, you directed us in council and
led us in action and we return thanks to God for the bless-
ing He has bestowed on our work and we pray Him to
pour His choicest blessings upon you and that His spirit
may aid you in perfecting yourself to minister at His
altar/'

He was holding a small package in his hands. "As a
trifling token of regard from your friends in the parish we
beg you to accept from us not a silver trumpet nor even an
elegantly mounted revolver nor yet a pair of spurs, but
a trifling number of the greenbacked monsters that at
present overspread and some say afflict our country, hoping
that in your possession and under your control the said
greenbacks will be restrained from doing evil and perhaps
even become the means of doing good. Wishing you long-
continued health and happiness and success in your holy
desires, we bid our late sexton but our always friend, fare-
well."

For a few minutes John could say nothing at all in reply.
He looked around at the smiling faces of the men and
women he had known for so long and for whom he felt
such affection. Outside, the voices of the children seemed
to echo the words just spoken. He looked at his mother
and saw her smiling though there were tears in her eyes.
His own voice was choked when he spoke:

"There is nothing to say to you, dear people, only that
my vision of years will be made reality now. My one fear,
that perhaps I could not earn enough money to continue
to the end, is gone. You will make me a priest, God willing,
and I shall come back and bless you someday."

Next morning he was on his way to fulfillment.

Seminary Years and Ordination

THE SEMINARY o Our Lady of Angels, at Suspension
Bridge near Niagara Falls, to which John Drumgoole went
in 1865, was quite a new institution, its foundations hav-
ing been laid only nine years before by Bishop Lynch of
Toronto. Its grounds lay but a short distance from, the
great falls, and the sound of their rushing waters was the
first greeting John received when he left the train at the
railroad station.

The president of the seminary was Father Robert Rice,
of the Congregation of the Foreign Missions, who had him-
self built the present college. When John went there it
was still unfinished and Father Rice's plans for a chapel
were as yet only an architect's drawings on paper. But
already the new seminary was staffed with excellent men,
and its reputation, despite its few years, was very high.

John found in his classes several other candidates from
the New York diocese, one of them, John Mullen, a
nephew of Archbishop McCloskey. But they were all
young men, while John was now close to forty-nine years
old. At first he was greatly troubled about this disparity in
age and wondered what the others were thinking when
they saw his graying hair.

He need not have worried. He met with nothing but

46

Seminary Years and Ordination 47

fellowship and friendliness from these young men. He was
quickly made one of their company and soon found that
his ideas were listened to with respect. As the months went
by and he inevitably began to speak of his favorite topic,
the subject nearest his heart the neglected children of
the metropolis he met with an eager and interested re-
sponse. All knew that this problem might well be their
own someday and that what they could learn of his ex-
perience would aid them in their future work. John often
talked of his boys in St. Mary's parish and in such a way
that one day a student said smilingly, "But, John, you talk
as if they were your own children. You are as proud of
them as a father of his sons."

As he said this John began to smile, too, but he knew
there was truth in the amused remark. They were his
children, these youngsters of tenement and street, and he
felt a personal pride in their pluck and their attempts to
earn a living, to make their way among the people of an
indifferent city. It was only when he thought of his mother
or the boys of his clubs that he felt homesick for New York
and the old life.

After a time his life became entirely that of the semi-
nary. At first he was not happy, for when, at the beginning
of his school year, he was confronted by the curriculum, he
was startled to find how miserably little prepared he was
to enter upon the studies necessary for the priesthood. The
preliminary work he had done at St. John's and St. Francis
Xavier's had been at best sketchy, for his attendance had
been so intermittent and so limited by the necessity of
earning his living. Then, too, his mind was essentially a
practical one; he found he grasped facts more readily than
he did principles and abstract thought. As for Latin, he
had mastered only the rudiments. Now he found that many

48 Children's Shepherd

of the textbooks were in that language! For a time he was
almost in despair.

But, as had happened to him several times before, just
when he felt himself entirely defeated in his aims, help
came to him. Father John Landry, prefect of studies and
professor of several courses at the seminary, saw in the
middle-aged man a special vocation. After long discussions
with Father Rice on the subject, Father Landry suggested
that he himself give the new seminarian additional in-
struction outside the regular classes.

Patiently he drilled his pupil in the principles of the-
ology and aided him in the difficult Latin. And it was
Father Landry who, when the four years of the seminary
were completed, was to recommend John Drumgoole for
ordination.

Sometimes between his hours of study John went for
walks close to the falls. They were a wonder of nature for
which his boyhood in the crowded streets of New York had
not prepared him. He had heard many times of them and
had read about them, but he had not been able to visualize
their actual magnificence, their wild beauty, their awe-
inspiring height. The sound of their waters was always in
the air, fainter near the college, but even there distantly
to be heard.

One day, as he stood watching the foaming torrents, he
thought of a description he had read in one of the books
in his shop on Grand Street. Its title in English was New
Discoveries, and it had been written by the explorer Father
Hennepin, a Franciscan friar who had been La Salle's
chaplain on the Griffon, the first ship to sail the Great
Lakes. John was delighted now to find a copy of this book
in the seminary library and to read again the account of
the first white men ever to look upon the falls. Even

Seminary Years and Ordination 49

through the stilted translation from the French there came
the awe and wonder with which the pioneer priest had
viewed this evidence of the power of God, this tumbling
mass of waters, these rainbowed mists that hovered over
them "a sort of cloud that rises from the foam even at
noonday and above the tallest firs."

John sometimes thought how Hennepin's "vast and
prodigious cadence of waters" was like the rush of Chris-
tian charity the many small gifts and prayers, the acts of
individuals all helping to form the great flood of love.
Far away, and very small, the little rivulets started, each
unimportant in itself but contributing to make the vast
whole. He prayed that his own part in the future would be
to be as one of those rivulets which, joined by thousands of
others, formed the great torrent that was the love of God.

Sometimes in his leisure hours he went with other stu-
dents to the Indian village not far away, or to the church
on the Lockport Road. At others he crossed to the Ca-
nadian side of the falls to visit the Convent of the Ladies
of Loretto, a community connected with the Abbey of Our
Lady of Loretto in Dublin and where the Sisters were in
charge of an academy for girls.

The schoolgirls in their uniforms of blue had been sur-
prised to learn that this gray-haired man who sometimes
came to see the Sisters was only a seminarian, and so at
first had been the Ladies of Loretto themselves. But he
had a way of talking to them and telling them stories of
New York and its history that held their attention, and the
girls used to wish he would come oftener. To the Sisters he
spoke sometimes of his future plans, of the neglected city
children, and of his boys' clubs at St. Mary's, and of those
other boys he had not been able to help.

He had very little money, never enough to buy new

50 Children's Shepherd

clothing, and the nuns, noticing occasional loose buttons
and rips in his worn coat, mended it for him and listened
to him while they sewed. He was so intent, so eager about
his future work that his enthusiasm sounded to them like
that of a boy. He made it clear to them that he felt his real
life was still before him and that it was youth he planned
to serve.

He told them of his plan for a home for homeless boys
a place where they could study and play, perhaps a place
in the country where they could get some color in their
pale cheeks, a sunburn which they would never have in
the city streets. "And when I have the house," he said one
day, "I shall call it after the convent here. Its name will be
Loretto."

No one of those who listened to him doubted that his
dream would come true. He spoke so definitely and deci-
sively that they could almost see the happy children play-
ing in the green fields, studying in the airy rooms, in the
house built by his love and his belief that this was what
God had meant him to do. Like him, the Sisters had full
faith in Providence. To some his plans might have seemed
Utopian daydreams; to the Sisters, as to John Drumgoole,
they were very practical projects that needed only the
blessing of God to make them succeed.

While John was a student at the seminary he had little
money for trips to and from New York, and during vaca-
tions he devoted his time to working for the parish priest
in a small town across the Canadian border. Here he was
useful to the pastor in many ways, and especially enjoyed
teaching catechism to the children.

Among those who helped with the decorations in this
church was a girl named Mary Wallace who seemed to
John always so absorbed and happy and devout when she

Seminary Years and Ordination 51

worked about the altar that one day he inquired if she had
ever thought of entering a convent.

She looked at him in surprise. "How did you ever guess
that?" she asked, and told him it was her dream but that
she had never mentioned it to anyone.

"If you wish, I'll speak of you to the Sisters of an order
that I know in Buffalo the Sisters of St. Francis," he said.
And that very evening he wrote to the superior there.

At last the years of study were over, or nearly so. On
December 16, 1868, John Drumgoole and three other
seminarians received the tonsure and minor orders, and
three days later they were made sub-deacons. The seminary
diary stated that the following spring, on St. Patrick's Day,
John officiated as sub-deacon at a solemn High Mass in the
college chapel. A month later the same record again listed:
"Sub-deacon, Mr. Drumgoole."

On May 19 of that year those ready for ordination en-
tered on a four-day retreat. And on Friday, May si, the
diaconate was conferred on the four men from New York.
The next day, Saturday, May 22, they were ordained as
priests by Bishop Stephen Ryan of Buffalo. The preacher
on this occasion was Bishop Bernard McQuaid of Roches-
ter, a noted orator always in demand for ordinations both
because of his clear, persuasive voice and the excellence of
his advice to those entering the duties of the priesthood.

For those now being ordained at the Seminary of Our
Lady of Angels the Bishop's words held a great poign-
ancy, for they were going out now to face that world; they
had been trained to meet its needs but were as yet inex-
perienced in the demands that would be made on them.
The logic of the great laws, the theological and moral
precepts these they knew well; now they must take these

52 Children's Shepherd

teachings out of the classrooms and apply them to the
care of souls.

When the Bishop spoke of the work they could do for
young men, and how religious training such as they had
been educated to offer could bring out a child's good
qualities and serve to guide aright the young heart, his
words had a wider meaning to the fourth of the group
than they had for the younger men listening to him.

John Drumgoole now knew, as the others did, the ab-
stract laws and the theological precepts, but he also knew
from his own past experience how true were the Bishop's
words regarding their practical application. To him they
carried added meaning, for the Bishop was saying, clearly
and beautifully, what he had himself so often experienced,
when he brought together groups of boys in the basement
at St. Mary's Church, that a knowledge of the love of God
brought out the fine qualities in a boy as mere material
giving of charity could never do it, that to help and also
to reform a boy of the streets the love of God must be
taught him by men who were filled with that love of God
who were able to see, in the forlorn and unattractive out-
cast, the image of Christ and His love for him.

For the first time in some years John Drumgoole had
been giving concrete thought to his own immediate fu-
ture. He knew he belonged to the New York diocese, but
he had been anxious to know where in that diocese he
would be sent. He hoped it would be to a large city where
there were working boys and street boys to be cared for.
To his joy he learned immediately after his ordination that
the Archbishop was sending him to his own beloved parish.
His first appointment was as an assistant at the Church of
St. Mary on Grand Street in New York City.

Seminary Years and Ordination 53

Father Landry, the professor who had made his ordina-
tion possible, promised to follow him to New York, for he
was to assist Father Drumgoole in his first Mass in his own
church.

Despite his happiness the new priest was very sad at
leaving Our Lady of Angels and his friends the Sisters
of Loretto who had been so kind to him and had promised
him their continual prayers for all his future work. He
would miss particularly Father Rice who had encouraged
him in his darkest days, when Latin and theology had
seemed hurdles too high for leaping. And he would miss
the eager young men who had never made him feel an out-
sider despite his years and his gray hair.

On the evening when Father Drumgoole left Our Lady
of Angels, Father T. M. O'Donoghue of the faculty
wrote in the seminary daybook: "In going away, as ever
when he was here, his whole manner showed what real
love he bore for Our Lady of the Angels and her faculty
and her boys." And one of his professors spoke for them all
when he said of the newly ordained priest, "He is indeed a
holy, holy man."

There was little doubt but that John Drumgoole had
made for himself a very special place in the hearts of pro-
fessors and students, all of whom had helped him in some
way and all of whom he had helped in his way, if only by
the example of his patience and humility. He did not
realize in the very slightest how great had been his own
contribution to his seminary. He could not see what an ex-
ample his own simplicity, his deep humility, had been for
these young men among whom he had lived during these
four years. He knew only that he was very grateful to them,
and happy that he had known them.

Happiest of all he was to know that he was to return to

54 Children's Shepherd

his own parish, to his own people, and especially to his own
boys. As sexton he had been able to help these lads, to urge
them to better things, to teach them faith and love. But the
power he now bore he did not then have. Always at the
critical moment he had had to turn them over to someone
else.

Now the oils, the ancient, beautiful, powerful words of
consecration which made him a priest of God, had given
him authority as well as a loving and devoted heart.

New York's Children The Newsboys' Home

JOHN DRUMGOOLE had come home again, to his city and his
parish, to his mother and his friends. It was good to know
that his work was here, and that he would again be a part
of their lives.

He hastened to the rectory at St. Mary's to present him-
self to Father O'Reilly, the new pastor, for Father McCann
had died while he was away. Then he went across the street
to the Kerrigans' to see his mother, who awaited him with
joy and pride in her eyes.

He found her greatly aged. Although it was evident that
she had been surrounded by loving care while he was away,
it was a sorrow to him to find how weak she had grown,
how slowly she moved. But, despite the wrinkled face, the
feeble walk, the blue eyes twinkled with their old bright-
ness as she looked him over carefully.

"You've put on weight, son," she said, "and it becomes
you. And" as her eye lighted on a neat darn on his coat
sleeve "have you learned to do the fine mending up north
along with the other studies?"

He laughed. "No, Mother, the Sisters did that for me.
They saw to it that your John was as well mended as ever
you kept me/'

On Sunday, May 30, 1869, Father John Drumgoole said
his first Mass. Father Landry, true to his promise, was be-

55

56 Children's Shepherd

side him to act as master of ceremonies. The boys on the
altar were strangers to the new assistant at St. Mary's, but
afterward several young men whom he had trained as
acolytes came up to speak with him. One was the son of
Mr. Dougherty who had made the fine speech when he
went away to the seminary.

In the front pew, her face one happy smile, his mother
sat with the Kerrigans during the Mass. Old friends, their
faces solemn and content, were there to receive his bless-
ing.

He had thought he would be deeply excited when he
first stood at the altar as a priest, the fulfillment at last of
his hope of years. Instead, he felt only a deep and quiet joy,
and he wanted to repeat over and over the words, "It is
good to be here/'

When, later, he showed Father Landry around the
church and explained that he had been sexton there for
many years, Father Landry said thoughtfully, "And now
you won't be opening the doors of the church to people.
You will be opening the doors of hearts to God."

He had been at his new work only a short time when he
received happy news: Mary Wallace, who had decorated
the altar at the little Canadian church near Niagara, wrote
that she had been accepted by the Sisters of St. Francis. And
she signed the letter with her new name in religion: Sister
Mary Catherine.

The new assistant found there was plenty for him to do
at St. Mary's. It was a far larger and busier parish than it
had been four years ago. To help Father O'Reilly there
were, in addition to himself, two assistants, Father Baxter
and Father McEvoy, and they formed a congenial team.

Other things had changed in New York. There was now

The Newsboys' Home 57

a new way of traveling through the city an elevated rail-
road though horsecars were still the chief mode of transit.
The newer city dwellings were being built uptown, and
the neighborhood of St. Mary's held even more poor peo-
ple than formerly. St. Patrick's had burned to the ground
in 1866, but the vestments and paintings the old dim
ones which John loved had been saved, and the Blessed
Sacrament had been removed to safety.

Plans to rebuild were immediately made and carried
out, for though work on the new cathedral uptown was
progressing, the old St. Patrick's on Mott Street remained
very important in the Catholic life of the city. So it con-
tinued for some years to serve as New York's chief Catholic
church and still proudly guarded the jeweled vestments
which had been the gift of Pope Pius IX.

When Father Drumgoole went to visit the rebuilt edifice
for the first time after his return from the seminary and
stood looking out at the scene before him, he smiled, re-
membering the open spaces that had surrounded it in his
childhood days and Mr. Idley's fox. Now all about him
were buildings and tenements and narrow, crowded streets.

Since his days there as sexton St. Mary's had changed
greatly. Two tall towers had been built above its front
facade, and the newly frescoed interior gave a far brighter
appearance than had the dim old church in which he had
worked. There was a fine new organ and a new bell. It had
changed, he thought as he glanced about, but it was still his
spiritual home. Here he had been server. Here he had been
sexton. He knew the church as a housekeeper knows the
rooms of a house she has long tended with loving care.

But no matter what had changed, one thing was the same
the swarms of children in and about the school. There
were many more of them now. St. Mary's school had 600

58 Children's Shepherd

boys taught by the Christian Brothers and 750 girls in
charge of the Sisters of Charity. However, these children
had homes and parents, thought Father Drumgoole, even
though many were poor.

His heart went out with sadness to the others the
ragged and homeless children whom he had aided in other
days. Their condition was no better if anything, it had
grown worse. Despite the efforts of city and private charity,
there was no lessening of their need or their numbers.

Alongside a poverty so deep that many depended for
food on the refuse from the city dumps, there was a grow-
ing prosperity in the metropolis. By 1868 Wall Street was
already famous as the great financial center of the nation;
Broadway was a glittering facade of beauty and fashion;
Fifth Avenue had an elegant line of residences and some
fine churches. There were several miles of marble and free-
stone buildings. But the city government was inefficient
and often corrupt; unscrupulous politicians, chief among
them the Tweed ring, were robbing the city of millions of
dollars. And for the line of stately buildings there was the
terrible contrast in the tenement sections houses like
huge boxes, a little light from windows at front and back,
the middle rooms dark, the banisters damp and rotten, the
stairs broken. In the Fourth Ward 290,000 people were
packed within a square mile. It was a region where typhus
and deadly fevers often took their toll and where tene-
ments were crowded from basement to attic and some lived
in subtidal cellars. Cattle on farms were better housed than
were some of the citizens of New York.

At a time when such conditions prevailed it is not to be
wondered that the children of the poor were among the
sufferers. The Civil War as well as successive epidemics had
left many orphans, and the tremendous growth o the

The Newsboys' Home 59

population due to a new upsurge of immigration in the
postwar years meant a corresponding increase in the prob-
lem of homeless and destitute children.

In 1868 Father Hecker wrote in The Catholic World
that there were 40,000 homeless children in the city.
Hundreds from four to fourteen were found drunk. Forty-
six hundred boys and girls from ten to fifteen had been ar-
rested for drunkenness and petty crimes. Groups of fright-
ened little children were occasionally to be found sleeping
in station houses, permitted to remain there by the police
while they searched for some place to put them.

Despite the work of bishops, priests, and religious, and
the few wealthy laymen of the city who aided them, the
Catholic institutions of New York could take care of a
distressingly small number of these children, a large pro-
portion of whom were of the Faith. In 1869 the six Catho-
lic orphan asylums in New York were caring for some
twelve hundred children. In addition there was in West-
chester County the Catholic Protectory, founded in 1862
by a group of Catholic laymen with the assistance of Arch-
bishop Hughes and under the presidency of Levi Silliman
Ives, an Episcopal minister who had some years previously
become a Catholic. In 1869 the Protectory cared for some
420 boys and 137 girls. This institute would take, accord-
ing to its charter, "the child in circumstances of want and
suffering, exposure or neglect, or of beggary." It was
crowded and overcrowded before it had been opened a
month, and in its very first year, although they regretted
the necessity, the managers were forced by lack of room to
restrict admission to those committed by the courts and
the Commissioners of Public Charity.

But there were many little homeless vagrants who went
to no school, who had done no harm to society, who even

6o Children's Shepherd

earned a living, though a small and precarious one, by sell-
ing papers or cleaning chimneys or blacking shoes. These
children could not be brought under any existing law; they
worked, even though they earned little. They were not
legally vagrants and so could not be sent to any of the insti-
tutions then existing. That meant that they had no place of
shelter save what they won for themselves from night to
night, and often this was only a packing box, or a disused
icebox, or porch steps, or a grille over a warm cellar. To be
assured shelter, children must be convicted of a minor
crime or found drunk. The others lived as they could.

In 1853 Charles Loring Brace, a Protestant minister of
the city, motivated entirely by his deep sympathy for these
unfortunate waifs, had founded the Children's Aid Society.
He had seen boys, sometimes a half dozen, as Father Drum-
goole saw them not much later, sleeping under a stairway,
huddled together to keep warm, or, on a hot summer night,
asleep on some porch steps or in an areaway. Completely a
Christian, he felt these children ought to receive shelter
and religious training. When he talked to them he found
them very responsive to him.

"Bummin' is hard work in a big blow," said one, and he
bore this phrase in mind when he opened a lodginghouse
for boys who were working and had no fixed home. He
rented an old loft in Fulton Street and furnished it with
bunks for seventy-five boys. Those who came were of all
kinds some sharpened by years of street life, some already
familiar with crime and vice, others merely friendless and
ignorant and young.

He offered a bed and supper to these boys six cents for
a bed and four for supper, since they were considered in
some degree self-supporting. There were those, of course,

The Newsboys' Home 61

who came merely to make trouble, and even those who
stayed were for a time wary, fearing a "Sunday-school
trap."

Before long the Children's Aid Society, which Mr. Brace
founded to make the work more stable, branched into
wider fields. It planned industrial schools, Sunday meet-
ings, reading rooms, and paid agents whose full task would
be to undertake these various duties and also to find boys
for the lodginghouse.

In all this good work there was one constantly recurring
difficulty for the Catholic authorities. It was that, though
Christian, the work was completely under Protestant aus-
pices. Though nominally non-sectarian, it was almost too
much to expect that there should not be some proselytizing
since, to some workers in the Society, Catholicism was a
superstition and a threat to the American way of life, and
they felt it a duty to substitute in childish minds other and
better things. Even so good a man as Brace himself felt this
to some extent. Anxious to get rid of any lingering narrow-
ness in the thinking of those who cared for poor children,
his reaction from the harsh Puritan creed made him in-
clude in his fear all creeds, including the Catholic.

Nevertheless the talks he gave to his newsboys always had
a religious and moral trend, though he made an effort for
them not to sound like tracts. Bread before sermons, he
said, and rightly, but often in this effort to meet the prac-
tical needs of the poor his workers disregarded the Catho-
lic practices of many of those they were trying to help.
Therefore Catholic welfare workers had sometimes to op-
pose certain measures taken by this organization. This was
especially true when the work entered an unfortunate
phase that Catholics were not alone to criticize. It was
stated as the Society's conviction that "the best asylum for

6s Children's Shepherd

an outcast child is in a farmer's home, that there they
would meet with far better conditions than in any institu-
tion"; and so "on application" hundreds of city waifs were
sent to farms in the Middle West to private homes. No
doubt the shortage of labor in the West was a factor in
interesting many of the farmers in the older children who
could be expected to work for them.

At first the children were individually placed, but this
proved expensive, and those taken for the most part from
infant and orphan asylums and also from parents unable
or unwilling to care for them were sent in groups of twenty
to forty to selected points in the West, Their train would
stop at a station; there, or at a church or schoolhouse, peo-
ple came to choose a child. Then the children, for better or
worse, were gone from other jurisdiction.

Mr. Brace made an effort to meet the criticism of this
method of child placement by attempting to have his
agents visit each adopted child once a year a plan which
proved impossible to carry out. He even published a book-
let showing pictures of children he had himself visited, and
he told of their happy life, and how they could leave at any
time they wished a difficult thing, said objectors, in the
case of a small child more than a thousand miles from
home. But since there had been many really successful
placements the work continued, and by 1865 some 10,000
children had been sent to Western homes.

Many of these children, perhaps the great majority, were
Catholic; it was obvious that since many of them were
placed with persons of other creeds, they would never
know of their faith again except to hear it mocked or called
superstition. Sometimes letters came, years later, to the
diocese, from children sent away when small and now
grown up, asking for information about their parents.

The Newsboys' Home 63

Some worked their way back from the farms to which they
had been sent. Once three ill-clad boys appeared together
at the office of the mayor of New York, having come all the
way from Kansas where they had been overworked and
underfed on the farms to which they had been sent. Ragged
and thin, they had been befriended by freight-car men on
the long way home.

Once in Wisconsin a priest found a "sale" of children
going on in a Methodist church. Discovering that nine of
the twelve children were Catholic, he wrote back to New
York, "It is my opinion that a terrible responsibility rests
at the door of you New Yorkers whose duty it is to watch
over these lambs of God/'

This alarm had spread far beyond the bounds of New
York State, and beyond the state authorities or the re-
ligious leaders of New York.

"Day after day," stated the pastoral letter of the second
Plenary Council of Baltimore in 1866, "the unhappy chil-
dren are transferred by hundreds to the sectarian reforma-
tories where they have been placed, then to distant locali-
ties where they are brought up in ignorance of the religion
in which they were baptized. The only remedy ... is
Catholic protectories . , . under the only influence
known to have really reached the roots of vice."

And Dr. Ives, who had been for some years in charge of
the Catholic Protectory in New York, said that whatever
the state might or might not do, the duty of Catholics was
plain.

John Drumgoole, the sexton, had often brooded over
the vagrant child workers of the metropolis, and Father
Drumgoole, the assistant at St. Mary's, still did. More
deeply than ever before did he realize how badly shelter

64 Children's Shepherd

was needed for these helpless waifs. They needed to learn
to read and write, to be taught industrious habits, and,
above all, to be trained for some good occupation and a
decent moral future. In those first days after his return to
St. Mary's, Father Drumgoole often thought of Bishop
McQuaid's sermon at the seminary of what he had said
concerning the difficulties of a boy face to face with an un-
friendly world when he was ignorant and deprived of the
aid of those who should be his chief protectors.

With no training, with no one to watch over them
what happened to these boys when they grew up? He now
knew what happened to some of them. One day a cynical
printer asked him to look through the windows of a saloon
where were gathered a dozen or so young men, obviously
already intoxicated though it was not yet noon.

"These men used to be newsboys," said the printer. And
Father Drumgoole knew without being told that some of
these young men would surely find themselves in prison be-
fore long. Was this the only answer?

He learned that others were as interested as he in the
plight of neglected Catholic working boys. Chief among
these were the members of the St. Vincent de Paul Society
in the city. Named for the man who had so loved the poor
and especially the children of the poor, this society had two
basic purposes: to give material aid to the needy, and to
keep Catholics in, or return them to, the practice of their
faith. Clearly among their tasks was to come to the aid of
distressed children.

More and more alarmed about the homeless working
boys, not only because of the material difficulties with
which these children met, but because so many of them
were Catholic children, the St. Vincent de Paul Confer-
ences went more deeply into the matter of their relief.

The Newsboys' Home 65

Early in 1869 a committee was appointed to investigate
the whole question, and to examine one solution which
was being worked out in Brooklyn, where the Conference
had rented a house, employed a superintendent and a
housekeeper, and was lodging working boys. The boys paid
ten cents a day toward their room and board; the Confer-
ence made up the deficit. The committee also paid a visit to
the Children's Aid Society and its similar project on East
Eighteenth Street in New York.

Father Starrs, Vicar General of the Archdiocese, was pres-
ent at this meeting, as were representatives of the twenty
Conferences in the city. The committee suggested that the
Conferences begin their work by renting a building in the
lower part of the city, where one hundred boys could be
lodged. A superintendent, meals, the cost of fixing up the
house, and the rental would, it was estimated, cost about
$10,000 for the first year and much less after that.

A warehouse was therefore rented at 53 Warren Street
for $2,500 a year. By June of 1870 repairs were finished.
A member of one of the Conferences was named super-
intendent and the house was opened at the end of July.

St. Vincent's Home for Homeless Boys of All Occupa-
tions was an instant success. Boys flooded the place, more
than the expected hundred, there was great enthusiasm
about the new home, and the Vincentians were delighted.
Then, as suddenly as it had met success, the project began
to fail. The boys often did not come back after a few weeks;
few new ones came. It soon became clear that the trouble
was that the superintendent was not the man for a task
which demanded more than overseeing the premises and
providing meals. The Conferences added a house mother
to the staff, but there was little improvement; the house
was empty half the time, to the chagrin of those who had

66 Children's Shepherd

opened it with such high hopes. Could it be that paid work-
ers had no real interest in the boys? Were they not in need
of guidance as well as shelter? Was the success of the similar
project of the Children's Aid Society due to the fact that it
had had as founder a Protestant minister, a man who talked
to his young charges about religion and tried to make them
live moral lives? Was this what was lacking in the Vin-
centian scheme?

At the next general meeting of the Conferences one
member suggested that perhaps one difficulty of the Home
lay in the fact that there was no spiritual director con-
nected with it. Thereupon a discussion arose regarding the
appointment of a new superintendent who would be a
priest, or at least of the advisability of securing the services
of a chaplain.

James E. Dougherty, a member of St. Mary's Confer-
ence, rose. "The Archbishop tells me that Father John
Drumgoole has offered his services for this work/' he said.
"I know him well, and know he has been fretting over this
problem for years. He worked for quite a while among
such boys as these when he was sexton of our church and
is doing it there now." He then proceeded to tell briefly
the story of Father Drumgoole and his deep interest in
vagrant working boys.

Several members were dubious. They had met or at
least heard of Father Drumgoole, and though they did not
doubt his good intentions or his zeal, they thought he was
so old in years and so new to the priesthood that he would
prove of little value for such an exacting task. However, a
committee was appointed to discuss the matter with him.
At the next meeting they announced their enthusiasm re-
garding him and said that they had little doubt but that he
could carry out the work. There was needed now only the
permission of the Archbishop.

The Newsb oys' Home 67

In 1871 full control of the Newsboys' Home had been
vested in Father Drumgoole as resident chaplain, though
the society would continue to pay the rent and other def-
icits. These expenses they hoped to raise in various ways,
by lectures and fairs and, if more was needed, it would
come from Conference collections.

The Archbishop had suggested that Father Drumgoole
accept from him the offer of living quarters away from the
lodginghouse, but he begged to be allowed to live there.
"Your Grace, let me stay with the boys all the time," he
asked. "When I was sexton at St. Mary's I often wished
with all my heart that I could have them with me day and
night as if I were really their father. If I don't make my
home with them now and eat what they do and put up with
their inconveniences, I won't have much influence with
them. I'm afraid my work would not be half done."

The Archbishop was much intrigued by this man, so old
in years, so able in plans and ideas, and certainly capable,
if his past history at St. Mary's was proof, of coping with
boys. Several people had gone to him to warn him of the
inadvisability of appointing an elderly priest to manage
unruly urchins who were tough products of the streets.
They pointed out the difficulties of the other superin-
tendent and he had been a younger man.

The Archbishop knew the Conference plans, however,
and thought them sensible and far-reaching. He looked
now at the strong, kindly face of the man who had been for
so many years on the road to the priesthood, who was evi-
dently competent and able, and, most important of all, so
obviously filled with love for children, any children, good
or bad. He felt no hesitation about giving his permission.
The man's faith, he thought as he looked at him, was as
large as his charity and his charity was so evidently as large
as his faith.

68 Children's Shepherd

As for Father Drumgoole, he left the Archbishop's house
with his hopes high, his heart as high. As he walked down
the street in the September sunshine, he found himself
looking at some of the boys he passed, and when he saw a
newsboy or bootblack, he said to himself, "There's one for
the Home."

In the rented house he found exactly the room he
wanted for his own. It was small, but large enough for him.
It contained a single iron bed, and an old desk that could
also serve as table for his meals. There was no carpet, and
he decided he did not need one. On the desk he placed his
big rosary, worn from handling, and over the bed he hung
his picture of St. Joseph.

He drew up a daily schedule for the boys. First there
were to be prayers together; then Mass and a short sermon
drawn from the Gospels. Many people, no doubt, would
have suggested a different beginning and a slower ap-
proach, but with him the spiritual factors counted so
greatly that he quite naturally put them first of all in his
lodgers' day.

Not many boys remained in the Home when he came
there, and no one had gone out to look for the boys to
bring them back; nor had anyone ever gone out to search
for new lodgers. Father Drumgoole did both. Those too
shy to come he sought in the streets of the city each to
him was a lost lamb that he was bringing home.

Soon word went about that the lodginghouse was in new
hands. The boys still there about twenty-five when
Father Drumgoole arrived were evidently reassured after
they met him, and they sent out word about the new
chaplain at the Home. The number of those applying for
lodging grew rapidly and before long the house at Warren

The Newsboys' Home 69

Street was too small to house them. Three floors of the loft
next door were rented and fitted up at a cost of $4,000, the
amount being contributed by Vincentians and friends in-
terested in the work.

However, it was understood that the rent for this annex
and the running expenses would in future be the responsi-
bility of Father Drumgoole himself, and he was satisfied
with this arrangement. The money he needed would come,
of that he felt sure. But this certainty was not born of any
sense of his own power. It was simply that he had already
enlisted the aid of a powerful Patron.

From the beginning it was clear to him that the one who
could help him was the one who had taken such care of his
Foster Child. It was St. Joseph he made responsible for this
work of the Home. It was St. Joseph to whom he appealed,
with whom he talked of his work and his failures and his
hopes, St. Joseph whom he thanked for his successes. He
was the Saint to whom his prayers had always been di-
rected; now he made him, so to speak, a partner in this new
enterprise for feeding bodies and saving souls.

Day after day he talked with him. Someone gave him a
little statue of St. Joseph and he placed it on the chair in
his room. When he had need of help or advice, he sat on
the bed facing him and talked with him. If strangers out-
side the door heard his voice inside they might well think
he was talking to himself, but his own people knew bet-
ter. He was discussing the future of his beloved Home
with the Patron of homes. It was to him and to his advice
that he listened, and it was to his support and that of Our
Lady that Father Drumgoole, from the day he undertook
his work, entrusted these children.

6

The Work Expands

WITH THE MONEY given him by the St. Vincent de Paul
Society to alter and fit up the new space at 55 Warren
Street, Father Drumgoole arranged a division of the new
quarters into several sections. He planned for a chapel
which would hold 250 boys, a big classroom, a lecture
room, a gymnasium, and sleeping cubicles. The feature
which perhaps brought the greatest delight to his lodgers
was the purchase of several hundred little lockers, one for
each boy, each of whom had a key in his personal posses-
sion.

But more than the arrangements of the house were
changed under the new director. According to his plan, this
was to become much more than a temporary hostel for
working boys. He wanted it to be their real home, and al-
ready he had decided that if the boys wished they could
continue to live there until they were earning six dollars a
week. After that they would be able to pay their way in a
respectable roominghouse and would be * 'graduated" from
the Home.

On his first evening at the lodginghouse he had given the
boys a short talk, and he then asked if any of them who had
some special talent would be willing to entertain the rest.
Some of them pushed forward one boy. "Weaver's wonder-

70

The Work Expands 71

ful," they told him, and Weaver rendered a very creditable
song and dance.

"The show people would certainly snap up Tommy
Weaver if only the poor boy didn't have those dreadful
sore eyes," he said to Mr. Dougherty who had dropped in
to see him and stayed for the performance.

The visitor nodded. "So many of the street boys have
them that I supposed there's nothing to do about it."

Father Drumgoole looked determined. "Well, we'll see
if we can't do something about it. They must be caused by
neglect or dirt, and we won't have either of those here.
Maybe after a while I can get a doctor to give us a little of
his time."

Before long Father Drumgoole had cured his boys of
sore eyes, and by very simple means. He placed beside each
boy's bed a washstand and basin, with a roller for towels
and a little dish for soap that was to be used by no one else.
Before long he had all but routed out what had been con-
sidered simply an ailment to be accepted by the poor.

When visitors came, he always showed them these ar-
rangements and in one report to the Archbishop he wrote,
"These washstands, though plain, give a cheerful appear-
ance to the dormitories, and the boys are so careful in using
them that seldom is a drop of water seen on the floor about
the beds." He sounded exactly like a proud father whose
children have very good manners.

From the very beginning one man who gave great and
unstinted aid to Father Drumgoole was James Dougherty,
the Vincentian who had first proposed him for the work. A
few others came to help, but Mr. Dougherty, out of his own
experience, warned the new director that it would be much
simpler to raise money than it would be to find people will-

72 Children's Shepherd

ing to work as volunteers. "When someone is asked for
such help/* he said sadly, "they don't exactly leap with
alacrity. I was able to round up four people to help you
conditionally. But so far I've found none who can be relied
on from the word 'Go/ "

But Father Drumgoole had a way with him. He moved
slowly in his requests to the Vincentians for help with
funds and even more so in asking them to work with the
boys. But he managed to persuade a few to come in the
evenings to teach catechism. Although some were reluctant
at first, expecting, no doubt, to find a crowd of obstinate
and troublesome rascals, they found, instead, attentive and
sharp listeners who showed appreciation and behaved well.

It impressed the visitors greatly to find these poor little
newsboys and bootblacks, coming from despised groups,
often better behaved than the children from their own
circles. They were surprised to find that these boys had re-
membered the discussions during earlier lessons the next
time they met and that they had in the meantime been
thinking over the problems raised. The boys were en-
couraged to a certain freedom in their answers, and the
evening talks were not confined to the catechetical ques-
tions but to an understanding of them and the application
to their own lives.

Mr. Sullivan, one of the volunteer workers, was greatly
surprised at this when he came the first time. "They've got
good heads," he said admiringly after he had listened for
a while. Later in the evening he displayed those talents that
made him a visitor whose performances were clamored for
at future meetings.

First, to the delight of his audience, he stood on his head,
and for a very long time, while the boys shouted approval.
"Learned it in the army," he told them when he was again

The Work Expands 73

upright. Then he sang a song while Tommy Weaver
danced, and when the boys learned he could also play the
cornet, he became one of the chief treasures of the Home.
He would tell stories of his days in camp where he had
been a captain in the Irish Brigade and used to announce
the rosary and the Angelus with his cornet. He played it
for the boys, and it was a moving thing to see how quietly
and intently they listened. He told them about his soldiers,
too, and of how he set up a fine to be paid every time one
of them swore. And with this money they had bought a fine
new cornet for their captain. "This very one," he said.

One evening an excellent baritone voice was heard com-
ing from the lecture room, followed by vociferous applause
which showed the singer had gone over well. It turned out
to be old Mr. McGibney who had never sung in public be-
fore but who now became a stock entertainer for musical
evenings at the Home.

One evening Father Drumgoole distributed Miraculous
Medals to the boys. The next day a bootblack came to him
with his medal. "I showed it to a customer," he said, "and
he asked me what I was carrying that around for. I didn't
know. What is it for?"

There had been no time the night before to explain the
medal and now Father Drumgoole sought a practical ex-
planation for the boy and his customer. He noticed a lad
near by sewing a badge on a baseball cap. "You know how
fellows wear badges when they belong to a club?" he asked.

"Sure, my brother used to wear one when he went out
with his team."

"Well, why did he wear it?"

"To show what team he belonged to."

"Well, that's why you wear this medal."

There was a little silence, then the boy's face brightened.

74 Children's Shepherd

"Oh, I get it," he said. "We belong to Jesus' club. Ill tell
my customer."

After he had been in charge for only a few weeks Father
Drumgoole opened evening classes in reading and writing
and arithmetic for his boys, and when no one else was at
hand to teach them he did it himself. For he wanted these
ignorant children to have some start toward an education,
since it was the only way they could get good jobs in the
future. He soon had several hundred books in the lecture
room, and a dramatic club was started for the more am-
bitious among them.

Soon Father Drumgoole's help was asked not alone for
newsboys. Grownups in distress came to him for food and
he gave it, as much as his limited means allowed. From the
beginning he had resolved never to turn away anyone who
asked for aid, but it was growing clear that the work he
had undertaken was not simple.

Once a reporter came to get a story about this new form
of charity for newsboys. "Where do they come from?" he
asked as he watched the long line of boys file into the
dining room.

The priest shook his head. "No one really knows," he
said. "They fall out of the clouds."

Father Drumgoole knew it did not really matter where
they came from; what mattered was where they were going.
And at least he knew that these slept warmly and ate well
and could go to school in the evenings.

"Kin I get in?" asked a late-comer anxiously of a regular
boarder in the Home. "Tim says it's full, and I don't have
the five cents anyway."

"Oh, come along," the other boy said reassuringly.
"Hell hang you up somewhere."

The Work Expands 75

And he did, on benches if no beds were left. Colored
children, at first timid and afraid of their welcome, were
coming in now, brought in by white boys who were their
friends. Father Drumgoole welcomed them all.

More and more the newsboys' lodginghouse was becom-
ing a home, and Father Drumgoole was in every sense a
father to the boys. He taught them cleanliness. He looked
after their food and saw they wore fresh shirts at Mass on
Sundays.

The boys felt independent because they paid their way
twenty cents a day for meals and lodging. This did not
cover their expenses but it gave them the feeling that this
was their home and they had a right to be there. But only
on working days did they pay; on Sundays and holidays
there was no charge. One reason for this was that Father
Drumgoole wanted to be sure that they were with him for
Mass. On Sundays there was beefsteak for breakfast, and it
was also the morning selected for distributing new clothing
to recent arrivals. Father Drumgoole provided each boy
with an extra shirt to be worn only on Sundays and it was
washed weekly and placed in the boy's own locker for
safekeeping.

When he was given a big stack of religious pictures, he
showed the boys how to frame them in black tape and each
chose his own to hang over his cot. Often these pictures
furnished the subject for Father Drumgoole's short talks.
Always, along with the spiritual, he looked well after the
material. In fact, in those early days he was parent, nurse,
mentor, playmate, and provider for the boys who came to
stay with him.

One evening in the spring after Father Drumgoole had
taken charge as resident chaplain, the boys decided to give

76 Children's Shepherd

an entertainment in his honor. There were recitations and
music and Mr. McGibney sang as a finale "Home, Sweet
Home" to the accompaniment of Mr. Sullivan's cornet.
"Barbarous measure, but with Christian feeling and a
fair voice," Mr. Dougherty reported charitably in his diary
that night. He loved music and no doubt had suffered, but
the boys and the performers and Father Drumgoole, who
had no musical ear, had all thought it fine.

On another evening when Mr. McGibney danced a jig
to the delight of the boys, and some of them gave a minstrel
show with an especially good "Bones," it happened that an
incident occurred to mar the rest of the evening's perform-
ance. When one small performer got stage fright and forgot
what he was to say and do, some of the audience began to
snicker. At this Father Drumgoole got up from his seat.
"If the son is unable to continue," he said firmly, "then
the father must go to his help," and he began an im-
promptu speech.

Usually audiences at these affairs were very appreciative.
They sat quietly and listened politely. "I only wish,"
sighed a volunteer helper one evening, "that society mem-
bers were as polite."

Christmas at the Home that first year was something to
remember. More than 300 children assembled for Mass and
almost 200 made their Communions. Father Drumgoole's
sermon was on blessings creation, birth, baptism, the
home that sheltered them, the Sacrament they were about
to receive. At the end of Mass the recently formed choir
sang the "Adeste Fidelis."

The dinner was donated by a member of the Leavy
family, and it was a royal repast. Turkey and cranberries,
mashed potatoes and stuffing, pie and ice cream there was

The Work Expands 77

enough for everyone. And besides the boys more than a
hundred poor people were fed, some of whom brought
their children with them. These looked, thought Father
Drumgoole in distress, not half so well fed or well dressed
as his own big family.

Mr. Dougherty was here and there and everywhere,
helping and giving orders at the same time. Someone
came up to him and whispered that there was no extra
supply of cups. "No cups?" he said in disbelief. It was only
too true; someone had forgotten to order any.

An hour later Father Drumgoole found Mr. Dougherty
sitting wearily in a chair. "I missed you. Where have you
been?"

Mr. Dougherty explained. "There were no cups. I knew
of a place on Spring Street that had extra stuff to rent so I
got them and then ran back here and now I'm sitting down
for a moment until" he consulted his watch "I go home
for my own dinner."

During the day many people came to visit the Home,
and Father Drumgoole was very proud of his polite and
well-behaved children. It was with true happiness that he
had seen them sitting together at his tables the employed
boys and the unemployed, newsboys, errand boys, appren-
tices, sweeps, all with no distinction of creed or color. The
sheltering arms of St. Joseph's agent on earth were wide
enough to hold them all.

On the eve of the feast an interesting thing happened.
Father Drumgoole had decided to give a day's retreat for
the boys, and they all had been willing to come to the
chapel in the morning and the evening, but the idea of
going to confession was a very different matter. Father
Drumgoole learned accidentally that the older boys were
planning to rush out as soon as supper was over, so he

78 Children's Shepherd

stationed himself at the foot of the stairs. When the ring-
leader in the group came hurrying along, pulling his cap
from his pocket, he stopped him.

"How fine to see you so eager to make your confession
and give a good example to the little ones/ 1 he said blandly.

The boy, who was seventeen, and older than the others,
was too surprised to lie or give any excuse, and Father
Drumgoole drew his reluctant captive to the confessional.
Afterward he congratulated the young man on his courage,
and to his surprise the youth broke into tears. When he
could control himself he told a hitherto-unrevealed story.
He had run away from home after a violent quarrel with
his father, a well-to-do businessman in a town some dis-
tance from the city. The basis of the quarrel had been the
son's refusal to go to church, and especially to go to con-
fession. Finally he left home, stole a ride on the trains, and
two months before, penniless and hungry, he had been
brought by a younger boy to the Home.

The other boys had been anxiously waiting for the end
of their ringleader's interview with Father Drumgoole, as
they were afraid to leave without him. When they saw him
emerge, they rushed to him and asked what they were
to do.

"Go make your confession/' he said briefly, and later in
the chapel Father Drumgoole gave thanks for this unex-
pected victory.

In August of 1871 the Vincentian Conferences heard a
report on the results of the year's work at the Newsboys'
Home. Lectures, boys' board, and donations had brought
in about ten thousand dollars. Although most of it had
been already spent, it was clear that the work was becoming
well established as a charity that would draw support.

The Work Expands 79

Moreover, in addition to the help from the Vincentians,
the Home was now receiving aid from such organizations as
the Irish Emigrant Society and had the promise of financial
support from the city.

Mr. Dougherty suggested that for each Randalls Island
child left with Father Drumgoole the Conferences pay five
dollars a month. One member objected, saying that the
rules would not permit this.

"Rules rules Father Drumgoole never made any
terms with us," exploded the annoyed Mr. Dougherty. "Is
it fair to start making terms with him? He takes every
child sent him and says not a word about terms. The need
is the important thing in a work of charity not rules."

When the Conferences met again in January of the fol-
lowing year, Father Starrs made a proposal. "I suggest that
we turn the Home over to Father Drumgoole, putting him
in full charge there, but that we continue our financial
assistance."

A committee was sent to discuss the matter with Father
Drumgoole and a month later the change was effected.
Now he became not only resident chaplain up to this
time his official title but also superintendent and entire
head of the Newsboys' Home on Warren Street. He had
the promise of the Conferences, however, that their help
would continue in some measure as long as there was need
of it, and almost every man pledged to continue giving a
hundred dollars a year as well as money to buy shoes for
the boys. The Home would also receive a share of the
proceeds from small lotteries at church fairs and sums re-
ceived from lectures.

Father Drumgoole was well satisfied even though it
meant a much greater responsibility for him. For now he
was going to be not only spiritual father to his boys but

8o Children's Shepherd

their material father as well. Eagerly and joyously he went
to the little chapel in the Home and put the whole matter
of the future of his boys in the hands of Our Lady who
was their mother and St. Joseph who was their protector.
There might be difficulties ahead and sorrow and loss, but
with such patrons how could one fail? A Child had been
their chief concern on earth. Surely they would watch over
these children who belonged to their Son.

At the beginning of 1873 the Newsboys' Home was be-
coming well known in the city, both as an interesting ex-
periment in the training of boys and as a shelter for the
homeless. Reports of its progress were sent by Father
Drumgoole both to the St. Vincent de Paul Conferences
and to Archbishop McCloskey. They were lucid and also
very brief, for Father John had little time to spend on fine
phrasing.

His report to the Archbishop began by stating that the
average attendance was 180 a night; because of increased
renting space he now had thirty-nine rooms and halls. He
had a hundred new beds with bedding and blankets, and
each small room was provided with a locker. There was a
new washroom and a powerful caloric engine which
pumped water to the upper floors and ran the washing
machines.

But in this report to the Archbishop he kept the best
for the last. He ended by saying that during the year 150
boys had made their First Communions and on the great
feasts, at Christmas and Easter, nearly all of them had
received Communion.

For reporters the Newsboys' Home made good copy, and
they never failed to leave without a human-interest story.

The Work Expands 81

More than one of them was amazed when he saw the num-
bers of tough-looking boys running in and out of the
house yelling affectionate greetings to Father Drumgoole.
Their hands were black from shoe polish or newsprint or
chimney soot. The younger ones swarmed around the smil-
ing priest, pulling at his coat to get his attention, and the
reporters noted that he called each boy by name. "Why are
you coming in so early?" he would ask one. "You aren't
sick, are you?"

"Feeding, washing, clothing, educating to the best of his
ability and limited means," wrote one reporter of Father
Drumgoole's tasks. In his own letters of appeal Father John
was wont to say, "There is so much to be done for my boys
and so little to do it with."

His helpers made up for their small number by their
enthusiasm. Women who knew of his work met at the
Home to repair clothing collected for the boys, and some
made great loaves of bread daily for the Warren Street
house. And Father Drumgoole could always count on some-
one supplying food or money or both for the parties to be
given at the great feasts.

Eighteen seventy-three was a panic year, so terrible that
it was on record that 900 people had actually starved to
death. There were more than 11,000 homeless children in
the city and more than 3,000 abandoned babies were
picked up in that year, of whom a hundred were dead
when found.

One of the saddest stories of that winter was told with
sorrow by a night watchman. On his rounds he had seen a
boy who seemed to be fast asleep in the shelter of a box of
ashes, curled up with his tattered coat pulled tightly
around him. The watchman felt sorry for the child and

8s Children's Shepherd

decided not to disturb him. When his night rounds were
ended and he passed that way for the last time, he saw the
boy still lying there and knew that this time he must rouse
him or be considered remiss in his duty by his employers.
The child paid no attention to the voice and when he
shook his shoulder, to his horror the little boy rolled over
stiffly; he was dead, having evidently died in the night. At
the inquest the watchman explained, "I was but leaving
him to his dreams."

During that cold winter every bed at the Newsboys'
Home was occupied. In fact there were more boys than
beds, and often the house was so crowded that boys slept
on the benches rather than take a chance on spending the
night in the street huddled over the heat register of a
building. Even the warmth that came up from these
grilles often had to be shared; one boy would walk about
trying to keep warm while another occupied the grille for
his allotted time of sleep. It was much better to spend the
night on a bench in Father Drumgoole's dining room or
on the carpet in the parlor.

On weekday mornings the boys left the Home to go to
work or at least to try to find some employment; at five in
the afternoon they returned. But of course that rule, like
all the rules, was stretched during that hard winter, and a
daily average of more than a hundred boys came home at
noon for dinner.

Employment was scanty and the fifteen or twenty cents
a day stipulated for food and lodging often went unpaid.
More than seventy little boys were all that winter given
food and shelter free. As for grown people, Father Drum-
goole could still boast that no worthy applicant for food or
shelter had been turned away. The books showed that this
was no small matter, for thousands of meals had been given

The Work Expands 83

free. On Sundays outsiders were always present for dinner,
and Father Drumgoole, knowing that sometimes some
guest might be in desperate need, kept change in his
pockets for such emergencies.

This year proved a very difficult one for the Home. A
debt had been incurred when the second house was rented
and furnished. It was for only f 2,000, but, with the de-
pression and consequent poor receipts, it seemed all but
impossible to pay it off. Friends came to Father Drum-
goole's help with funds for day-by-day needs, but it was
now clear to him that if he wished to pay what he owed or
to expand his Home further he must have a firmer foun-
dation than such day-by-day assistance. More than once
that winter, with the little statue of St. Joseph in the chair
before him, he held long and anxious consultation with his
Patron.

As a matter of fact, Father Drumgoole was in many ways
very fortunate during that hard year, at least that was how
some would have put it. He simply said that Our Lady had
been with him and that St. Joseph had been his chief aid.
The loan with which he had paid off the season's worst ex-
penses had been made with no interest asked, and a thou-
sand dollars received from the Irish Emigrant Society was
a wonderful help. The day after that check came Father
Drumgoole told the boys they must all give thanks for the
splendid gift which was made to them all, and at five in the
morning of a very cold winter day 200 boys gathered in the
chapel to ask Heaven to bless the Society and their families.

3 3 OS) 033 033 033033 033

Visitors to the Home

OF THE interested visitors who came often to the News-
boys' Home, having heard in various ways o this priest's
work and his unusual methods, were some who were in-
terested in charitable methods and others officials of the
city welfare organizations. One of the latter, Mr. Letch-
worth of the State Board of Charities, called one day, say-
ing that he wanted to include something about this Home
in his annual report.

He was shown through the house and also through the
annex at 55 Warren Street. Father Drumgoole told him
sadly that already he was badly overcrowded but had no
money to provide further space. The visitor inspected
everything the dormitories with double tiers of iron
beds, the coarse clean sheets and blankets, the dining room
where 200 boys were fed.

When he asked what food was provided for them, Father
Drumgoole said: "For breakfast bread and butter and
coffee, as much as they want. At dinner we give a full
meal, but we have fewer boys since their work takes them
too far away from home to come here. For supper they
have molasses and bread and some little extra when we
have the money. Our food does not rival Delmonico's but
to some of these boys it is just that. And the price is a
great argument in our favor, too breakfasts are five cents

84

Visitors to the Home 85

and supper the same. Lodging is five cents and washing is
free/' And then he added, "Of course if they have no work,
we give them the food and shelter free."

Mr. Letchworth noted that there was running water for
washing of hands and faces and that the washroom held
fifty basins and looking glasses as well as a long trough for
washing feet at night. He went through the gymnasium
and chapel and schoolroom, and Father Drumgoole told
him that the boys were given the rudiments of an educa-
tion.

"What am I to give in my report as the chief object of
your work here?" he asked.

Father Drumgoole smiled. "A very simple one the ob-
ject of the Home is to care for children, to bring them up,
and to do exactly what a father would do for his children
help them until they are old enough to help themselves, to
cultivate self-reliance and industry, and aid the boy to take
his place in the world as an honest and self-respecting
man/'

"You would take any boy here no matter what his repu-
tation was for mischief or worse?"

"Oh, of course. Some of the worst cases they called
them 'terrors of the city' have been here and now they
are holding good jobs and would not go back to their old
lives for anything. Of course with Catholic children the
Sacraments have a great effect, but I will gladly take in
children of any faith and color."

"You are more hopeful than some I have talked with."

"Oh, it's just that I look at it in a different way," said
Father Drumgoole seriously. "I think it is really our fault
that these boys are not better. Their condition is due to
our neglect. The younger boys who are here are easy to
control. They leave their bad habits with little trouble.

86 Children's Shepherd

All they want are kind words and kind acts. Have you time
to let me talk to you about one older boy?" he asked. When
Mr. Letchworth said he had, the two men went back to
Father Drumgoole's own simple quarters.

"One day one of my older boys met another on the street
who was known all through the neighborhood as a 'hard
case/ " began the priest. "My boy knew that I urge those
in the Home to tell homeless ones to come here, and so
this one said the other boy ought to come to see Father
Drumgoole. The big boy laughed. 'He won't even let me
in.' 'Sure he will/ the other insisted. 'He wants that kind
he says he's their chaplain/ So the big boy finally came in
and said to me in a very bold way and as if daring me to
help him, 'Here you are with a really hard case, mister/
But when I had him alone he dropped the swagger he had
used with the boys. He looked very young and defenseless
and he said, but sort of worried now, 'If you really like
hard cases, you'll like me/ He certainly was one, too. He
had been a juvenile Fagin with about twenty boys under
him training to be pickpockets. He was scared now, for he
knew the police were on to him. That was a few years ago,
and now he has a nice job and wouldn't go back to the
old life for anything. Pride that's all I gave him pride
in himself. He has a bank account now. You see we teach
them to save here, and we have about twenty boys with
small accounts/' he ended proudly.

He looked at Mr. Letchworth as if afraid that perhaps he
was not making his point emphatically enough. "You
would be surprised, Mr. Letchworth," he went on ear-
nestly, "how easy it is if you go at it the right way. One lit-
tle boy who came to live here told me that after he had
been here a while he was down by the market and saw a
purse sticking out of a man's pocket and was sneaking up

Visitors to the Home 87

to steal it when he remembered what I told them on Sun-
day about stealing 'so I didn't take it/ That is the sort of
thing I mean."

Mr. Letchworth had stayed longer than he had intended,
but Father Drumgoole had that effect on people. His
reasons and his results, as one reporter said, were so re-
freshingly different. "You are doing a fine job here,
Father," said Mr. Letchworth when he left. "I shall have
a very good report to send about this Home. You are mak-
ing what we need most of all good citizens."

Father Drumgoole shook away the compliment to him-
self but this time, feeling Mr. Letchworth might not under-
stand, he did not mention the great part St. Joseph had in
the success of the Home. "That's one thing I tell my boys:
they are American citizens," he said simply, "and I tell
them that if they are faithful to God they will be faithful
to their country, too. For I know that little can be done
for these boys unless positive religious convictions are im-
planted in their minds not too much religion, mind you
you have to give it to children in small doses, in five-
minute talks and short morning and evening prayers."

Mr. Letchworth, like Father Drumgoole, knew well how
much there was to be done for the children of the city and
how hard it was to find the funds. "I hope you can keep
on," he said. "While there is a single boy left to grow up
in neglect in the streets of New York, it is neither in the
interest of the municipal authorities nor her merchant
princes to spare money or means to give him proper train-
ing or, if necessary, reformation."

"If I only had the means," said Father Drumgoole long-
ingly, "I wouldn't be afraid to turn out one thousand re-
formed boys every year. And I have another idea that I
want to carry out as soon as I have enough money and some

88 Children's Shepherd

more space. There are many poor widows with small chil-
dren on their hands, and they must go out to support them.
The children run about all day and of course they get into
trouble when the mother goes out at seven in the morning
and doesn't come home till evening. I want to have them
stay here until she can come for them and perhaps have
Sisters in charge. In that way I could bring up a superior
class of children. All I need is more room and more money.
There are plenty of children."

Mr. Letchworth made a very fine report on his extensive
visit, saying it had made a great impression on him to see
the amount of good being done at the Newsboys' Home.
"It is to be hoped," he ended his report, "that this worthy
laborer in the Master's vineyard will soon have better
facilities to widen the scope of the institution under his
charge."

Another visitor appeared one morning in February of
1875; he said he was from England and gave his name as
Rosebery; he was president of the Social Science Congress
of Glasgow and interested in work for neglected children.
The name meant nothing to Father Drumgoole, who re-
ceived him where he received all visitors, in his little room
with the single chair. There he sat on the bed and his visi-
tor on the chair, from which he first removed St. Joseph
with whom he had been discussing important matters.

The young Englishman was greatly impressed by what
he saw at the Home the clean little cubicles, the power
machines, the little chapel, and the long list of those who
had received help during the year. He said he liked the way
each boy was given a private locker to which he alone had
the key, the other ways in which the importance of the in-
dividual was considered. He said he had come to the Home

Visitors to the Home 89

because he had been intrigued by what a bootblack near
the hotel where he was staying had told him about it. In
England and Scotland he had been interested in the work
of the Ragged Schools and wanted to know about this at-
tempt being made in America to solve a difficult problem.
Besides, he himself had been left an orphan at an early
age and his interest in every orphan was deep.

The next week he came again, but this time his visit was
more officially announced. One of the helpers came in with
a dazed look on his face. "There's a lord to see you,
Father," he said in awed tones.

Father Drumgoole was rather surprised at his assistant's
manner, but concluded he had mentioned a Mr. Lord.
When the caller came in he realized that this was his earlier
visitor, and suddenly knew who he was, having seen in the
papers mention of a Lord Rosebery, a man high in the
councils of state in England.

They had a long discussion of the problems of the work-
ing boy, and then Lord Rosebery told him that in Edin-
burgh many of the indigent children were Catholic and,
since he was himself a good churchman of his own faith,
he had seen to it that they received an hour's instruction
each day in the religion of their parents. "Had some trou-
ble, too," he said. "There was opposition from those who
thought that a Presbyterian country should not thus propa-
gate error in an educational institution. But you can't let
children be little pagans either/'

Father Drumgoole said such objections were familiar to
him, too. "Here every child is welcome whatever his creed.
No matter what their faith they are all hungry and they
all get cold."

Rosebery nodded. "I don't believe in the kind of charity
which, if it meets two ragged children on the street, asks

go Children's Shepherd

their religion, and if one says he is a Catholic and another
a Protestant, says to the latter, 'Come home with me and
take your porridge/ and to the other, 'As for you, little
Catholic, you may die or starve or emigrate, it is no matter
to me. I do not agree with any of the articles of your dogma
and therefore you may be left to your own ways and do-
ings/ "

Father Drumgoole nodded sadly. "We have such people
here, too. There is one mission with the rule: If the place
is crowded, Catholic children will be excluded."

As they left the room together, Lord Rosebery noticed
a picture of St. Peter's in Rome on the wall. He stopped in
front of it. "Ever been there?" he asked.

"No," said Father Drumgoole with regret. "My only sea
voyage was when I came from Ireland as a little boy."

"You must go someday and be sure to go to St. Peter's
on a Sunday. There is nothing in the world like it on Sun-
day. I love to watch the congregation. What you see are
not just glossy hats and fine clothes or a prosperous peas-
antry. You are elbowed by poverty, real poverty, but those
people seem to realize that this church is really theirs. I
saw them in rags and tatters praying with a passionate
earnestness that showed the living reality of those services
to them."

When they reached the subject of educating children,
Father Drumgoole expatiated on his special interest his
night school held five nights each week. Boys who had not
known one letter from the other when they first came were
now able to read. Colored boys were among those who
came, and he found them very intelligent. "The white boys
brought in some of their colored friends and although
they came very hesitantly they soon realized they were
among friends. There are no color bars in this home."

Visitors to the Home 91

Father Drumgoole showed Lord Rosebery a room which
was his great pride a room with a stage where entertain-
ments were held.

"Now I see what you are doing," Lord Rosebery said
smilingly. "You catch their souls in the chapel and with
the play hall you entrap their bodies." And then he grew
serious. "I do think one of the most important aspects of
this work of yours is your emphasis on the importance of
religion for these children."

Father Drumgoole smiled a little wryly. "It takes a lot
of doing. After all, the first secular and godless school was
founded a long time ago right under the tree in the
garden of Eden. This idea that you can educate the brain
without the heart is what makes men of the Commune cry
out for liberty and fraternity while they are destroying
their neighbor's property without law or justice."

A few days later the Englishman came back once more.
This time he was leading by the hand a ragged boy of ten.
"I found him out in the street. No family, he said. No
home. Name's Pat. I said you might take him."

Father Drumgoole did some rapid thinking. Of course
there was no available cubicle. There never was, but he
never turned a child away on that account. "Leave him
with me/' he said, smiling reassuringly at the boy who was
evidently not sure whether to go or stay. "We'll find a place
for him."

Lord Rosebery made plans for his protege and left a
sum of money to take care of him "and for the others,
too, of course, but do keep a special eye on Pat." The
promise was made, though anyone around could have told
him that Father Drumgoole's special eye was on every boy
there.

92 Children's Shepherd

Father Drumgoole thought he had seen the last of the
interested Englishman but he returned once more, this
time to talk about Pat's future, saying he had decided to
make it his special care. As he was just in time for the
evening's entertainment, he gravely paid his admission fee
of five cents, the usual price to outsiders though the boys
came free. He applauded vigorously the song-and-dance
acts, and afterward gave a short talk which the boys cheered
loudly in their turn.

In the late autumn of that year a list of donations re-
ceived by the Home during the year was printed, and it was
noted by someone that the name of the Vincentians ap-
peared in smaller type than that of Lord Rosebery. "We do
not work for human praise but we have our feelings," said
one aggrieved Irishman at a Vincentian meeting.

The pacific Mr. Dougherty rose to quell a possible
tempest. ''He never meant to slight us. Aren't we all one
family in the Lord anyway?" And from the rear came an-
other voice to aid him. "And it's the French would call it
an entente cordiale, eh? And aren't the Scotch and the
English Christians, too?"

On a hot August day of 1874 Father Drumgoole received
word that his mother had suddenly become very ill. He
hastened to the house where she was living and found her
in a state of complete collapse. One of the priests from St.
Mary's had been there, he was told, and had anointed her.
The doctor would return in a few minutes.

He went softly into the darkened room, its shades drawn
against the hot sun. He bent over the bed, then, thinking
she was asleep, he straightened and started to go out again.
But she had heard him.

"Johnnie/' she whispered, and tried to smile at him.

Visitors to the Home 93

Though he was shocked at the change in her since he had
seen her the week before, he found no change in the look
she gave him the same look of affection as when he was
a small boy returning from play or when he was a young
man coming home from work. She could speak only with
great difficulty, and he bent close to hear her. "All your
boys," she was saying. "I'll tell the Blessed Mother the good
care you take of them."

He smiled. "And tell her, too, what good care you took
of me." He doubted if she heard him say that, for the one
effort to speak had evidently exhausted her. She closed her
eyes again and her face was still and withdrawn.

When the doctor returned; he asked about her condition.
Dr. Held shook his head. "She may go any hour in fact,
any minute," he said. "She has an illness for which there is
no cure old age."

Father Drumgoole went to sit by the bed. There was
silence in the room; the sick woman's breathing was the
only sound in the stillness. He sat looking at her and re-
membering his mother in her youth her pretty hair, her
lovely laugh, her constant loving care of him. How fortu-
nate he had been. It was really only right that he, who had
had such an affectionate and loving mother, should take
care of children who had never known one like her.

While he was sitting thinking of long ago of Mott
Street and St. Patrick's of forty years past, he saw that his
mother was stirring. He had promised to call the doctor
from the other room if she became conscious, but he had
no time to do it. She opened her eyes wide, but this time it
was evident she did not see him. She was looking beyond
him. He rose and bent over her, but even as he did so, the
eyes closed again and one small sigh was her last breath.

He made the necessary arrangements for her burial in

94 Children's Shepherd

Calvary Cemetery, and in the morning he said a Mass for
her soul and asked the boys to pray for her. From her room
he had taken only one thing a picture of Our Lady and
the Child which she had brought with her from Ireland
and which had been with her ever since.

8

St. Joseph's Union and the Great Bazaar

ALTHOUGH the chief reason for the existence of Father
Drumgoole's Home was to provide a refuge and care for
working boys, he was faced with many other problems. The
Vincentians and other men who worked with him, and
who knew how easily he was moved by such sad cases, often
brought younger children to him. At times he could ar-
range to have them taken in by an orphan asylum, at others
by a private family. But there were times when the re-
sponsibility placed before him was his only, to take or to
refuse.

In March of 1875 Mr. Dougherty brought a little boy
and a girl to the Home. The mother, he told Father Drum-
goole, was dying and she wanted the children brought up
in their own faith. The father said the neighbors had told
him of a very fine Protestant place which would take the
children and a very nice lady had already come to arrange
it, but he had also said that if the Vincentians found a home
for his babies he would give them up to them.

So Mr. Dougherty had hurried to the lodginghouse and
told his story and the need for immediate action. "The
judge said he could commit the little boy to the Catholic
Protectory if necessary, but the little girl is under two and
her case is much more difficult. Even the boy is under

95

96 Children's Shepherd

seven, but the Protectory will make an exception in his
case."

Father Drumgoole looked troubled. "I don't like court
commitment for a boy who has done no wrong. It looks bad
and might hurt his future. I'll take the little boy, and we'll
persuade Sister Frances over at the Asylum to take the
little girl."

And so a six-year-old became a member of the lodging-
house where hitherto the boys were supposed to be self-
supporting.

Not long afterward Patrick Nolan, a Vincentian, who
worked at Randalls Island, brought Father Drumgoole a
much more difficult problem. He had learned that a part
of the Island was being closed, which meant that a con-
siderable group of children, some very little, were without
a place to go. Hiring a truck, he suddenly appeared at
Warren Street with more than forty small children.

For perhaps the first time Father Drumgoole was non-
plused as Patrick explained, "The Commissioner of Chari-
ties will take them only if the authorities promise eight
dollars a month for each child and pay in advance. There
is only the jail left. The asylums are too full for such a big
crowd/'

The children were huddled about Mr. Nolan, and some
were crying, no doubt from alarm at being removed from
the poor place that had at least been home to them. Father
Drumgoole looked at them. The lodginghouse had no
quarters for them unless a room could be fitted up as a
dormitory and some of the women who were his volunteer
helpers could increase the time they gave him. He did not
hesitate long, not with that sad group before him. He could
find the room; he knew the women would rally to him. So
he bade Mr. Nolan bring the children in, and some he

St. Joseph's Union 97

carried in himself. The heart, thought the relieved Patrick,
expands to meet the need.

The next day the Vincentians arrived with promises of
financial assistance to aid Father Drumgoole with this new
group. The women volunteers on whom he had counted
came to make over old clothes for the children and to help
with their care during the day. Of course what he needed
right now was the help of Sisters. But he knew the poor
Sisters of Charity were already terribly overworked. And
if he did get some other congregation to send him nuns,
where would he house them? And where would he get the
money for their support?

What he needed the most was some kind of definite in-
come on which he could depend, rather than on spasmodic
even if generous gifts. And more and more the Vincentians
were withdrawing their direct aid, which was perfectly
proper since his work should now be put on some firm
financial footing.

He had thought of this often during the past year, and
it was one day while he was in deep consultation with St.
Joseph that an idea came to him. The plan conceived that
evening in the quiet of the shabby little room at the Home
was to have such far-reaching results that there can be no
doubt that St. Joseph lent an especially attentive ear to the
troubles of the priest who had enlisted him as his working
Patron.

That evening Father Drumgoole came to a decision that
affected the future course of his work. First, he would
establish a union of contributors who would send him a
small sum yearly for the work of the Home. Second, he
would try by some means to raise one large sum as quickly
as possible to provide immediately for his project.

It did not take him long to decide on a name for the

98 Children's Shepherd

group of those who might answer his appeal. He would
call it St. Joseph's Union. The members of the Union
would share in Father Drumgoole's Masses, in the prayers
of the children of the Home, and in the Masses said
throughout the world by missionaries whose help he would
enlist by sending them Mass stipends.

Of the best way to gain the interest of prospective mem-
bers he was not certain until one morning early, as he was
praying in the chapel and saw the boys come in, clean,
rested after a night's sleep in a bed, knowing that they
would be fed and thinking of those others who had spent
a night in the streets it came to him that perhaps a little
magazine would best let people know how needed and ac-
ceptable their small contributions would be twenty-five
cents a year for dues would be about right, he thought. And
he would call the magazine by a phrase that was in his
thoughts every day The Homeless Child.

He determined not to wait long to put his scheme into
operation. He needed so much and had so little. And he
could not bear to see children literally grow up in the
streets or on the dump or the docks, utterly illiterate, ex-
posed to hardship and vice. At present his Home could
take so few of these small victims of a harsh economic
system. "It is not the will of your Father in heaven that
one of these little ones should perish/' Our Lord had said,
and Father Drumgoole felt the responsibility of answering,
as far as he could, that command.

First of all, he would go to see Cardinal McCloskey for
advice and permission. In March of 1875 the Archbishop
of New York had received the red hat of a prince of the
Church the first given in the United States. He welcomed
Father Drumgoole with pleasure and listened to him at-
tentively.

St. Joseph's Union 99

"I know well that new buildings do not come from wish-
ing for them/* Father Drumgoole told him. "And I need
larger quarters for my boys, Your Eminence. I am so afraid
that by fall there will not be any possible room for all who
ask to come. Even with the use of the building next door,
some boys had to sleep on benches and tables last winter.
I could not turn them away," he added apologetically.
"And now, in addition, I have about fifty young orphans in
my Home all under ten and all entirely dependent on
me."

He then outlined the plans for which he wanted permis-
sion, and the Cardinal listened intently to the priest who
had become so late in life the shepherd of a flock of home-
less little ones and who was so troubled about the lambs of
his fold. To listen to the hopeful plans of one so well ad-
vanced in years and yet in spirit so young was an inspira-
tion and a comfort.

When the Cardinal had heard all his caller had to say,
he told him, "Do what you can and are able to do. You
have my blessing on your efforts, and I hope to give you
my substantial help as well." After the shabby priest had
gone away happy, he said to himself, "And the hand of the
Lord is with him."

Now, with the Cardinal's permission granted and with
his blessing, Father Drumgoole got actively to work. He
faced no small struggle: new property must be bought;
new buildings must be erected. The question was how and
with what? The Cardinal's encouragement was of the ut-
most importance, his own friends would rally round and
help. But he must think of a plan for raising money at
once and in a large sum. This money would have to come
from many sources.

It was the ever-resourceful Mr. Dougherty who gave him

ioo Children's Shepherd

the best idea of all of how he might collect funds quickly.

"I hear they had a lottery at St. Teresa's last month and
raised a lot of money. They had a fine list of names
6,000 of them and they'd give them to you to start with."

After thinking this over, Father Drumgoole went again
to the Cardinal and, with the latter's approval, he prepared
a circular about the lottery that explained his reasons for
holding it. With the funds raised in this way, he wrote, he
hoped to put up a large building "where homeless and
destitute children can enjoy all the advantages of a Chris-
tian family, learn their duty to God and neighbor, and in
time take their places in society as honest and good men
and law-abiding citizens."

This was his greatest need more room for more boys.
Room enough so there would be beds for every one of
them, not just places on benches when all the beds were
filled. On a few occasions there had been no room at all,
and then he had to put blankets on the floor for the boys
on bitter nights. He could not bear to think that some
children, through no fault of their own and through lack
of a decent shelter, were driven to find it in vicious places
where they would become familiar with vice.

In addition he knew his night school must be enlarged,
and this meant money for teachers as well as for more
equipment, more rooms. Some children were coming to
his night classes now who could afford to pay their own way
in a boardinghouse but lacked the time for day schooling.
He wanted to help them, too.

The buildings he had now were not only inadequate,
but their rental was $4,000 a year, and if he had his own
building he need not have this expense. Even with his
present accommodations 10,000 children had already been
sheltered at Warren Street; more than a thousand of them
had been prepared for First Communion. And best of all,

St. Joseph's Union 101

those he had placed in jobs were working well; employers
had told him that his boys were honest, good workers
boys who had been guttersnipes when they first came to
seek shelter at the Home.

Chief and foremost in his mind was the establishment of
a building fund. Further than that he did not plan at this
time. But one day when he was walking home and saw how
dingy and dirty were the city streets, another long-ago
dream came to his mind which he firmly suppressed for the
time being. Someday, when St. Joseph and Our Lady had
built the home for children in the city, perhaps a home in
the country could be found, too, a place where the little
ones could run and play to their hearts' content.

As for the city home he was going to build, he had the
name for that even if he had as yet nothing more. With
St. Joseph for patron, for whom else could he name it
than for his partner in caring for the Child in the little
Nazareth home? He would call it the Mission of the Im-
maculate Virgin.

On one thing, despite his urgent hopes, Father Drum-
goole was firmly resolved: no building would be begun
until he had all the money in hand necessary for its com-
pletion. There must be no debts, and so he must wait un-
til the sum needed was collected. He knew the land alone
would cost a large sum, and had been greatly alarmed
when he learned the cost of city land in the neighborhood
where he wanted to buy. Once, after pricing various prop-
erties, he had come home to his room and put St. Joseph
into the old chair and talked with him seriously and long.
That day when he emerged from his seclusion, several
persons in the house spoke of the serene and happy ex-
pression on his face.

The original idea of the lottery was growing: it was

1O2 Children's Shepherd

planned to hold a bazaar where the drawings would be
made and the prizes given out. There would also be a con-
cert. Since the affair soon gave every indication of being
large, it was decided to hold it in Ferraro's Assembly
Rooms on Fourteenth Street, next to the Academy of
Music. The tickets were to cost twenty-five cents and with
each ticket came a chance to win a prize in the lottery. As
the months went by the prizes donated for the affair
reached wonderful proportions. Some were sums of money;
one friend contributed $300. There were a pony and cart,
a washing machine, an Irish spinning jenny, a dinner set,
a bedroom set, pictures of the Pope and the Cardinal, "the
finest workbox in New York," silk hats, meerschaum pipes,
General Sherman's Memoirs, Lives of the Saints, barrels
of flour, and tons of coal. The winner of the spinning
jenny would be taught how to use it "by a lady of seventy
who will spin a hank of yarn for the winner."

Father Drumgoole had addressed the circular contain-
ing his appeal to all friends of the Home, to heads of fami-
lies; members of sodalities; to schools; protective, benevo-
lent, and temperance societies; Catholic literary associa-
tions; printing houses; stores; hotels; all of whom were
urged to assist in this undertaking. All over the city tickets
were sold in bookstores, in offices, at the St. Vincent de
Paul Conferences. An undertaker offered to take a block
and so did a baker on Third Avenue. In Harlem there were
several agents, and in Brooklyn, too. From Brooklyn, how-
ever, came the one refusal to help: Swayne's bookshop
would not take any tickets because the owner objected to
lotteries.

There was a suggestion that Manhattan College might
allow its famous band to play at the bazaar. Father Drum-
goole was hopeful but dubious: it seemed too much to ask.

St. Joseph's Union 103

But Mr. Dougherty offered to try, anyway. A few evenings
later he came in triumph to the little office. "I got 'em/' he
announced triumphantly.

The year 1875 was almost over before the great bazaar
was held on November 30. By that time it had been adver-
tised everywhere, and tickets had been sold in almost every
state in the Union. There was little doubt but that the
wording of his advertisements had greatly helped Father
Drumgoole. He had written most of them himself and in
his own persuasive way. "On many occasions we are ob-
liged to refuse children admission for want of room/' ran
one. "This means that thousands of well-disposed children
through necessity, without any fault of theirs, are com-
pelled to seek shelter in places where they are exposed to
all sorts of temptations, imbibe vicious habits, grow up
without any knowledge of the duties they owe to God and
their fellow men, and are liable to become troublesome
members of society."

Directly or indirectly he managed to interest a great
many people in his project that year. Even before the
bazaar money poured in. Many besides Catholics con-
tributed, for the charity was becoming well known and
highly approved.

Long before seven o'clock on the evening of the bazaar a
great crowd began to gather. The disgruntled policemen
on duty began to think the whole city was arriving en
masse. It soon became evident to them that one of the
biggest crowds New York had even seen was jamming into
Ferraro's Rooms. But they knew that the huge edifice
could accommodate as many as 10,000 people. Their pious
hope was that no more than that would come.

But such a hope was not fulfilled, for, although the night

104 Children's Shepherd

was very cold, at a little past seven o'clock the hall was
overflowing, and so were the other rooms in the building,
the corridors, the balconies filled with those who had come
to hear the music and watch the drawing of the lottery.
Despite the lack of comfortable seats, those who could not
get inside showed no sign of departing.

At first Father Drumgoole and his helpers were afraid
that someone would get hurt, but they were soon reassured.
"I think I can safely say/' Father Drumgoole said proudly
as he looked over the orderly crowd, "that never before has
a larger or more respectable assemblage of ladies and gen-
tlemen met in this city."

Later estimates put the attendance at from 35,000 to
40,000 people. When the concert began, some of those pres-
ent were able both to hear and see, but many had to be
content with only hearing. Outside, it was close to zero;
inside, the temperature rose to the eighties.

No accidents took place, however. The only near ac-
cident involved Brother Jasper and the Manhattan College
Band. Washington Haggerty, sent to bring the band to the
bazaar, had been so anxious that the stagecoach drivers do
their best that he had warmed them up beforehand with
too much warmth evidently, for one ran the pole of his
stage into a door. But Brother Jasper and the boys emerged
from the coach unhurt and ready to play their best tunes.

The police present for the purpose of preserving order
did their best to keep more people from coming into the
hall than it could hold, but even after the music began
crowds were still trying to press in and continued to arrive
at the outer doors. The congestion in the streets outside
was so great that the trolleycars on Fourteenth Street from
Third to Fourth Avenues were forced to stop running for
more than an hour.

St. Joseph's Union 105

The evening opened with a potpourri of Irish airs, "which
were vigorously applauded. Then Father Drumgoole came
forward on the stage and was greeted with cheers. For a
time the enthusiastic applause all but drowned out his ef-
forts to speak. When he could make himself heard he ex-
pressed his thanks for the ovation and also for the generous
financial response to his appeal. He then proceeded with a
brief description of his Newsboys' Home and how it was
run, giving figures to show the inadequacy of the present
quarters at his disposal. He then spoke of his hope that now
through the generous efforts of those present God would
bless the work. The whole bazaar, he said, had for its one
purpose to raise money for a new home for the boys, and
it would be called the Mission of the Immaculate Virgin
for the Protection of Homeless Children.

After more music came the distribution of prizes. To
the front of the stage was brought a large drum in which
all the lottery stubs had been placed. And the drawing was
begun. It was well under way and twenty-eight winning
numbers had been announced when a movement in the
audience caused a growing murmur of surprise and also of
annoyance. Police were seen forcing their way through the
crowded aisles of the hall. The people present clearly re-
sented this intrusion, and were slow to make way for the
officers, but eventually Inspector Dilkes reached the stage
and walked up to the astonished Father Drumgoole.

"I have been sent by the Police Commissioner to notify
you that this drawing must be immediately discontinued.
It is in violation of the law and I have orders to stop it."

Father Drumgoole greeted him quietly, but was ob-
viously puzzled by the demand. "Of course the law must be
observed/' he said, "but it certainly seems to me that an
earlier notification might have been sent me, Inspector.

io6 Children's Shepherd

You surely must realize what confusion this will cause in
this huge audience/'

"I do realize it, and it is too bad/' said the inspector,
"but I must perform my duty and follow orders given me
to stop this drawing."

"Are you sure there is not some mistake?" asked the
priest once again. "This is no lottery in the legal sense of
the word. It is a concert and a distribution of prizes, and
its whole object is charity the raising of money to save
children who have no home but the streets/'

"I understand all the facts/' said the inspector patiently.
"I know of your work, of course, and I do not like to inter-
fere. But I can only follow orders."

Father Drumgoole sadly faced the audience which had
been watching with growing impatience the confusion on
the stage and the colloquy between the two men. When
he began to talk, the noise died down. He found it very
hard to go on with what he had to say.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "I have just received
painful and unexpected intelligence from the Police Com-
missioner to the effect that this distribution of our prizes
is illegal. Whether or not it is I cannot say, but the authori-
ties have so decreed. It is therefore our duty to stop at
once. Had I had the faintest intimation that this interrup-
tion would take place I would have made different ar-
rangements, but I had no notification from the authorities
or anybody else in regard to the matter and so it was im-
possible to foresee what has happened. The rest of the lot-
tery numbers will be drawn elsewhere. The prizes will be
distributed privately in the presence of the judges selected,
and the numbers drawing prizes will be published in the
newspapers."

From the audience rose cries of "Shame!" and "It's not

St. Joseph's Union 107

fair!" Some shouted that the drawings should go on any-
way, but Father Drumgoole shook his head at this demand.
When it seemed there might be actual resistance to the
officers, he appealed to the audience again. "There are
hundreds of women and children in this vast crowd," he
called to them, "and they are here under my protection. I
would rather abandon the work forever than have any
disturbance here or for blood to be spilled this evening."

The drum was removed from the stage amid a confused
sound of hisses and shouts that could be heard over the
music of the band which had hurriedly broken into an
Irish air. When the people finally quieted down, the con-
cert went on. But the harm had been done, and anger and
resentment remained, for many present regarded the whole
incident as an insult to a wonderful Catholic charity.

As people in the audience filed out discussing the affair
they were immediately besieged by those outside the hall
who had not heard of what went on within but had seen
the officers enter and the drum being taken out. A truck
had been hastily summoned and the prizes and the drum
taken to Warren Street where the drawing was completed
in time to put the results in the morning papers. Many in
the crowd went along to watch.

For Mr. Dougherty and the rest of the Vincentians and
the other helpers it had been a busy evening, but at last it
was over. Father Drumgoole joined them, still annoyed at
his treatment by the police but happy about the good be-
havior of the great crowd, and with the Tribune reporter
who had come along for the story and Maurice Holohan
of the Catholic News, went to French's Hotel for coffee and
cakes. As they finally went their several ways Mr. Dough-
erty was heard to observe, "The one thing I still do at home
and the only thing is to sleep there/*

io8 Children's Shepherd

Some of the bazaar prizes had been won by people in dis-
tant parts of the country, even in the far West, and many
in New York were among the winners. Among them were
Bishop Corrigan, who won a ton of coal, and Monsignor
Farley, who won the spinning jenny!

The programs had borne a note saying that Father
Drumgoole would soon issue a small publication to be
distributed free to all contributors to the bazaar and to
those friends who had bought tickets. Sixty-two thousand
tickets had been sold and their holders thus automatically
became members of St. Joseph's Union and were entitled,
among other privileges, to share in the benefit of two
Masses each week for one year and to a copy of the new
magazine, The Homeless Child, of which Father Drum-
goole hoped to send them the first issue before many
months had elapsed.

He was delighted with the fine financial returns from
the bazaar. He was enabled to pay promptly a debt of
$4,000 on the Home, and $10,000 was left to put in the
building fund. "We shall not begin to build until the
ground selected for that purpose is paid for," he wrote. "If
members of the Union zealously labor for this cause it may
be accomplished before the end of next year."

Growing Responsibilities
The Homeless Child

ON THE Fourth of July 1876 the centennial of the nation
was observed with much eclat, and nowhere was it more
joyously celebrated than at the Newsboys' Home on War-
ren Street. The building was decorated with flags and ban-
ners that had been sent by a friend; George Washington's
picture in the dining room was draped in bunting. There
were recitations of a patriotic nature and a play was per-
formed by the dramatic club.

When this was over Father Drumgoole came upon the
platform and said solemnly: "Now we are going to tell you
very briefly of a land made free." Then one of the older
boys read, very slowly and distinctly, the Declaration of
Independence. Afterward there was ice cream and cake and
the evening closed with a spirited rendition of the "Star-
Spangled Banner."

In that evening's audience there was a group of unex-
pected guests, the eldest among them perhaps eight years
old. That morning someone had asked to see Father Drum-
goole in the parlor, and there he had found a troubled
gentleman and, huddled about him, six very dirty and un-
kempt children.

"My name is Sullivan, Father," he said, "and I am presi-
dent of St. James* Conference. This morning a woman

109

no Children's Shepherd

brought these children to me and said she had collected
them in the street where she found them sleeping. Be-
tween us we tried to find their parents. A few of them we
did locate, but they were too drunk even to hear what we
were saying, and the children cried when we took them
home and were evidently afraid of their parents. We fed
them and then thought maybe we could bring them here.
Could you perhaps take them, Father, just for the time
being?"

Father Drumgoole looked at them, and they stared back
fearfully at him, some still crying. Smiling at them, he
turned to Mr. Sullivan. "They come to us on a fine day,"
he said soberly. "Of course we shall take them."

Mr. Sullivan sighed with relief. "Then you have room
for them, Father?"

Father Drumgoole shook his head. "No, we are full up,
right to the last bed. But how can I turn them away?"

He called his helpers and the children were bathed and
given breakfast. In the clothes room were found garments,
too large but clean, for the newcomers. After a good scrub-
bing, the children were brought back to him, still timid
and frightened, edging close to one another as if there, in a
sort of sad little union, was their one strength. But he held
out his arms and with one impulse they ran to him as if for
shelter, holding to his legs and arms and to his old coat.

That night the little newcomers slept on cots begged
from friends. When Father Drumgoole came in to look at
them they were all sound asleep. As he blessed each one,
he prayed with his whole heart that very soon his new
Home would be built so that there would be room for
little waifs like these with whom the city was strewn.

Other children were brought to him by friends or the
police or even by strangers who had heard of his Home,

The Homeless Child 1 1 1

Sometimes they were found sleeping in the street or beg-
ging, or weeping in terror because a drunken parent had
beaten them and thrust them out of the house. Some,
rescued by the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to
Children, were literally lifted from the den of misery they
called a home, at times after an actual fight with parents
who did not wish to lose a child who supported them by
begging or by theft.

Once a policeman came to Father Drumgoole with a
note from a magistrate: would he take in two children who
had been refused by several institutions because of their
horrible condition? Father Drumgoole looked at the pair
held by the officer in a tight grip. They were indeed filthy,
their hair, long and matted and evidently not combed for
weeks, all but covering their distrustful, fearful eyes. He
judged they were about six and eight years old.

Father Drumgoole noted how close together they stood
and how evidently they were attached to each other, as the
officer explained, "I've been after them all day. They live
under the market and they managed to hide from every-
body in the daytime. Been doing it for weeks.*'

"Under the market?" Father Drumgoole was incred-
ulous.

The officer nodded. "They came out nights and lived
mostly, I guess, on skins of fruit and bad vegetables. This
morning we set a trap to catch them. We stopped up the
openings under the market till we found the two in one
hole. So here they are. You'll take them?"

Father Drumgoole agreed, and the officer made ready to
leave. This time they clung to him. "We want to go homel"
said the older. "My brother and me want to go now."

Father Drumgoole's heart ached for the little boys. Their
home was only a hole in the ground but they had felt safe

112 Children's Shepherd

there and together. Finally he persuaded them to let his
helpers take them to the lavatory, cut their hair, wash and
dress them in clean clothes. It was almost suppertime, and
as each was made ready, he was sent to the playroom to join
the other small children. Suddenly from the room came the
sound of weeping. It was the newcomers both crying,
"Where's my brother? I want my brother."

They had passed each other several times, but were so
changed they had not recognized one another. Father
Drumgoole, who had been keeping an eye on them, came
into the room and one child ran up to him. "Where's my
brother? You took him away. Bring him back. He needs
me," he cried.

Father Drumgoole called the younger child and asked his
name. "Now say it very loudly so this other boy can hear
you." Then, for the first time, each recognized the other
and they ran to the shelter of each other's arms. And that
night they slept together in one cot. As Father Drumgoole,
after his customary rounds of the dormitory, went back to
his own room he was thinking of something he had read
that day a sentence by Horace Mann: "If an institution
saved only one boy it would be worth all the cost and labor
of setting it up. And if anyone thinks that an extravagant
statement I would tell them, 'Not if it was my boy or
yours!' "

Of course this was the echo of his own feelings. Other
boys were rude and reckless, perhaps the cost of more pains
than they would ever know, but to save "my boy" was
worth all the toil and the wealth in the world. And then
Father Drumgoole smiled at himself, for he knew that
every single boy in his Home and all the homeless ones in
the streets were to him "my boy."

The Homeless Child 1 1 3

Late that summer Lord Rosebery came again to visit the
Home. By this time he was becoming an important figure
in English political life and was the close associate of Glad-
stone.

He told Father Drumgoole he had been traveling in
Cuba and in the southern part of the States. But he
thought he liked it better in the north of the country, for
he was meeting such interesting people. There was Julia
Ward Howe. "I love the sweep of her 'Battle Hymn/ "
And Dr. Holmes and A. T. Stewart, and President Grant.
"He told me he had that day shaken hands with eight
thousand people/' Lord Rosebery said of the latter.
"Arithmetic stands aghast/'

He had liked Longfellow very much and had gone to
visit him for the second time. They had an amusing talk
and the poet had proudly showed the Englishman his
greatest treasure: a bit of Dante's coffin.

"I like it very much in your country/' Rosebery summed
up. "In Europe a man is made noble by his house and his
retinue. Here he can be noble in spite of them."

He was shown the improvements in the Home since his
last visit and told about the future plans for building.
When he asked Father Drumgoole if he had got to Rome
yet, the latter shook his head. "No, not yet/' he said.

"I was back there last year," said Rosebery, "and I
thought of you when I was in the Farnese Palace looking
at the Christ in Raphael's Transfiguration."

Father Drumgoole knew the picture. "It is one of my
favorites/* he said. "The face is wonderful."

Lord Rosebery nodded. "Yes, it is. It is a face worn with
the cares of ordinary life yet lit with an immortal compas-
sion. Still you can see that the idea of mortality is there,

1 14 Children's Shepherd

too. You must see the original someday, Father. Any
chance of that soon?"

Father Drumgoole shrugged his shoulders and waved
toward the boys gathering for supper. "You see where my
duty lies. Even to get away for a day is difficult."

Christmas Day of 1876 found Father Drumgoole, for the
first time in his life, feeling very tired. He told himself that
the reason was very simple: it was just that he had had a
rather hard day. On Christmas Eve he had spent hours in
the confessional and then had gone to the chapel to say his
night prayers. After visiting the dormitory, he had retired
around eleven o'clock.

At three-thirty he had to be up again, and he found it
very difficult to rise. When he entered the chapel it was
brightly lit by many candles and every gas jet was ablaze.
Four hundred boys were there, some of them still very
sleepy. They had been taught to be very quiet in the
chapel and usually they were, but his appearance this
morning was too much for them. From all sides he heard
voices calling to him, " Merry Christmas, Father John.
Merry Christmas, Father."

He stopped his preparations for Mass to smile at them
and to return their greetings, for he had himself forgotten
in the joy of the day the rule of the Home. In fact, before
he began Mass he went down the chapel aisle and greeted
the children in each pew. The smallest ones reached out to
catch his sleeve, and some held on until he patted them on
the cheek and gave them a smile.

After the first Mass he preached a short sermon, telling
them what the day meant and that they should all love the
Christ Child whose birthday it was. The children remained
for his three Masses and were wonderfully good and quiet.

The Homeless Child 1 15

At seven there was a fine breakfast and then a distribution
of clothing. By nine o'clock the smaller boys were all newly
outfitted. One asked in surprise, "Did all this come down
the chimney?" as he looked with disbelief at the big sooty
fireplace and his own clean new suit.

On the morning after Christmas Father Drumgoole did
not feel at all well. Nor was he better during the weeks that
followed. By February those about him told him they
thought he looked really ill. He scoffed at the idea but
finally he allowed them to send for Dr. Welch from St.
Vincent's Hospital, and the doctor, after examining him,
said decidedly, "You must come right up to the hospital so
that you can have proper care. You have no real illness but
you seem all worn out."

Father Drumgoole was aghast at this suggestion, for it
was clear he did not consider it in order. "I can't do that
not possibly. I haven't the time. And I'll get good care
here. Just tell me what to do and I'll do it but right
here."

Dr. Welch looked skeptical but it was clear that nothing
would persuade Father Drumgoole to leave the house. His
physician felt reasonably certain that the "good care"
would be little or none at all.

There was a very simple reason for Father Drumgoole's
condition. He was overworked. In addition to his usual
duties at the Home he had been trying to answer personally
the thousands of letters that poured in regarding member-
ship in St. Joseph's Union, and to thank people for their
contributions, and this he had been doing for more than
a year. Even though form letters and a circular had been
printed for this purpose, he still felt he must add a few
words before the letters were mailed. "I am very thankful

1 1 6 Children's Shepherd

to you for your kindness/* ran one such handwritten mes-
sage, "in aiding our work of charity as well as for the in-
terest you take in it. Our new Home will soon, we hope, be
going up. I place you and the members of your family in
the Sacred Heart of Jesus." This, in varying forms, was the
gist of his letters, and had there been but one or a few or
even fifty it might not have been tiring, but they ran into
many hundreds.

After a busy day at the Home he would sit up half the
night writing. Then he would rise for an early Mass. He
had given the members of the Union a promise: he would
say Masses for them as long as he could stand. This was one
reason he had refused to go to the hospital: he knew they
might keep him in bed and for some time.

Now that he was so visibly exhausted by his task, friends
offered their help with the heavy correspondence. Mr.
Dougherty and others who came for this purpose were ap-
palled at what they found as they went deeper into the mass
of mail. In the avalanche of letters not yet answered there
was even found a considerable amount of money.

"Have you been opening all these letters by yourself?"
Father Drumgoole was asked.

"Of course not, I have plenty of helpers/* said Father
Drumgoole. But his friends were not reassured when they
learned who these helpers were strays who had come to
the Home for a meal or with a hard-luck story. How much
money had been lost to some of these "helpers" there was
no way of knowing.

The group of businessmen now came to the Home eve-
nings, opened the letters, noted down the amounts re-
ceived, and kept the records and files. Father Drumgoole
was delighted with the efficient way in which his burden

The Homeless Child 1 1 7

had been eased, and realizing that these men were coming
at a considerable sacrifice of time, he suggested that their
methods be adopted and that William Cahill, once his
altar boy and for some years a schoolteacher, be employed
to take over the work and give the businessmen a rest. Mr.
Dougherty approved the choice, noting in his daybook that
"Billy is an enemy to no one but himself and thoroughly
honest."

A little later two more men were employed, both at the
suggestion of Mr. Dougherty. Though pleased that his ad-
vice was taken, Mr. Dougherty thought sadly that his in-
nocent friend would have agreed just as easily to anyone
mentioned to him and without ever asking about honesty
or training.

Now Billy Cahill and his two cohorts answered all letters
except those which clearly called for a reply from Father
Drumgoole. And Billy also kept a watchful eye on the
"helpers" brought in from time to time by Father Drum-
goole.

On the second day of Billy's employment at the Home
another complication had been discovered. When he
reached the Home in the morning he found a great pile of
letters lying on the floor of the entrance hall. Evidently the
wooden box on the wall had proved much too small for the
flood of mail and the postman simply dropped the over-
flow on the floor. Billy gathered the envelopes up and
found in the one morning's mail more than $1,000. That
afternoon a large mailbox with a good strong lock was
rented from the post office and after that Box 3502 became
known as "the Mission Box/'

In such simple ways did the business methods of the
Union develop. Best of all was the fact that help in answer-

1 18 Children's Shepherd

ing his mountainous correspondence gave Father Drum-
goole a chance to get some rest. By early summer he was
his old strong self again.

Perhaps such incidents inclined him to feel that he ought
to have a group of trustees for his work, so that he could
consult with them when the occasion arose and get their
advice. He therefore invited some of those who worked
with him, including two of his cousins, Bernard and Wil-
liam Reilly, to join such a group.

In May 1877, under the laws of New York State, the
group was made into a corporate society, to be named the
Mission of the Immaculate Virgin for the Protection of
Homeless and Destitute Children. Seven trustees were
named for the first year Matthew Leavy, the two Reillys,
James O'Neill, Hugh O'Donnell, James Dougherty, and
Father Drumgoole.

However, as time went on the trustees found very little
to do in the way of "managing the concerns of the Society,"
as their duties were defined. It really remained the one-man
concern it had been from the beginning. The members
were sometimes to complain of this in later years but only
to each other. Sometimes the unbusinesslike methods of
Father Drumgoole irritated these businessmen, but the
simple fact was that his methods were successful, no matter
how unorthodox.

At last, in July 1877, appeared Volume I, Number i, of
The Homeless Child and Messenger of St. Joseph's Union.
It had been delayed beyond the promised time of publica-
tion, the chief reason being that Father Drumgoole wrote
or edited its entire contents and had been so busy that it
was only now that he had been able to assemble the mate-
rial for this first number.

The Homeless Child 1 19

It was a well-printed, sixteen-page publication, in format
more like a newspaper than a magazine. The cover of the
first issue carried a picture of Archbishop McCloskey and
the second page an account of his installation in Septem-
ber 1875 as the first cardinal in the United States, and the
speech which he gave at his titular church in Rome Santa
Maria sopra Minerva.

Then followed the report Father Drumgoole had made
to the Cardinal at the beginning of the year and in which
he gave a concrete account of the work carried out at the
Home during the six years of its existence. During that
time more than 5,000 boys had been sheltered there; a
thousand of them had been prepared for the Sacraments;
many of the children made their Communions often dur-
ing the year, and even those who were in the Home for only
a brief time had the opportunity, through attending Mass
and through his brief instructions, to acquire some knowl-
edge of the Faith.

Despite the addition of 55 Warren Street, he reported,
the Home was much too small. The location was not very
good either, for many of the boys had to come a long way
from their work. This difficulty, however, would be ended
when the new Home was erected.

His night school was paying dividends, too. Boys who
had not even known the alphabet when they came were
now able to read and cipher, and this would mean they
could secure better jobs. He reminded the Cardinal that
when a boy's salary reached six dollars a week, the rule
was that he must leave the Home and seek a boarding-
house. But he gave assurance that the new home was first
investigated to make sure that the boy would be in good
hands.

Of the small children who were staying in the Home,

12O Children's Shepherd

since they had had no other nor was there room elsewhere,
some would make their First Communions soon. "The)
are truly the children o Jesus Christ/' he wrote, "having
no friends outside the Home. I believe they have broughi
the blessing of God into the Home with them." Some had
been adopted; the rest would remain with him.

He did not add that, as soon as it was known that he had
received some destitute children, others were brought tc
him when admittance was refused elsewhere, and that the
courts sometimes asked him to take a child. With these he
received much help from the Conferences and the Catholic
Union, the lay women who were his constant aids, and from
the religious, too, despite the fact that they already had
their hands full.

He listed for the Cardinal more than 50,000 free meals
given that year and more than 16,000 free lodgings. Man)
of the poor applied for food every day and were given food
"No person has to my knowledge been refused relief in oui
institution," he wrote, with the one evidence of pride
manifested in his report.

The city was supposed to help with the children's care
with money raised through the excise tax, but less than 2
third to which the Home was entitled had been sent him
And of course there were many expenses outside the run
ning of the house. Father Drumgoole listed the large
printers' bills, the circulars and pamphlets dealing Witt
the Union, and the cost of stationery and mailing, for h(
tried to communicate each year with every one of the
thousands of members of the Union.

"But the Union is in a flourishing condition," the repon
ended, "and I hope to be able to purchase our building
lots by the beginning of the year. I have a good balance
with which to begin."

The Homeless Child 121

The first issue of The Homeless Child carried an ac-
count of the famous bazaar, and an article on the Mass by
a member of the Union. It also reprinted the statement of
Mr. Letch worth, Commissioner of Charities in New York,
written after his interview with Father Drumgoole, and his
very laudatory report on the conditions he had found dur-
ing his visitation of the Home.

The final pages were devoted to the work of the Union,
with a conscientious statement of the finances receipts
and expenses of the Home. For Father Drumgoole felt
that each member had the right to know the facts since
through his yearly contribution he had become a stock-
holder in the Home.

In 1876 Father Drumgoole had been asked to speak at
a meeting of the Social Service Association at Saratoga
Springs. His brief talk had made such a fine impression and
his remarks expressed such an understanding of the prob-
lem of the vagrant child that he was asked to return in
October of the following year and give a long address. Most
of those at the meeting were not of his religion but not
many differed from him in the opinions he expressed.

"The heart is the battlefield of the soul," he said. "It is
there that the struggle between vice and virtue takes place.
It is there that the foundation of a good or bad life is laid.
We may spend millions of dollars to better the condition of
the child and if the heart is not cultivated, all is lost. The
vices of youth will predominate in manhood and he may
easily fall a prey to the prevailing spirit of insubordination
and to all the terrible isms of the day which are everywhere
threatening the peace of society. If you want good and
valiant soldiers, cultivate the heart. If you want honest
voters, politicians, and legislators, who will faithfully per-

122 Children's Shepherd

form their duties and be governed in their actions more by
the justice of God and the welfare of the country than by
sordid and corrupt motives, then I say again, cultivate the
heart of the child. All that children want are kind acts and
kind words to make them an honor to the country/'

Those present recognized that his words were backed by
long experience, for they knew or had been told of his
work. His were not the vague speculations of the theorist
but the result of long and close intimacy with boys of the
streets, with the forgotten, neglected waifs of a great city.

He referred, too, to the opinion of many people that
there was a better method of reclamation than by institu-
tions, that these had failed, and that families especially
families in the West and Midwest could better train these
children. In one year 4,000 New York City children had
been placed in Western homes, he said, no doubt many in
good homes, but there was little proof of the results.

"What advantage do they have which the East does not
have?" Father Drumgoole asked of his audience. "Do they
have superior facilities for child care or a finer and higher
morality? Are they more virtuous and larger-hearted out
there? Surely our schools and churches and homes of refuge
are not inferior to those in the West. Why must a child be
packed off to the West to be properly brought up?

"This I do know," he added earnestly. "Many children
are sent there and are never heard from again, and the
Children's Aid Society knows it. Inquiries about them have
proved fruitless."

A general discussion followed about the New York law
of 1875, which provided that if a child were placed in any
institution or home it should be, whenever possible, in one
of the same faith as that of the parents of the child.

The Homeless Child 123

When Father Drumgoole was asked his opinion on this
matter, he said, "I think the legislature acted wisely when
it left destitute young children to be brought up by those
of their own persuasion whenever it could be done. I think
last year's amendment making this law optional with the
magistrate was very unfortunate. It would always be a
consolation to the soldier who rushes to his country's call
to know that should he fail to return his family will grow
up bearing their father's name among their own kindred
and in the same faith as his, whether he was Methodist,
Episcopalian, or Catholic."

On the way back to New York he was still thinking of
this matter of the dependent child, subject to a law that
could be changed at the will of the party or faith which
happened to be more powerful. How the rights of the
child were ignored, he thought sadly, by legislation like
this which in one year gave to such a child its basic re-
ligious rights and the next year all but took them away by
making the child's religious future "optional" with the
magistrate who was committing the child.

There was one thing he could do about this unfair
legislation, he decided: he could speak to city voters. Dur-
ing the next weeks he asked many of the Vincentians to
speak about this matter in sodalities and clubrooms and
before labor groups. He himself gave brief talks on the
subject, sometimes several in a single evening, urging the
voters to send to the legislature men who would not allow
any interference with the basic law of the free exercise and
enjoyment of religion.

"This law," he said one evening, "allowing people to
pack off poor children from their homes and put them
where they can be fed and housed at least cost to the state,

124 Children's Shepherd

and with no regard for their faith is it fair? Is it sensible?
What is this but punishing poverty in the child as if it
were a serious sin?"

Life went on at the Home with no major crises. Help
was always coming from unexpected sources, as people read
about the Home or came to see this unusual institution.
Among Father Drumgoole's faithful helpers were groups
of women from the neighborhood who met at one an-
other's houses to repair the clothing which they collected
for the boys. They made the bread for the Warren Street
house. And all over New York the promoters for the
Union were collecting money.

The months were punctuated with parties on feast days
and holidays Our Lady's feasts, those of St. Joseph, In-
dependence Day. There was the big Thanksgiving dinner
with its weary servers gathering afterward for a cup of
coffee in the room of the apparently unwearied Father
Drumgoole who had worked harder than any of them.

There was especially the Christmas celebration, and of
the one in the year 1877 Father Drumgoole was very
proud, for on that day nearly a hundred children made
their First Communions. The beautifully decked chapel
was filled mostly with working boys but there were many
small ones among them now, some so little they had to be
lifted into the pews.

The first Mass that morning was sung by a chorus made
up entirely of children in the Home, A seven-year-old,
with a clear lovely soprano, sang the "Adeste Fidelis," and,
as Father Drumgoole listened to the childish voice calling
the faithful to come to Bethlehem, he knew how those
words really meant all the faithful, and that included his
children, children who had come to him in filthy rags and

The Homeless Child 125

were now cleanly clad and warm. His prayer that morning
was an insistent one. On a huge tree in the library he had
gifts for the children, but he wanted a gift for himself, too,
on this day: money for the new Home, so that many more
little children could come to this Bethlehem.

Father Drumgoole was always happy when he sat among
his children or knelt before the altar with them or saw
them warm in their beds. But of course he could never be
entirely happy when in his mind's eye he saw those outside
this circle of warmth, the ones who had no shelter at all
from the bitter winds and cheerless streets of winter or the
burning pavements of summer.

10

>>^^

The Home Overflows Plans for
a New One

ON DECEMBER 31, 1878, Father Drumgoole announced that
St. Joseph's Union had acquired four city lots for the new
building. It had taken a little longer than he had expected
to find the location and to make this purchase, but it had
been something worth waiting for, for the property he had
in the end obtained was excellent. The lots were situated
at the corners of Great Jones and Lafayette streets, about
a mile from the Warren Street Home; they had belonged
to the Episcopal parish of St. Bartholomew, and the old
church on the site was still standing though in so bad a
state of repair that it would have to be pulled down.

The cost of the lots was $68,987.20, he wrote to the
members of the Union. He told them it was their property,
for each of them had helped in its purchase, and he was
offering it in their name as a gift to St. Joseph for Our
Lady. He added that, true to his earlier promise to them,
the property was paid for in full, cash down. What he did
not tell was that at that moment what was left in the coffers
of the Union was exactly fifty-seven dollars!

Late in the afternoon of the day of purchase a group
gathered about the old church on the newly bought lots
for a little ceremony in honor of the event. The old bell
which still hung in the steeple rang a merry peal to cele-

126

Plans for a New Home 1 27

brate the acquisition of the land to which more than three
hundred thousand members of the Union had contributed
in the United States, the West Indies, Australia, South
America, and all over Europe.

On January 23, 1879, t ^ ie fe ast of the Espousals of Mary
and Joseph, a High Mass of thanksgiving was celebrated
at the Home. The children's choir sang the hymn which
Father Drumgoole loved best of all "Hail Virgin, dearest
Mary/' When the Mass was over, Father Drumgoole knelt
before Our Lady's statue, aglow with many lights and
surrounded with flowers, and presented the deed of the
property to her, for the Home was indeed to be hers. The
new building would have the title of Mission of the Im-
maculate Virgin.

He sang the first lines of the dedication:

"Oh, Mary, my beautiful Mother,
This day we give thee our gift,"

and, as he laid the parchment at her feet, the children's
voices took up the hymn and sang it to the end. The deed
was to lie in that place for an entire year, and Father
Drumgoole hoped fervently that at that time another gift
could be brought to her a new home for the new site.

That summer proved unusually hot, but the boys at the
Home cooled off in the evenings on the roof where, under
a big awning, they enjoyed the breezes from the river. And
that summer began the trips on the Hudson which were to
become such happy events for countless children.

One hot August day Father Drumgoole chartered the
steamer Blackbird and took the children up the river,
inviting a few grownups to come along to help him. A trio
composed of harp, violin, and flute played, and the chil-

128 Children's Shepherd

dren sang most of the way, a happy mingling of Irish airs
and hymns. At Alderney Park they all disembarked and
lunch was served in the picnic grove ham and tongue and
bread and butter and lemonade for the children, and
bottles of Belfast Ale for the older people. Then the party
went home, tired and hot and happy.

"Music only nine dollars and certainly worth it," com-
mented Mr. Dougherty in his diary that evening, "and a
better-behaved lot of children I never saw/'

All that summer Father Drumgoole took walks down to
his vacant lots, where the old church was in process of
demolition. No new building was to be immediately
erected, but the plans were ready.

"The more miserable the homeless and destitute are
when you meet them the more they resemble Him/* he
wrote at that time in a leaflet sent to the members of the
Union and to others he hoped would become members.
"Happy are those who will help to erect a home to shelter
Christ in the person of the poor and homeless and destitute
Christ."

During those days his mind was filled with plans for the
new building. Bids were being received, with great differ-
ences in the estimates presented. This was a part of the
work he hated to deal with, for the "building business"
bored him. What he wanted was to find someone in whom
he could have confidence; all about him were people urg-
ing on him their favorite contractors.

One day he asked Mr. Dougherty to take a day off from
his lumber business and go to Staten Island with him.

'I've heard it's a pleasant place and I can get away from
bids and bidders and friends of bidders for a few hours
there/' he said. Mr. Dougherty had been about ready to

Plans for a New Home 129

produce the name of his own pet builder but prudently
decided that this was not the right time.

"Get a contented mind/' he advised Father Drumgoole,
as they sat on the upper deck of the ferry, the wind on their
faces. "And if you have that it won't matter if Tom the
Devil does the work."

The trip on the water helped calm Father Drumgoole,
and the brief time they spent on the island, riding about
in a little rig, was pleasant, too. The one thing he regretted
on the way home was that the boys had not been along to
enjoy it. "Someday we'll have a trip and bring them along,"
he comforted himself as he watched the island disappear-
ing and New York coming nearer.

Early in September 200 of the older boys, together with
many members of St. Joseph's Union who lived in New
York, made the Jubilee visits at the appointed churches.
They made a really imposing procession, and many
watched them as they marched along. When Father
Drumgoole saw the people lining the streets his heart was
happy, for in their faces was not only interest but approval
at the sight of these nicely dressed children, these healthy,
well-mannered boys. He felt all the pride of a father in his
own sons as he watched the lines swinging along, carrying
at their head a banner on which was inscribed, "Come, all
ye faithful, make the Jubilee. It will do more for your
souls than all the wealth of this land can do for your
bodies/'

As they marched up Broadway, across Grand Street, and
down Mulberry, they sang hymns. When they came to
Lafayette Street, the whole line stopped as if at an un-
spoken order, and all stood for a few moments looking in
silence at their future home.

igo Children's Shepherd

That evening Father Drumgoole listed for the diocesan
record some of the year's educational work: fourteen divi-
sions of catechism classes, several singing classes, daily
school at St. Peter's for the boys too young to go to work,
evening classes for the rest.

He also stated that a half million copies of The Home-
less Child had been printed that year. He thought the last
issue had been very fine; one man who had seen its hand-
some format said to him, "For a homeless child it is very
finely dressed."

Those who heard of this incredible circulation often
wondered just how the work entailed was ever accom-
plished. The quarters in the old building were getting
very crowded; it seemed impossible that the work of mail-
ing, of answering letters, of recording new members, could
be done at all in the space at their disposal. There were
some who rather leaned to the assumption that St. Joseph
and Father Drumgoole worked on it together during the
night.

The membership of the Union was also incredible.
There were many members in the metropolis; New York's
fancy had been caught, for many remembered the unfor-
gettable bazaar of 1875 and its myriad prizes. But the mem-
bership of the Union went far beyond New York. The
members were legion now and they were everywhere in the
world. Pope Pius IX had been a member and now Leo XIII
was one. Daniel O'Connell belonged to the Union. Mem-
bers of the hierarchy all over the world had joined. Priests
and journalists, generals and admirals, nuns and brothers
were enrolled, as well as many thousands more.

From Molokai, Father Damien had sent a contribution
which automatically made him a member. In Italy, Don
Bosco enrolled and wrote, "Don't forget us, but let a con-

Plans for a New Home 131

tinual exchange of prayer pass between old Europe and
young America/'

And it was from all these thousands, from the small
sums contributed yearly, that would come the great new
Home soon to be built. From these small sums came the
meals and shelter for the children as well as for Father
Drumgoole's newest project of all a home for the small-
est ones and for the occasional girls who were sent to him.
From these sums were paid the workers at the Home and
from them the poor were fed. Everything came from the
contributions of twenty-five cents a year to the Union.

The latest project the shelter for the smallest children
and the girls was in charge of the very efficient Miss
McGinn and of several helpers. This was located at Fort
Washington, far up the Hudson. The estate on which the
children were kept did not belong to Father Drumgoole,
but was a property which, due to a legal dispute over a
mortgage, they were allowed to occupy rent free until the
matter was cleared up. To Miss McGinn Father Drum-
goole entrusted his little city children. The place was a
godsend to them the big shabby house that sheltered
them, the wide grounds where they could tumble on the
grass, the fine river breezes that put color into their pale
cheeks.

One day when Father Drumgoole came to look over the
place, and more particularly to bring toys and candy to the
children, Miss McGinn told him an amusing story she
had just learned about the previous owner, a titled gentle-
man, who had lived there alone and completely ignored
the relatives who were hopefully waiting to share his
estate when he passed away.

He had inserted his own death notice in the paper and
at the same time made a will which entirely disinherited

132 Children's Shepherd

them all. At his supposed funeral he armed his two valets
and had them mount guard over an empty coffin. No one
was allowed to look at the corpse until the will had been
read. The relatives who had come mainly to learn how the
estate would be divided listened to the lawyer reading it,
and the grief on their faces changed to indignation when
they heard that some were cut off with very little and some
with nothing.

While they were still giving voice to their disappoint-
ment and anger, the "corpse" descended the stairs from
the attic, confronted his dumfounded relatives and told
them exactly what he thought of them. They hastily de-
parted in their coaches, as poor as when they came, and
the Count disposed of his coffin and lived happily for the
rest of his days. And now there was considerable litigation
over his estate, and the orphans profited by living there
free.

One fact which was not much publicized was the re-
markable number of conversions brought about by the
work at the Home. To know that the Church is on the
side of the poor and hungry, to know that it fed and
sheltered them, was a powerful argument, stronger than
theological discussion. Then, too, it made those Catholics
who saw what had been accomplished with these children
of the streets more energetic in helping the waifs in their
own neighborhood, for many of them had not been aware
of conditions until they were confronted with the remedy.

By the autumn of 1879 workmen had pulled down the
last of the old church on the new property. It had been
planned that the cornerstone of the new Home would be
laid on December 14, and a large platform had been
erected for the notables who would attend. But on that

Plans for a New Home 133

day the weather was so bad that the ceremony could not be
held. Many were greatly disappointed at its curtailment
and none more than Father Drumgoole, who had planned
to have Gilmore's Band play its finest tunes. He had en-
gaged it long before, and Mr. Gilmore 'like the gentle-
man he is," said the grateful Father Drumgoole refused
to charge him anything.

The next day the weather cleared and the affair could
be held. The site was blessed by Monsignor Quinn, repre-
senting the Cardinal, and a box, previously blessed by
Cardinal McCloskey, was placed inside the cornerstone.
Within this box, covered with red silk and embroidered
with two hearts, were pictures of Pope Leo XIII, the
New York Cardinal, and other American prelates, as well
as coins and medals minted that year, and a file of Catholic
and general newspapers, including The Homeless Child.
There were also a guide to New York with maps and a
copy of the national anthem with Gilmore's musical score.

A carriage had been sent for Monsignor Quinn and a
new ritual bought for his use at the ceremony. When
Father Drumgoole handed it to him, after hurriedly pick-
ing out the page containing the blessing for the occasion,
Monsignor Quinn began to read. Suddenly he stopped.
"Why, Father John, you have me blessing a railroad,"
he said, and hunted about until he found the proper
prayer.

Father Drumgoole's prayer that Christmas was for more
funds so that his building might soon rise over his fine but
at present useless lots. The prayer did not stop with the
feast alone, but went right on into the new year. Dur-
ing the day, whenever he found time, he talked to one or
the other of his Patrons; at night he prayed for more room
for his large family, growing larger each day. "Go to St.

Children's Shepherd

Joseph," his constant advice to others, he also took him-
self. But he went so often that sometimes he thought sadly
St. Joseph must weary of his importunities.

"I suppose he says sometimes, 'If I don't give this fellow
what he wants hell bother the life out of me/ and so I get
it," he said to Mr. Dougherty one day. And when a visiting
Bishop remarked, "You must have a gold mine around
here somewhere," Father Drumgoole said solemnly, "Yes,
I have one but St. Joseph has the key."

Except for his long talks with his Patron, his times of
prayer in the chapel, his breviary, his life was as simple as
were his meals, and those were far too simple to please
those who worked with him. His breakfast was oatmeal
and coffee. Dinner was whatever plain food they gave him,
and then he ate nothing more until breakfast the next
day. His bed was the one he had found when first he came
to the house; it had no springs, only slats and a mattress
filled with straw. Several times when his friends tried to
replace the old furniture in his room he vetoed their
efforts. He was very comfortable, he said. But if they
wished to give the price of such proposed gifts to the
Home, that was a different matter, and he would accept
gladly.

11

The Mission of the Immaculate Virgin

THE LAND on Lafayette Street had been bought, the
church pulled down. It was when the subject of building
came up that Father Drumgoole met with trouble. For
what he envisioned was not the ordinary three- or four-story
building of the day. The new Home was to have eight
stories as well as a basement and an attic. And each room
must have at least two windows.

"You are trying to build the first skyscraper in lower
New York," his contractor had said when he studied the
plans, and there was misgiving in his voice. It was true that
Father Drumgoole himself had looked with some awe at
the plans when he saw them worked out each detail, of
course, revolving about the comfort and well being of the
children who were to live there.

To the surprise of many he was planning that each child
should have his own cubicle surrounded by a five-foot par-
tition for privacy. Each cubicle was to contain a bed, a
chair, a washstand with basin and pitcher, and each child
was to have his own locker and key. He met all arguments
with his own and eventually he had his way in everything
he wanted, despite architects and contractors.

The building of the new Home was begun late in 1879,
and continued except when the weather brought it to a

i35

136 Children's Shepherd

halt. By January of the next year the basement was com-
pleted and one wing built to the second story. Father
Drumgoole's dream was to have it finished by August so
that the children could be moved before the winter came.

Many people stopped to watch the progress of the build-
ing and asked questions about its purpose as they studied
its amazing height. Father Drumgoole who was often at
hand, was happy to answer all such inquiries for just as
a guide knows his castles and museums, he was familiar
with its every dimension and the use of each part.

The dimensions were 128 feet long and 78 feet wide,
and the height 128 feet, he would inform visitors. Its base-
ment would have kitchens, dining room, bathrooms; the
first floor, chapel, director's room, guest room, publica-
tions room. The second floor would house the study and
classrooms, the reading room, the library. The rest of the
floors would be devoted to the children living in the
Home. It would be steam-heated and the materials for the
construction were brick and cement.

Father Drumgoole especially liked to show to members
of St. Joseph's Union the drawings of the rooms which
were to house the business of the Union, now grown to
colossal proportions. Two million pieces of mail had been
sent out during the past year, and the workers in their
small space on Warren Street were eagerly awaiting the
day when they could occupy their new quarters.

But he found time for many other things that summer
of 1880. The excursions took place as usual. And once
when a party was given for the children of the City Idiot
Asylum and the hospital children on Randalls Island the
choir from Father Drumgoole's Home was invited and
sang gay songs while young members of the Union dis-
tributed ice cream and cake. The hospital children gave

The Mission of the Immaculate Virgin 137

generous applause and demanded encores from their de-
lighted entertainers.

It was a very fine party, but perhaps what especially
pleased Father Druingoole was to note that these Asylum
children too were receiving fine care, that they were so
evidently happy. For the city was growing more aware of
its duty to its dependent children.

"A place like this is a credit to New York/' he said to
Father Gelinas, the hospital chaplain. "The poorest and
most neglected child will respond to kindness and love.

When every institution realizes that " And he sighed

even as he spoke, knowing that this place was an exception
and knowing, too, that there were still many utterly
friendless children on the streets, children cast on the
waves with no spar to cling to unless someone came in
time to save them.

The summer excursion on September 8 was a fine sight.
Four divisions of boys, each in charge of a prefect, marched
in formation, dressed in black trousers, white coats, and
new straw hats, at their head two banners, one with a
painting of Our Lady, the other of St. Joseph and the
Child. Down Broadway and Cortlandt Street people
watched with interest as the orderly procession passed,
clean, nicely dressed, looking not at all like waifs of the
city streets, but like boarders from a private school. Boys
and invited guests, there were in all more than 400 in the
long line.

At Starr's Wharf a big barge was waiting with the tug
Chamberlain. It was a warm day but the air was bracing
as they set off to the playing of flute and violin, harp, and
Irish pipes. The boat picked up Miss McGinn and the
children at Fort Washington and then sailed up the Hud-
son, everyone singing as loudly as they could. Passing

138 Children's Shepherd

barges cheered the gay party and waved handkerchiefs in
greeting.

Father Drumgoole was everywhere, smiling to see the
happiness about him. There was only one wish in his
heart: that every member of the Union all the world over
might see their boys that day.

In 1880 Thanksgiving was celebrated for the last time in
the old Home, and a big party was planned. All the former
boys were invited to dinner and almost 400 came to eat
the 500 pounds of turkey and 200 pounds of beef and ham
that had been provided. The Union, too, was well repre-
sented, at least one member from every state in the coun-
try having come for the occasion.

Father Drumgoole had a very good report to make
them. During that year there had not been one death at
the Home; in fact, there had been no serious illness. And
during that year he had had the joy of seeing eighty chil-
dren restored to their parents or adopted by friends.

After dinner the boys, who knew how he loved singing,
had arranged in his honor a fine medley of all his favorite
melodies: "Hymn to America," "Mother Dear," "Hail
Columbia" and, last of all, "Hail, Holy Joseph, Hail."
Afterward he gave them a little talk about the true mean-
ing of patriotism, how this was, in a way, the expression of
thankfulness for the gifts America gave its citizens.

"When you grow old enough to vote," he said, "you
must remember, you must realize, that you are called on
to defend by your votes the liberty for which your fathers
fought and died and thus uphold the honor and glory of
your country. This is patriotism."

That day he had received a letter from Archbishop
Gibbons in Baltimore. He wanted to read it aloud to the

The Mission of the Immaculate Virgin 139

assembled boys but felt it was too laudatory to himself. It
expressed the deep almost the anxious hope that God
would spare Father Drumgoole to finish his building.
"You will be the instrument of God to save many souls,"
the letter ended.

One day, when the new Home was almost ready, the
Times sent a reporter to get a story about it. When he
asked Father Drumgoole just how he had happened to
undertake such a project, he received a very matter-of-fact
answer. "Oh, I always meant to do something like this
from the time I came to the Newsboys' Home. But I had
.no money and at first did not know how to go about getting
it. Then I decided to hold a big bazaar and made ten
thousand dollars and with several additional gifts I got
started. I was still a long way from my goal, so I organized
a society and started a little magazine that sold at twenty-
five cents a year. That is how I got the money for this
building. You can say it was built with quarter dollars."

The reporter listened with respect to this simple suc-
cess story and looked almost with disbelief at the tall build-
ing rising a few blocks away. He hoped devoutly that in
the new building access to Father Drumgoole's office
would be easier, for now one had to go up two flights of
steps steep ones, too through a big room, then a small
and terribly crowded office that of the Union and into
the extremely little room that was Father Drumgoole's
office and bedroom and dining room and where he received
all callers. There was still the iron bedstead, the little
table with the green cloth piled with papers and letters,
and to one side a white napkin spread out under a thick
blue china cup and saucer and a pepper and salt shaker.

It was very ordinary and plain, and the priest looked
ordinary and plain, too, in his worn suit, with his carelessly

140 Children's Shepherd

cut hair. But one forgot the room and the plainness when
one looked into the smiling face with its tonsure-like
fringe of light hair, the wonderfully kind but searching
eyes, the mobile mouth. The reporter realized, suddenly,
why the old Home had been such a success and why the
new one would be, too.

While they were talking a whirring was heard in the
room, and as the startled reporter looked around, he heard
a tiny voice saying, "Cuckoo, cuckoo/' Father Drumgoole
chuckled at his surprise and went to an open door, pulled
it closed, and there was the noisemaker an old cuckoo
clock.

It gave him much amusement when someone was star-
tled at hearing this for the first time. His boys and his
helpers were used to it but the unseen voice always sur-
prised a stranger in the room. The clock was one of his
few childhood mementoes, a gift to his mother, and had
hung for years in the rooms on Mott Street.

He took the reporter to the new Home and showed him
the new offices of the Union fine big rooms with many
desks and counters. Father Drumgoole himself gazed at
them with awe. "It looks almost like a bank, doesn't it?"
he said.

Some months earlier every paper in the city had printed
a story about the new Home's water supply. So now the
reporter asked, "Is your water supply still holding up?"

"Oh, yes," smiled Father Drumgoole, "we have enough
and more than we need."

The story of the artesian well at the new Home was
known all over New York, for it was the first that had been
sunk in that part of the city. The previous winter Father
Drumgoole had begun the task of providing for a good
water supply. When he decided upon the sinking of an

The Mission of the Immaculate Virgin 141

artesian well, there was a shaking of heads. This had been
tried more than once and had always proved a failure. But
Father Drumgoole paid no attention to the prophets. He
had consulted St. Joseph and apparently received approval,
for the work went on. Finally, at 637 feet, the men struck
water, a fine well, and evidently one which would not soon
be exhausted.

The surprised objectors came to see. "Who did the
work?" they asked. Father Drumgoole named the com-
pany.

No, no. They did not mean that. More than one had
had the services of this company and without results. They
wanted to know who had directed the work.

He smiled and said in an offhand way, "Oh, that. A very
great man did that for me."

"Well, who is this very great man?" asked a hotel owner.
"Will he sink a well for me? Ill pay him any amount, for
I've had plenty of trouble with my water supply."

"Well, that I don't know whether hell do it."

"Tell me his name anyway."

"His name is St. Joseph. Ever heard of him?"

The puzzled hotel man shook his head. "But tell me how
to get hold of him."

Father Drumgoole was suddenly serious. "By prayer,"
he said.

The hotel man understood at last. He gave Father
Drumgoole a quizzical glance. "And it took a lot of ma-
chinery, too?"

But Father Drumgoole looked at him innocently. "No,
very little really. We got the water quickly."

After hearing of the results obtained at the new Home,
others tried sinking artesian wells in that part of the city,
but it was evident they did not know how to enlist the

Children's Shepherd

help of St. Joseph. They found no water and Father Drum-
goole's well long remained the pride and the puzzlement
of New York City.

To complete the building took longer than had been
planned, but early in December of 1881 the move could
be made to Lafayette Street. The boys were taken there in
small groups, and comfortably installed although the place
was not quite ready.

Now the children were housed in two entirely separated
groups. On one floor were the little ones who did not go to
work, on other floors the boys who worked by day and
studied by night. Even before the move, in the late fall,
Father Drumgoole had opened evening classes in the new
Home for his older boys and for other young men who did
not live at the Home, his plan being to offer a good com-
mercial education. He employed competent men as teach-
ers, and was already preparing to open an employment
agency for these students. He had found that often one
boy found a job for another, for the older ones came back
to the Home to tell of an opportunity for those still living
there.

Father Drumgoole decided to continue sending the
younger boys to the nearby parochial school, for he did
not think it a good idea for them to attend classes and to
live in the same building. It was better for them to mingle
daily with the outside world and other children.

On Christmas Day the new chapel, which was to be
named in honor of Our Lord, was not quite ready and
could not be decorated for the occasion, but Father Drum-
goole said his three Masses there. Already, on December 8,
the first Mass had been offered in the chapel a Mass of
thanksgiving in every sense of the word, for there was no
debt on the house, as there had been none on the lots.

The Mission of the Immaculate Virgin 143

Everything was entirely paid for, as Father Drumgoole
had promised.

It had taken a sum close to 300,000 to build the new
Mission. It was bought, built, and furnished without the
need of asking the aid of wealthy men or for state sub-
sidies. Only the twenty-five-cent subscriptions of the mem-
bers of St. Joseph's Union had provided the funds for this
accomplishment.

His gift to his boys that Christmas was the new Home.
And he had himself received a fine present from the Cardi-
nal: the appointment of a priest to assist him in his work.
The newly ordained Father O 'Sullivan arrived in time to
say a fourth Mass on Christmas Day.

In the afternoon the boys sang carols and there were
several speeches. Father Drumgoole read them a poem
from the Boston Pilot on his favorite subject, St. Joseph,
and then added a few words of his own. "The great St.
Teresa said, 'St. Joseph always helps me beyond my prayers
and hopes/ It seems that God grants to other saints the
power of assisting us at special moments. But regarding
St. Joseph, I know from experience that he can help us in
all our needs. It is as though Our Lord would wish us to
understand that, as He submitted to him on earth, so He
is still pleased in heaven to grant his requests/'

In April 1882 Cardinal McCloskey paid his first visit to
the new Mission. First of all, he was taken to the sanctuary
and seated on the throne prepared for him, and the boys
of the Mission passed before him in a long line before
they took their seats. Then one of the boys read an address
of welcome in a clear, loud voice and the Cardinal, obvi-
ously moved, expressed his thanks and said this was a day
of joy and happiness for him. Then the Cardinal was
escorted about the building.

144 Children's Shepherd

In the basement, he was fascinated by the great double
range with its huge hundred-gallon tank.

"We use this to make soup for the poor/' Father Drum-
goole explained, and showed him the room set aside for
them "St. Joseph's Room" where they came to eat.

The Cardinal drank some of the water from the famous
artesian well. He greeted the engineer in the boiler room,
and then was taken by elevator to the upper floors. On the
second floor, where the cashier's office and mailing depart-
ments of the Union were installed, he opened his eyes
wide in amazement at the volume of work being carried on
there. He examined with delight the library on the second
floor and promised to send some books for its shelves.

He was taken to the ninth floor the playrooms and to
the laundry on the tenth, and last of all to the roof a
large playground enclosed with a strong iron railing. It
was the first such roof playground ever built in the city.

The Cardinal looked out from the windows of the
Mission over the roofs of Cooper Union and Mr. Stewart's
department store, to the dome of the post office and the
river. "You have the finest view in New York City," he said
admiringly, and it was clear he was reluctant to leave. But
he showed his weariness now, for it had been an extensive
tour. He rested for a while in a room especially prepared
for him, then, having blessed everything and everyone in
the Mission, he departed.

The Cardinal promised to dedicate the new chapel the
following month, on the feast of the Patronage of St.
Joseph. To have him come again so soon was a matter for
gratification, especially since he now suffered from serious
heart trouble and was attending few functions. Father
Drumgoole expressed by letter his grateful thanks: "By
Your Eminence's presence you are treating these children

The Mission of the Immaculate Virgin 145

as the royal children of Christ whom they so well repre-
sent. If they were children of princes of earth you could
not have done more, and I feel that under the circum-
stances you could not have done as much."

On the morning of the dedication Father Drumgoole
went into the chapel for one final look, to make sure all
was ready for the distinguished guest. The altar was
flower-decked; the Cardinal's throne draped in the papal
white and gold. Opposite his throne was another for Arch-
bishop Corrigan. The front pews were reserved for clergy-
men and the Sisters of Charity.

The procession included Monsignor Quinn and Mon-
signor Preston, and last of all the Archbishop in his cope.
It circled the chapel and paused before the altar as Cardi-
nal McCloskey, in pontifical robes, his crozier in his hand,
appeared at the vestry door. He knelt on his prie-dieu
while the Litany of the Saints was recited, then joined the
procession as it made the round of the chapel.

The High Mass began, with Monsignor Farley acting as
master of ceremonies. The papal benediction, received by
cable a few hours before, was read: "Long life and pros-
perity and papal blessing to the Union and all those pres-
ent this day."

Archbishop Corrigan's sermon was after Father Drum-
goole's heart, for it dwelled chiefly on St. Joseph, recently
proclaimed the Patron of the Universal Church. Then
came the blessing of the house by the Archbishop, as the
Cardinal had already overtaxed his strength by the long
ceremony, having come, in fact, against the advice of his
doctors.

He was living now at Mount St. Vincent, thirteen miles
from the city, because of the state of his health. When
some had tried to dissuade him from taking part in the

146 Children's Shepherd

ceremony of dedicating the chapel, he had told them, "If I
can possibly stand on my feet I want to go through with
this ceremony. It may be the last of my official life, and it
is one I do not wish to miss. It would gratify me more to
dedicate this chapel for homeless children than it did to
dedicate the great new Cathedral/'

In the afternoon a bronze statue of Our Lady was un-
veiled before the new building. A large platform had
been built for the official guests and over the entrance of
the Mission were to be seen the papal arms. The statue
itself was draped in the American flag. Gilmore's Band
played "Holy God We Praise Thy Name," followed by a
medley of Irish airs.

Earlier someone had asked if Father Drumgoole would
approve Irish airs played at a sacred ceremony of this kind,
and when he was consulted, his blue eyes had sparkled.
"Why not?" he asked. "All Irish music is sacred music."

The musical program was followed by a moment's deep
silence. Then, after a trumpet blast, the drapery was pulled
from the statue as from the upper windows of the Mission
fell a shower of rose petals, scattered by the youngest
children. The band played, "On this day, O beautiful
Mother/' its words taken up by the thousands of people
who stood on the street watching the ceremony.

There was another silence, and then a cheer as Arch-
bishop Corrigan, Father Drumgoole, and Dr. McGlynn
appeared on the platform. The last named was to make
the address and Father Drumgoole's voice was far from
steady as he made his brief introduction. Father McGlynn
was considered one of the best orators in New York by
Catholics and Protestants alike, and he did not fail them
on this occasion.

"This building/' he said, "preaches the charity of Christ

The Mission of the Immaculate Virgin 147

as no words could do except, perhaps, the words of
Christ Himself, 'A new commandment I give unto you,
that you love one another/ The work we gather to honor
today exemplifies not only the general charity of Christ
but the most touching quality of it that which teaches us
to throw around the helplessness of little children the
panoply of His infinite goodness and power. 'As you have
done it to the least of these, you have done it unto Me/
He said. And the care and attention and reverence we pay
to the weakest and poorest He makes the basis of all we
can hope for from Him in time and in eternity."

At the end he paid a tribute to Father Drumgoole: "He
is like the theologians who went forth without scrip or
staff to put down pagan Rome and raise up the down-
trodden and oppressed. He belongs to the school of St.
Vincent and St. Francis and I would almost be willing to
make affidavit that he is twin to one of them. He is no
doubt shocked at the eulogy I am compelled to pronounce
but which I am sure every one of you will agree is not
improperly spoken/'

Applause drowned his next words thundering ap-
plause of hand and voice, and the speaker waited, smiling,
until it had died away. Then he ended, "Shall we not do
our best to keep him? Shall we not pray God to preserve
him so that he may live many a year and never make up
His mind to let him die until He has found a man as good
as himself to leave in his shoes/'

Father Drumgoole, obviously overwhelmed at this to-
tally unexpected tribute, read the papal blessing, and
Archbishop Gorrigan blessed the assembled people.

"And now Mr. Gilmore will do the rest," said Father
Drumgoole. The bandmaster responded magnificently,
first with opera selections and then with a special render-

148 Children's Shepherd

ing of "Monastery Bells" which was greatly applauded. As
a finale "Columbia" was played, the crowd taking up the
words and singing lustily.

The statue met with universal approval. It was o
bronze, eight feet in height, and the sculptor had depicted
Our Lady exactly as Father Drumgoole had asked him to
do. On her face was a look of welcoming love and her arms
were extended as if she were inviting boys without num-
ber, or regard to age or condition, to enter the shelter and
love of the Mission which bore her name.

12

Mount Loretto

FATHER DRUMGOOLE'S greatest dream had been fulfilled
and he had his big Mission for children. Now he turned to
other dreams, also dear to his heart.

One was the fostering of vocations. Since he had as yet
found none among his boys, he decided to offer help and
the hospitality of the Mission to two young aspirants to the
priesthood who had been brought to his attention. These
boys he entered at St. Xavier's College on West Fifteenth
Street and they lived with him at the Mission, helping
him as prefects during holidays and vacations. One,
John G. McCormick, came from Newport and was working
in the city when Father Drumgoole learned through a
friend of the boy's ambition; the other, Charles Cassidy,
had been placed by his widowed mother in a Catholic
orphanage and was just fifteen when Father Drumgoole
enrolled him at the college. He planned later to send them
both to Our Lady of Angels' Seminary.

As soon .as possible he hoped to open a special evening
class where a young man with a vocation, but who had in
the meantime to earn his living, could come to prepare
for the seminary. For he had never forgotten his own
struggle, the long years he had waited for his own ordina-
tion. If he could help young men, delayed in their studies

149

150 Children's Shepherd

for the priesthood by poverty or family obligations, this
would be his way.

Another dream that of a home in the country for his
boys and girls he never forgot either. He had merely
pushed it aside. Now, with the city Mission realized, with
the Union flourishing and in capable hands, with sufficient
funds and the promise of their continuance, he began to
give serious thought to a home in the country for the girls
and the smaller children, those at Fort Washington and
those still in the city Mission. It was all the more necessary
because already, little more than a year after its comple-
tion, the wonderful skyscraper building was overcrowded,
as packed as the old Home had been. Many of the new-
comers were children much too young to work, and they
were occupying a home really intended for working boys.
It was obviously time to take counsel with St. Joseph.

Although there was now much less uncertainty about
going ahead with new expenditures, still to raise funds for
such an undertaking would necessitate a drive of some
kind. He knew that an appeal to the members of the
Union would not be made in vain. By 1881 they had
spread over the earth, and the promoters were seemingly
never idle, to judge from the overwhelming amount of
mail that came daily to Box 3502.

Of course, as was usual with Father Drumgoole's plans,
they went beyond the immediate necessity. Such a home
in the country for the little children would perhaps have a
wider use later. It could be made not only into a home and
school for children, but might enable him to carry out still
another dream: a vocational school which, when a boy was
old enough, would equip him with a trade.

First of all, he must seek a good location for this country
home. So, with the faithful Mr. Dougherty beside him, he

Mount Loretto 151

began looking at possible sites. Some properties proved
far too expensive; some completely unsuited to his pur-
poses. It was clear that it would be difficult to find exactly
what he wanted for what he could afford to pay.

On one trip of exploration the two men had seen an
estate which at first sight seemed to be exactly right. They
had taken the long trip by horsecar and train, and finally
by horse and wagon, to the Halliday mansion in West-
chester County. It stood on 700 acres, some of it good
farm land, a great deal of it wooded. The garrulous old
caretaker who showed it to them said it had been bought
by a bank at foreclosure for $50,000.

The house was of stone and so were the large stables;
there was even a little stone chapel. From the outside it
looked very promising, but when they went inside and
saw the great hall and the other rooms, they were disap-
pointed. The interior was still all unfinished. It was clear
that no one had ever lived there.

"Someone's folly," said Mr. Dougherty forthrightly,
"and evidently copied from an expensive European
model."

Despite the unfinished condition of the house, Father
Drumgoole looked at it with longing eyes. It would be a
wonderful place for his children, he knew. But he realized
that it would be an impossible choice: the cost of making
it habitable would be at least as much as the purchase
price. He turned away sadly from the alluring stone build-
ings.

Several promising New Jersey prospects turned out to
be equally disappointing. One on Long Island was ex-
cellent for his purposes, but it was priced at the impossible
sum of $125,000.

One day in late April of 1882 the two men went to

152 Children's Shepherd

Staten Island. The Bennett farm at Pleasant Plains, far
out on the island, had been suggested earlier as a possible
site, but at this point Father Drumgoole was discouraged,
and besides not too optimistic about such an out-of-the-way
place. However, as he had been promising himself a one-
day holiday he thought he would combine business and
pleasure by a visit to the Bennett farm.

The holiday began with a fine dinner of roast goose and
apple dumplings, with Mr. Dougherty as host. Then the
two took the ferry to Staten Island and the horsecars to
West Brighton. They went to call first on the Sisters of
Charity at their school. There Father Drumgoole gave a
short talk to the children, partook of refreshments of milk
and poundcake, and then, unfortunately so thought his
companion got into such an interesting conversation
with Sister Raphael on school problems that they all but
missed the cars for New Brighton where another call had
to be made on the Sisters at St. Peter's school.

By this time the day was all but gone, and they had to
forego the visit to the Bennett farm, to Mr. Dougherty's
deep annoyance. Not until nine o'clock that night did they
reach the New York ferry.

Since the day had been spent without a glimpse of their
objective, the two went again to Staten Island a few weeks
later. This time Mr. Dougherty saw to it that they made
no visits on the way.

At Tottenville they rented a boat and rode along the
shore, as the boatman pointed out to them the farms for
sale along the way. He knew about the Bennett farm, too.
"The old lady wants to sell because she's all alone with
her granddaughter," he said. "I can put you ashore there
if you like."

They found no one at home in the pleasant farmhouse,

Mount Loretto 153

but Father Drumgoole liked the wide fields, the water
boundary, the good air that blew in from the ocean, the
sunny beach. Opposite were the Highlands of Navesink,
and in full view he saw an ocean liner passing the Narrows
on its way to foreign ports. A farm like this would not
only bring health to his children but perhaps here some of
them could learn to be farmers. And then, remembering
the little children sent West against their parents* will, he
thought how fine it would be if these boys could go West
someday, too, not as helpless children but as trained and
efficient young men.

Dougherty found in his pocket an old business envelope
and on this Father Drumgoole penciled a few words: If
Mrs. Bennett wanted to talk with him about selling her
farm, would she call on the writer at his New York ad-
dress?

Before he went further with this project, however, he
busied himself with settling another and a more urgent
need. The helpers he had employed at the Mission were
efficient, and the volunteer helpers a great and useful aid,
but it was growing increasingly clear that he also needed
a united corps that would work as a team. Such a team, and
at its best, was to be found only in a congregation of re-
ligious. With them on his staff he would not have a suc-
cession of workers who came and went, but a permanent
group who would make the Mission their home.

Several years before, when Father Drumgoole had been
in Buffalo to attend the funeral of Father Rice of Our
Lady of Angels' Seminary, he had called at the Franciscan
convent to visit a cousin of his who was a religious there.
He had asked her about their work and learned that this
group, a part of the great Franciscan family, were teachers,
nurses, and visitors in the homes of the poor.

154 Children's Shepherd

The congregation had been founded in 1855 by Bishop
Neumann of Philadelphia, who, on a visit to Rome, had
been granted permission to found a community of Sisters
in his diocese. Pius IX, himself a Franciscan tertiary, had
suggested that such a group adopt the Franciscan rule and
the bishop had agreed. When, on his return to the United
States, three women came to see him, saying they wished
to consecrate themselves to God, and they wanted espe-
cially to work under the rule of St. Francis, it seemed a
direct answer to prayer. He started his new community
with these three women.

He wrote their rule himself. They were to unite the
active life with that of prayer; their principal work was
the care of the sick whom they visited in their homes. La-
ter, as postulants became more numerous, the little con-
gregation began to devote itself to its secondary work
that of the education of children.

In 1860 this community had opened a second house in
Buffalo in order to provide a home for the aged and infirm.
In 1862 the Buffalo house separated from that in Philadel-
phia and by 1880 this new group had nine houses in the
diocese of Buffalo.

Father Drumgoole, remembering these Sisters and their
work, wondered if he could prevail upon the superior of
this community to send some of its members to him. In
order to strengthen his request he went first to see his
friend Bishop Ryan of Buffalo and ended by placing the
entire matter in his hands.

"Long ago they promised me at the motherhouse that
when my Mission was ready they would come to help me
care for my children," he told the Bishop. That prelate,
although he had really not enough Sisters for his own
needs, could not refuse his help in so urgent a need. So

Mount Loretto 1 55

together they went to the convent to consult the superior,
with the result that Father Drumgoole returned to New
York with the promise of Sisters to staff his Mission. The
New York archdiocesan office willingly gave its approval
and wrote the superior that all necessary permissions for
the observation of their rule would be forthcoming.

On July 2, 1882, six Sisters came to the Mission of the
Immaculate Virgin with Sister Bonaventure as their su-
perior. And before a week had passed Father Drumgoole
knew that this was what he had long needed. Now he had
workers who would remain with him, women who were
devoted to children, and who could understand his aims.
They not only assisted him in the running of the Mission,
but they also taught religion to the children. To the chil-
dren in his Mission St, Joseph and he had given a father's
care. Now the Sisters would give them the love of a mother.

In June 1882 Father Drumgoole bought from Mrs.
Bennett the 138 acres of farm, with all its stock, crops, and
farming implements for $22,000. This included 2,000 feet
of shore along the bluff of Prince's Bay.

A survey was made at once in order to find out how soon,
after putting up a few additional buildings, the place could
be made habitable for some of the children. For he hoped
that very summer to bring to Staten Island the little ones
from the nursery at Fort Washington, as well as the smaller
and more delicate boys from the city Mission.

Meantime, in order to insure grounds large enough for
future needs, he bought an adjoining farm of seventy
acres for $15,000. These negotiations were much more
difficult than had been those with Mrs. Bennett. When
Father Drumgoole and Mr. Dougherty went to discuss the
matter with the owner of the farm, a Mr. Jessup, they

156 Children's Shepherd

found him working his fields, chewing vigorously as he
hoed his rows of corn.

"Pretty old for such hard work, aren't you?*' asked
Father Drumgoole kindly.

The old man straightened up and spat tobacco juice
from the corner of his mouth. "Eighty-four years old," he
said briefly. Then, with a hard look at his questioner, he
added, "And I still got all my wits about me. I'm clear as
a bell."

This was obviously said in order to discourage any at-
tempt to bring down the asking price on the farm, which
was just what the visitors had been hoping to do. When
they suggested a lower figure, the old man simply shook
his head and went back to his hoeing. "If you think it's
too high, you keep your money and 111 keep my farm," he
said shortly and decisively. It was eventually bought on
Mr. Jessup's own terms, for the land was needed and would
be of great value for many reasons including drainage.

In the same month Father Drumgoole bought the small
Nance farm which bordered the Jessup land for $5,000.
When these papers had been signed, over a cup of tea,
Mrs. Nance presented Father Drumgoole with a package
of fourteen fresh eggs for the boys at the Mission, for she
had listened to the story of his work with sympathetic in-
terest.

The best house on the group of farms was on the Ben-
nett land, a two-story frame structure with a wide porch.
Not far from it Father Drumgoole planned to build sev-
eral new frame houses a main building with a chapel,
another with classrooms and dormitories, and a third for
a laundry and to provide living quarters for the women
to be employed for domestic work. He hoped soon to
have a good dairy and a fine chicken yard and had already

Mount Loretto 157

hired Mr. Murphy, an experienced farmer, to take charge.

The others were too busy at first to bother with the his-
tory of the newly acquired properties, but Mr. Dougherty,
always interested in ancient landmarks, began to look up
the background of some of theirs. He learned that these
farms were pan of a great tract of pre-Revolutionary days
and when he delved deeper he came up with much in-
teresting information.

Staten Island for centuries had been a populous place.
In the sixteenth century it had been settled by the French,
then had come the Dutch, the English, the Germans, and
long before any of them, the Indians had fished its waters
and hunted its woods and planted its fields. The earliest
white men to come there were seeking a short cut to the
Indies and its gold, and reached the island by accident,
remaining to establish a vast trade in furs. After the
Dutch the British took over and called it the Shire of
Yorkshire. "It was a modest tract/' Mr. Dougherty com-
mented, "that took in Staten Island, Westchester, and
Long Island.'*

When, in 1675, the tract was divided, a certain Captain
Christopher Billopp received from the crown some 1,300
acres of the shire on Staten Island. During the Revolution
the Billopps were strongly King's men as were most of
their neighbors. George Washington himself said of Staten
Island that its inhabitants had "shown themselves our
most inveterate enemies." When Lord Howe arrived,
the Staten Islanders had welcomed him with a huge bon-
fire in which they dumped quantities of continental paper
money.

It was at the Billopp home in 1776 that an unsuccessful
peace conference took place between General Howe,
Benjamin Franklin, and John Adams. The latter wrote in

158 Children's Shepherd

his diary that he found the Billopp home in a very poor
state, though he admired the fine living-room rug. On that
occasion he greatly resented, and made note of, the battal-
ion of Hessians "looking fierce as the Furies and with
bayonets fixed, which we neither understood nor re-
quired."

After the failure of the conference the war went on. In
1778 Lord Howe went home and Clinton took command.
That same year Captain Billopp was captured, thanks to a
patriotic lady whom he thought a good loyalist. Not until
late in 1787 did the last of the British army leave Staten
Island, two months after the surrender at Yorktown.
Christopher Billopp was freed and went to Canada; the
family property was considered forfeit, divided into
smaller parcels, and sold.

"There's history here and plenty of it," said Mr. Dough-
erty to the amused Father Drumgoole, "and your farms
are sitting right in the middle of it."

One day Father Drumgoole, after a busy day at the
Staten Island property, came back to the City House as
they began to call it now to find a reporter waiting for
an interview on the new venture.

Father Drumgoole described it briefly and added, "We
are going to raise corn, wheat, potatoes, and vegetables.
We now own thirty-five cows and some good horses and
300 chickens."

"You sound like a regular farmer," said the reporter.

Father Drumgoole smiled and then looked sober. "We
city people will never be that, I am afraid, but we'll do
our best. And so far we have been fortunate. Blessings have
attended our labors and all is going well. But of course,"
he added hastily, "that is due to St. Joseph whom we have
to thank for it all."

Mount Loretto 159

The reporter went away looking somewhat baffled by
this pious statement. He wrote that Father Drumgoole
was like the man in the East who rubbed a lamp and a
genie appeared to build him a palace; Father Drumgoole
had rubbed his little statue of St. Joseph and lo, a fine
structure had appeared for the little Arabs of the city
streets.

It was very true that there were times when his success
troubled Father Drumgoole; this was the reason he had
looked so serious when he answered the reporter as he had.
For that very day an admiring visitor had said to him, "I
don't know how you do it lodge hundreds of boys, build
at an estimated cost of $300,000, and all paid for no
mortgages, no bonds, no loans and now this big farm
property."

This was not the first time such a statement had been
made to Father Drumgoole, so evidently intended as a
compliment to his own ability. "Nor do I," he had said
solemnly to his visitor, "and it bothers me sometimes. But
I comfort myself by saying that God chooses His instru-
ments where He wishes. They are sometimes very weak
vessels and it is really only He who enables a man to do
anything."

In September 1883, on the feast of Our Lady's Nativity,
the boys from the City House arrived for a visit at the new
farm; they represented a vanguard of the army to come
later. Most of them had never made this trip to the island
before, and on the ferry their admiring glances were di-
vided equally between the city they were leaving and the
green country they were approaching.

After the ride down the island, as they approached
Tottenville, they saw first Red Bank Lighthouse, flying

160 Children's Shepherd

the stars and stripes in the bright morning sunlight. Then
the newly-built tower and the cross that topped it came in
view. And they knew they were at home.

The day had been chosen for the blessing of the new
Chapel of St. Anne and for the confirmation of 200 boys
from the City House. Archbishop Corrigan presided and
afterward gave a talk in which he spoke of the completely
new way of life which Christianity had brought into the
world, Rome and Greece had had no works of mercy for
their poor or their friendless; no thought of charity was in
their hearts, no word for it in their vocabularies. In the
whole ancient world there was no hospital or asylum; the
weak child was often left to perish. In surprise the pagans,
seeing what the Christians did for their sick and poor and
helpless, had been wont to say, "See how these Christians
love one another/'

The Archbishop was taken on a tour of the grounds
where, although nothing was as yet fully completed, the
plan of the work was now clear. He admired the fine
kitchen, the wide airy corridors, the well-lighted dormi-
tories. Father Drumgoole told him that he and his archi-
tects had studied the plans of the best institutions in the
country and had added to them some ideas of their own.
There were now eight new frame buildings and a per-
fect network of lightning rods on top of them. The fields
of grain lay golden in the sun; the herd of cows grazed
contentedly under the trees; the long runs were filled with
chickens.

"We want everything to be the best," said Father Drum-
goole earnestly, as he paced along beside the Archbishop,
"for a boy's surroundings of poverty and want are often
the cause of his later crimes. And all of the boys will help
here. The little ones can bring in water and sweep, fold

Mount Loretto 161

clothes, gather potatoes. In an emergency I can have some
of the big boys from the city come down to help. I wish
I could have more of these older ones here now to do
what the few already here are doing learning to make
clothing and shoes. For it is my intention as soon as pos-
sible to open a training school for other trades in addition
to farming."

"Have you named your country home as yet?" asked the
Archbishop.

"Indeed I have, Your Excellency. I named it years ago
really even before I was ordained." And he told the in-
terested prelate of the Sisters near the seminary at Niagara
who had been so kind to him. "I have always intended, if
I ever built a home for children in the country, to call it
Mount Loretto."

On his way back to New York the Archbishop talked
with the young priests who had come with him about
Father John of his small beginnings, of the real home he
had made of the first rundown and poorly equipped ware-
house, of the school he opened where a boy could learn
to earn a livelihood, of the later great skyscraper building
raised through his efforts, as was this new home in the wide
countryside.

"He has accomplished a great deal already, but when
he opens his vocational school he will have accomplished
perhaps the greatest good of all," said the Archbishop.

He was no doubt right, for he knew the conditions of
the great city. But he knew also that for the little children
the greatest benefit that could be given was the lovely
country and the wide waters, a place for them to grow up
healthy and happy, no longer waifs of a careless city but
the loved and wanted children of the trio who watched
over them Our Lady, St. Joseph, and Father John.

162 Children's Shepherd

The boys from the City House had had such a wonder-
ful day that Father Drumgoole was sorry that they must
leave the country when evening came. He had watched
their unalloyed delight in what was for many of them the
first day they had ever spent in the country, and saw how
they had enjoyed the freedom of the orchards and the
beaches. He felt it was a pity to have them leave this green
place and go back to the dirt and squalor of the city. Soon,
he promised himself, they could come here for longer
stays, so that the flush from the warm sun which was now
on their faces would become that of a season and not
merely of a day.

The first visitors to the farm were chiefly from the city,
but after a while local people began to show an interest in
the venture in their midst. The older farmers had not
liked the proximity of a Catholic institution and espe-
cially did not relish the idea of hordes of children roaming
over their fields and orchards. But as the boys stayed on
their own property, the farmers grew less fearful. On the
occasion when the Archbishop came to bless the new
Mount Loretto many Staten Island people had been pres-
ent. In fact, an old-timer told Father Drumgoole that it
was the largest gathering he had ever seen on the island.
The people had been not only curious but friendly, and
Father Drumgoole was happy to feel he and his were being
accepted.

One troublesome matter which came up shortly was
that of the oyster growing rights, of which Father Drum-
goole had never heard until the neighbors began coming
to him with protests. A surveyor had gone over the prop-
erty which was under water to settle the riparian rights of
Mount Loretto. The survey showed that they had 255 acres
in all, according to Mr, Sylvester, the government sur-

Mount Loretto 163

veyor, but the residents of farms in the neighborhood were
opposed to allowing him to use the waters beside the farm
since it might destroy their oyster industry.

In fact, one man came to explain to the amazed and be-
wildered Father Drumgoole that he had a bed planted
right in front of the Bennett property and that if any
young varmints went swimming there, there was no telling
what might happen to the growing oysters. The matter was
settled pacifically by an agreement that oyster growers
were to have the underwater rights until the several years
it would take the very youngest oysters to mature and be
marketed.

All that summer, whenever Father Drumgoole could
manage it, boys from the City House were brought out to
the farm, and swam and played to their hearts' content.
Raritan Bay made for fine swimming, and Father Drum-
goole had procured a large floating bathhouse which
could accommodate more than fifty children at a time and
which they used in relays. Once the choir boys came out
for the day and sang all Father Drumgoole's favorite songs
for him.

At Thanksgiving everyone came down, including all the
children from the Fort Washington nursery. Those from
the City House had paraded from Broadway to South
Ferry, with their band playing all the way. As, after their
journey they drew near the main house at Mount Loretto,
they signaled their coming by the strains of the "Star-
Spangled Banner." Eight hundred sat down to the well-
filled tables that day. And just as had always been the cus-
tom at the City House, here, too, the poor came and were
fed and made welcome.

That evening the whole pattern of things changed. Of
the many who had come to the farm to spend Thanks-

164 Children's Shepherd

giving only 200 returned to the city. The younger ones, in-
cluding all the Fort Washington boys and some of the
Sisters, remained at Mount Loretto. This would now be
their permanent home. The dormitories were ready.
School was to open the following week.

This change had many advantages, one of them the fact
that it would leave more room for the girls who had been
at Fort Washington and would remain there for a time.
But only for a time. Father Drumgoole hoped before long
to transfer to Mount Loretto especially the girls who had
brothers there, in keeping with his firm conviction that
families should, as much as possible, be kept together.

That Christmas of 1883 there were two celebrations for
Father Drumgoole's children. At Mount Loretto more
than 400 received Communion and more than that in
the City .House. This year the cost of the Christmas cele-
bration was very high because there were two Homes and
two sets of children. But this was the kind of financial
hurdle that had never proved difficult for Father Drum-
goole. Each year the costs were completely met by one
friend or another by the Leavy family, a member of
whom had given the money for the very first celebration at
Warren Street; by Charles Peyton, the seminarian at
Rome; and in later years by a man whose son, a priest, had
died young and who made this form of charity his me-
morial to him.

The poor who came for Christmas dinner at the City
House that year was large and gathered early, evidently
seeking warmth as well as food. A reporter, come for a
story on the boys' celebration, asked in surprise how many
outsiders had been invited.

"Oh, they all have a standing invitation," said Father
Drumgoole, evidently undaunted by their numbers. "We

Mount Loretto 165

give a meal to anyone who can't get a dinner elsewhere.
They are God's poor and we ask them to come here in His
name."

What especially pleased Father Drumgoole that Christ-
mas day was the visit of an old friend. Father Landry had
come down from Our Lady of Angels' Seminary, and in his
talk at the City House he praised everything he saw the
Mission, the priests, the Sisters, the children. Of the last he
said, after he had seen the performance of their Christmas
play, "I never met children in an institution before who
took part in a play as well as they did, and as for their sing-
ing, they go at it as if they had had years of experience
under fine masters." And Father Drumgoole listened to
this praise with all the delight of a real parent in his fine
household.

The winter was very cold, and in the City House many
people came to be fed each day from fifty to 300. There
were the sick to whom food must be taken. And Father
Drumgoole always gave his Sisters money to take to certain
people whose sensitiveness made them unwilling to let
others know of their need.

Once when he came to the City House on a cold snowy
morning he met an old man who made apologies for his
presence. "I told the Sister right in the beginning that I
wasn't a Catholic," he said, "but she said it didn't matter.
And I tell you, Mister, that this meal they give me every
day has saved me from starving this winter."

By the end of 1883 there were 600 children in the
Staten Island Mission. The school had seven trained teach-
ers and gave both classical and commercial courses. More
land had been bought: the Vail farm and the Seguine farm
both with good houses on them. It seemed to Father
Drumgoole that for a time at least he would have room for

166 Children's Shepherd

every child sent to him. And it was with a grateful heart
that he repeated daily with his children at the City House
and at Mount Loretto the prayer now known to them all
as St. Joseph's Union prayer.

He had written it himself earlier in the year, asking the
approval of Rome for its recitation and also a blessing on
his work. He had made this request early in February, hop-
ing he would not have to wait too many months for a reply,
but the answer had come quickly. After Mass on St.
Joseph's Day he noticed that one letter in his mail bore a
Roman postmark. He opened it with not the least thought
of what its contents might be, and was overcome to find it
was from the Holy See. Pope Leo XIII had granted an in-
dulgence of 400 days to all members of the Union who re-
cited twice daily the brief prayer Father Drumgoole had
himself suggested and 200 days to those who recited it once
a day. The words were exactly as he had written them:

"Most Holy and Immaculate Mother of God and
glorious St. Joseph, Guardians and patrons
of our House and Union, intercede for us, your
devoted children, now and at the hour of our
death. Amen."

He had prayed hard for the approval of this prayer and
for this indulgence, and it had come to him on St. Joseph's
own feast day!

13

Father of Two Homes

BY 1884 there were 900 children in the two homes. The
Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children had sent
Father Drumgoole 200 of them, nearly as many as they sent
to the Catholic Protectory. The city grant, made because
the Mission "gratuitously aids, supports, and assists the
poor/' was a considerable help to him. In 1884 this
amounted to $4,000, and the sum increased with each
year; before long the Mission was receiving the second
highest amount paid to any religious institution in the
city.

Even so, the Mission managed to give as well as receive.
In addition to feeding and clothing the poor at home,
stipends were sent for Masses to missionary priests; help
was given to a scheme for placing destitute Irish families
on farm land in Western states, and a sum was sent to
Ireland as a contribution to famine relief.

Our Lady's birthday was always an important feast for
the Mission of the Immaculate Virgin. On that day in 1879
the foundation stone of the house on Lafayette Street had
been blessed; and in 1882 the chapel at Mount Loretto.
As 1884 was the nineteen hundredth anniversary of the
feast, Mount Loretto planned to celebrate.

In the City House Our Lady's statue was placed in the
sanctuary and Father Drumgoole led a procession in her
honor. In the afternoon everyone all the children and

167

168 Children's Shepherd

all the employees went to Staten Island by boat and were
welcomed at the landing by the Citizens' Cornet Band.
After the train ride to Tottenville everybody walked the
short distance from the railway station to the house over a
wooden path which Father Drumgoole had had laid for
visitors and which was much shorter than the winding car-
riage road. It was a very warm day, but the great trees
shaded the marchers all the way.

Later that afternoon there was a procession of the
Blessed Sacrament. Father Drumgoole, pacing slowly
under a beautiful new canopy finished by the Sisters only
the night before, carried the Host. The procession
marched from the chapel under arches of evergreen decked
with flowers, and some fifty of the smallest children, all in
white, walked ahead strewing flowers in the path of Our
Lord. Three temporary altars had been erected on the
green lawns, each flower-laden, each shaped like a heart,
and there the Triple Benediction was given.

The day was noisy and happy as well as sunny and very
hot. Only a few sails crept up the bay, and no leaf stirred.
But the boys raced up and down all day, evidently not
minding the heat at all.

Father Drumgoole had told the assembled children,
"You may amuse yourselves till dinnertime." The polite
silence with which they were waiting to hear an expected
sermon was immediately broken and they scattered in all
directions, some to the shore, some to the woods, like birds
out of a cage.

At Thanksgiving the City House boys came again to the
country and after a wonderful dinner Father Drumgoole
made his customary patriotic address, speaking to them of
liberty under God and the necessity of never forgetting

Father of Two Homes 169

that all liberty came from Him. "It is the glory of every
American citizen," he told them solemnly, "that by his
vote he has the right to help preserve that hard-won
liberty." And then he spoke, as he so often did, of the fact
that to be a good Catholic meant that one was also a good
American. "Read the history of the United States/' he said.
"It will make you feel that same spirit of patriotism, and
when you grow up and vote then you can use that vote to
uphold the honor of your country. This is true patriotism,
to defend your land either with your life in war or your
vote in peace. And if anyone tells you that Catholics can-
not be good Americans tell them to read their history
books about Carroll risking his fortune to sign the Dec-
laration of Independence, Hughes and his embassy to Eu-
rope, Sheridan leading our armies. But," and the voice
grew very solemn, "always remember that the man who
barters his vote is a traitor to his land, as much so as a spy
in war."

By 1885 Father Drumgoole gave these figures to the
members of the Union by way of The Homeless Child:
16,000 children cared for; 5,000 prepared for First Com-
munion, one half of whom had been cared for during the
entire year free; 6,000 poor people given free clothing. In
addition many families whose breadwinner was ill had
been cared for temporarily and thousands fed at the two
homes.

When in 1882 Cardinal McCloskey had dedicated the
chapel in the new Home on Lafayette Street, he had said it
might be the last public act of that kind which he would be
able to perform, and so it turned out. Not long before his
death in 1885 he sent for Father Drumgoole. When the
latter came to Mount St. Vincent he was saddened to see
how tired the old prelate looked, how ill he evidently was.

170 Children's Shepherd

The Cardinal wanted to see Father Drumgoole for a very
special reason.

"I do not expect to see the end God has in view for your
plan or to see it completed," he told him, "but I hope you
will be able to carry it out faithfully as you once outlined it
to me. Much has been done, I know, but I want to hear
more about the occupational work. How is that coming
along?"

Nothing could make Father Drumgoole happier than to
talk about this cherished subject. "I am leaving nothing
undone, Your Eminence, to bring that about," he assured
the prelate. "At the farm my plans in this regard are being
completed, at least in one respect. I am ready to put up one
building entirely for boys interested in agriculture, and I
shall have competent men to teach them all that goes with
good farming. Already some of the boys who are helping
Mr. Murphy tell me they want to become farmers. And I
shall give them wages and have them save some of it, and
perhaps when they are grown they will have enough for a
down payment on a farm of their own."

The Cardinal nodded his satisfaction. "And how about
the others, those who don't care for farming as a trade?"

"Those who want to go into business go, when they are
old enough, to the City House. Every kind of commercial
work is being taught there at present. But what I plan to
establish very soon are trade schools at Mount Loretto, and
we are working on these plans now. It will cost a great deal
of money and so I must move slowly. First of all, we must
have a church there."

"And the money?" asked the Cardinal.

"St. Joseph will provide it, Your Eminence," he an-
swered simply, and the Cardinal, with equal simplicity,
said, "Of course he will."

Father of Two Homes 171

Before he left Father Drumgoole told the Cardinal how
grateful he was for the excellent young priests who had
been sent him as assistants, both for the City House and
Mount Loretto Father Degnan for the first and young
Father McNichol for the second.

Early in 1885 Father Drumgoole learned of a widowed
father in the nearby little town of Krieserville who was
unable to take proper care of his family. The oldest, a girl
of twelve, was not up to the task of running the home, and
Father Drumgoole offered to take them. The boys went to
the boys' house dormitory, the little girls remained with
the Sisters. They had been at Mount Loretto only a short
time when their father gave permission to have them all
baptized.

Perhaps it was this sudden intrusion of girls into a home
hitherto housing only boys which brought about another
change. Quarters were at last arranged at Mount Loretto
for the girls still at Fort Washington. They were brought
to the island and placed in an addition to the house built
behind the chapel wing. And now, when word went out
that Mount Loretto had received girls, shelter was asked
for more, and by 1886 the "Female Department" was com-
pleted.

Often in the evening the girls, tucked in their beds in
the little dormitory, could hear Sister Agnes and Sister
Angela singing such songs as "Dear Little Shamrock/' and
they knew that Father Drumgoole had come in for his
brief evening call on the Sisters and had asked them for
one of his favorite songs. A little later, when he went
through the dormitory, heads would pop up from pillows
and voices chorus, "Goodnight, Father." "God bless you
all," he would answer, as he made the sign of the cross over
them.

172 Children's Shepherd

Father Drumgoole was to become very proud of his girls,
who proved themselves fine students. When he examined
their monthly reports, he was gratified to find many
eighties, and among the older girls some grades high in the
nineties.

Best of all, now the children of one family could see each
other occasionally and so preserve their unity. "If the boys
have sisters, how can we bear to separate them?'* he used to
ask, or "Shall we allow these poor little girls to be sent else-
where because we will not take them?" Now such questions
were answered.

At first he could take only a small group of girls; the
next year, in a house on the Bennett property, he was able
to take many more. But when that time came, poor Sister
Gonzaga, in charge of the girls' department, was greatly
overworked and Sister Angela was sent to help her, and a
little later Sister Clare.

One summer day Father Drumgoole had planned a won-
derful trip on the magnificent new steamer Grand Re-
public, which had been chartered for the occasion. For
days before the boys talked excitedly on this one topic.
Father Drumgoole was as thrilled as they and, like a pro-
fessional guide, described to them the wonderful ship and
the places they would see. The eve of the event arrived and
no one except perhaps a worried Father Drumgoole
noticed a cold wind blowing from the east.

Next morning dawned bleak and gray and a slanting
rain beat against the windows. Some of the boys held St.
Benedict medals hopefully against the wet panes; some
scanned the leaden skies with anxious eyes, seeking for a
comforting bit of blue. Then Father Drumgoole came into
the main play hall where most of them were congregated.

Father of Two Homes 173

It was a bad moment for him, too, as all eyes turned to the
one person who could surely do something about it.

He did not fail them. He climbed a chair so that every-
one could see and hear him. "Boys, I sent early this morn-
ing to the City House for the band. We are going to have
a grand party right now and right here!"

He gave a signal, and the band, which had been waiting
in the corridor, burst into loud music as its members, gay
in their uniforms, marched in. Father Drumgoole assumed
the role of drum major, led the band through the room,
using his walking stick as baton. Hundreds of boys fell in
step behind the band, their unhappiness forgotten in this
present happy activity. Through the connected buildings
wound the procession, and finally the march became a
riotous game of follow the leader, where each boy did his
best to get ahead of the rest in emulating and exaggerating
Father Drumgoole's lead.

When the procession reached the long dining room, they
marched in single file around the long tables to the tune
of "Pop Goes the Weasel." Then Father Drumgoole called
a halt and the boys looked hungrily at the laden tables.

Outside, the rain continued to beat against the window-
panes. The Grand Republic was no doubt anchored at her
pier. But inside the Mission the happy horde sang gay
songs and ate a mountain of ice cream and cake. The day
was saved.

Father Drumgoole had met only a few Catholic families
on Staten Island when he first arrived, but among them
were the De Comeaus, who were very wealthy and very
generous with their help to the Mission. The mother and
two daughters were devoted to their Church, but the

174 Children's Shepherd

father had long ago left it and despite their pleading re-
fused to return. However, he was a good friend of Father
Drumgoole and the latter spent pleasant hours in the De
Comeau mansion. There was an understanding that re-
ligion must not be mentioned unless Mr. de Comeau him-
self spoke of it. Father Drumgoole agreed to this, though
reluctantly. More than once Archbishop Corrigan, who
had succeeded Cardinal McCloskey, and who was devoted
to the old gentleman, asked Father Drumgoole about the
state of Mr, de Comeau's soul. So far the answer had not
been reassuring.

Now in February of 1885 one of the daughters, Yolande,
sent word to Father Drumgoole in New York that her
father was not only very ill but sinking rapidly. As soon as
Father Drumgoole reached the island he hastened to visit
the old gentleman.

Yolande met him at the door, looking very sad and
troubled. "Father wants to see you, but asked me to warn
you that he is not prepared for confession and you are not
to mention the subject if you go in to talk with him. He
says when he is ready he will tell you."

Father Drumgoole nodded as if in agreement, but he
decided privately to act as seemed best. Learning Mr.
de Comeau had fallen asleep, he put off the visit and
promised to come later in the day. When he reached the
house the second time, it was to learn that Mr. de Comeau
had suffered a relapse. When he went to the sick man's bed-
side, the latter made an effort to smile when he recognized
his visitor. Then his expression grew defiant. "Did my
daughter give you my message?" he whispered.

Father Drumgoole nodded. "But I've come to settle the
question right now for good. Once you told me there was

Father of Two Homes 175

no one in whom you placed more confidence than in me.
Now I've come to test it."

The voice was a little stronger. "I'm not ready and I
won't do it till I am."

"But why are you not ready? We've talked about this
before. It was different then, but by this time tomorrow
you may be in eternity, man, and you'll never get to
heaven without a good confession. You must know there
is no time to lose."

The eyes remained obstinate. "I can't and I won't/' he
said.

Father Drumgoole smiled at his old friend. "Well, sup-
pose I tell you that I have a message from God for you
and hereby am delivering it through St. Joseph.'* He
did not wait for further objections, but put on his stole.
"Come, prove that you have more confidence in me than
in anyone, priest or layman, as you told me more than
once. Why don't you make a confidant of me? Tell me
what is the matter and then make your confession or not as
you please."

This persuasive talk evidently disarmed the old gentle-
man. He sighed and smiled wryly. "All right, Father John,
you win."

After the sick man had given his whole story, he was
spent from talking and remained silent for a few minutes.
Then he smiled. "And now you've won and I shall no
longer be on the side of Lucifer."

He asked to have Yolande called, and when she came in
rather timidly and saw her father's face she went to him
quickly and took his hand in hers. And so Father Drum-
goole left them after promising to say a Mass of thanks-
giving next morning, asking them to unite their intentions

176 Children's Shepherd

with his. As soon as he reached home he wrote a long letter
to Archbishop Corrigan to tell him that the old gentle-
man's obstinate refusal to be reconciled with his Church
was ended.

At the end of his letter he added, "He is such a good,
kindhearted old gentleman that it would be a pity if he
had dropped off unprepared to meet his God."

Mr. de Comeau died a few days later, and after his fu-
neral his daughter Yolande went to see Father Drumgoole.
She wanted to do something, she said, to show her grati-
tude. She would like, if it were possible, to build a home
for the care of orphaned blind girls for whom there was no
place in a Catholic institution. She offered to give f 100,000
for the work.

Within the same year Mrs. de Comeau also passed away,
and Yolande asked if both her parents might be buried in
the little Mount Loretto cemetery. Father Drumgoole
agreed. Then she told him of her own intention, now that
she had no further responsibilities: she wanted to give her
life wholly to God. She planned to become a religious.

Father Drumgoole knew that this was no sudden de-
cision. From childhood she had wanted to be a religious
but her parents had opposed it. When Father Drumgoole
had first come to Staten Island she had found in him a
friend and counsellor and to him she had told her hopes.
Even the desire to found a home for blind girls was no sud-
den impulse. Some years before she had found that the
sound of her voice greatly attracted a lonely blind child in
the neighborhood, and from contact with this child came
her interest in others, and a resolve someday to devote her
life to the blind.

By 1887 the number of children in the two homes had
increased to 1,300. In the City House there were now fewer

Father of Two Homes 177

newsboys or bootblacks or sweeps many of them were em-
ployed in banks and stores. They also became hatters,
butchers, masons, truck drivers, tailors, and some few
qualified as schoolteachers. Some passed their Civil Serv-
ice examinations by studying at the evening school. Some
were in the armed forces. The department stores A. T.
Stewart and Lord & Taylor among them were always
ready to employ boys from the Mission.

The doctors who visited the Mission for a new law
ordered a monthly examination of all children cared for
in an institution gave it an excellent rating. Deaths had
always been rare; those that did occur were usually due to
the fact that some children arrived in very poor condition.
In a year when measles were very prevalent, the Mission
had not a single case. There was not, and had not been
for a long time, a single case of the common disease of the
day among the poor sore eyes.

Even though Mr. Letchworth had a few years before
given high praise to the Mission, certain city authorities
were critical of the methods of Father Drumgoole's Home.
In 1886 Mrs. Josephine Lowell, one of the commissioners,
reported that she was appalled by the situation there. "He
has no active management and only eleven 'Sisters/ " she
wrote of the City House, "and the management is left
chiefly to hired men in both his institutions. I consider it
a great evil."

She had evidently come to grips with Father Drum-
goole personally, for later her report bore the added tart
comment: "I am sorry to say he considers me as something
worse than a heathen because I do not think religious
training of the children more than offsets the want of
proper education in other directions."

The chief point of her irritation no doubt was that

178 Children's Shepherd

Father Drumgoole received considerable funds from the
city for his institution $96,000 in 1885 yet was insisting
on running it his own way. There was, she said, no
"manual training/' but the fact was that the plans were all
but ready even then to carry out this, his own great dream.

But he could and perhaps did point out to Mrs.
Lowell such advanced features as the grouping of children
by age and ability; in most institutions of the day children
were thrown together with little regard for these. In his
homes there were two divisions one, those too young to
work; the other, those who were wage earners or appren-
tices. He could point also to the scholarships he was receiv-
ing for his more gifted students. But then, even as far back
as 1879, h e k a d insisted that his boys must have a grammar-
school education before they looked for work an ex-
tremely radical idea.

It was difficult to get the annoyed Mrs. Lowell to listen
to such statements. In her opinion "the present object
seems to be to collect the greatest number possible and
maintain them at the expense of private charity and public
money and educate them to be good Catholics." She saw
the work only with the eye of sectarian prejudice; saw that
the methods were not those of the organization in which
she was trained, and said that "as a means for the educa-
tion of future citizens of New York, it is a sad thing to con-
template/*

However, despite this criticism, the work went on and in
Father Drumgoole's own way. The children were healthy
and he could point to the few deaths and the rare illnesses.
He reunited families when it was possible; he had a staff
of five teachers. His boys were getting good jobs as they
grew up. In fact, his methods would seem to later observers
to have been modern and often ahead of his time.

Father of Two Homes 179

And he had added one ingredient often lacked by public
institutions: the love of a devoted father for his children.
His work had begun on this personal basis; he could never
have made it impersonal no matter how large it grew. His
one crime in the eyes of people like Mrs. Lowell was his
difference in approach. To him these were children of God
(and of the Catholic Church, Mrs. Lowell might have
added sharply) as well as future citizens of New York. And
to him the idea of a family was always paramount. Joseph,
Mary, and the Child were the ideal family. So, first of all,
the family must, if possible, be held together to protect the
child. If that proved impossible, he and the Mission must
be father and mother to him. The rest education, trades,
and so on followed. But they did not come first. First
came love, and that meant the inculcating of faith in the
protecting love of God.

That year Father Drumgoole lost a faithful assistant at
Mount Loretto, Father Degnan was appointed to the
pastorship of St. Mary's Church. It was a sorrow to lose
him, but Father Drumgoole took comfort in the thought
that Father Degnan would be going to a place he had re-
garded for many years as his own spiritual home. Young
Father McNichol was now placed in charge of the City
House.

As for Father Drumgoole, he divided his time fairly
evenly between the two houses. He loved both Homes and
both sets of children, but there was little doubt that his
real delight was to be at Mount Loretto. And there was
even less doubt of his welcome there.

When his square figure in the big black cloak was seen
coming up the steps the children swarmed to meet him,
clutching his hands, trying to climb to his shoulders, and
many tried to get under the big circular cape he wore. No

180 Children's Shepherd

child was pushed away no matter how tired Father John
was. For all there was the welcome word, the personal
greeting, for he knew every child.

On the Staten Island ferry he was, of course, very well
known, and many smiled at him when they saw him sitting
by himself on the upper deck, the wind on his face, his eyes
seemingly looking into the distance and seeing no one.
Those familiar with him knew what he was doing: he was
reciting his rosary and holding it out of sight in the folds of
his big cloak.

On one occasion a woman who did not know him hur-
ried to one of the boat officials, saying there was a man with
a snake on board. Investigation showed it was merely
Father Drumgoole and the snake was the big black rosary
which now and then escaped from the confines of his cloak.

To him this brief ride on the water was his one oppor-
tunity, save his Mass, when he could be alone and without
interruption. But even that was beginning to be difficult.
Everywhere he was greeted, for he and his Mission and his
children were now accepted as a part of the island.

When he first came to Mount Loretto there had been,
so far as he knew, only one Catholic family within three
miles. The rest, principally Huguenot descendants of the
immigrants who fled there after the revocation of the Edict
of Nantes, were now his friends. At first they had resented
the coming of the Catholics, now there were converts
among them. Within a year fifteen persons had been con-
firmed, along with the children from the Mission.

Many of the neighbors at Staten Island said that, though
they had often heard of miracles, they had never seen one
until they saw Mount Loretto. Father Drumgoole did not
phrase it like that. He would no doubt have preferred to
call it the result of the long and unceasing labor of his
patron St. Joseph in behalf of homeless children.

Father of Two Homes 181

"We have built thirteen houses here in these few years/'
he wrote in The Homeless Child in 1887, "or perhaps it
would be better if I said St. Joseph has built them."

Of late he had been carrying on considerable cor-
respondence with Rome regarding the plans for a church
he intended to build at Mount Loretto. Cardinal Parocchi,
Vicar General of Rome, had showed much interest in the
work of the Mission, and it was to him that Father Drum-
goole had written occasional letters about the Home he
loved.

"The place is now a garden spot," ran one letter,
"though rude and almost uncultivated when we took pos-
session of it a little less than four years ago. . . . The
abundance of the crops of every sort attracts the attention
of all the neighbors. . . . Mount Loretto has made such
an impression on visitors by its beauty that they have
pronounced it one of the most interesting places in the
state of New York, if not in all America."

In July of 1887 Father Drumgoole received another ap-
proval of his work from Rome, the sixth since 1881. Even
at that early day, Pope Leo XIII had said to Archbishop
Corrigan, when he made the request for the blessing, "Oh,
yes, I know about his work and I willingly bless it and
him."

St. Anne's chapel at Mount Loretto had long since
proved inadequate for the constantly growing family. The
church Father Drumgoole was planning to build would
be large and modeled after one in Rome, S. Andrea della
Valle, in accordance with a suggestion made by Cardinal
Parocchi.

During that year Father Drumgoole also received the
Holy Father's authorization for a painting which would
show the Pope receiving Archbishop McCloskey at the
time he went to Rome to receive his red hat, and this he

Children's Shepherd

planned to place in the new church. The Holy Father had
suggested the inclusion in the painting of the portraits of
certain dignitaries who had been present on that occasion,
and explained exactly the place in the picture that should
be occupied by the Roman and Swiss guards.

Of course it was only natural that the Holy Father
should be deeply interested in Mount Loretto and its new
church. All the members of the Union were deeply inter-
ested, and he, too, was a member.

During the year 1887 Father Drumgoole heard that cer-
tain criticisms had been leveled against The Homeless
Child by the Baltimore Council. Father Drumgoole not
only made a categorical denial but cited the many prelates
who were subscribers at home and in Canada, Germany,
France, and Ireland. And he mentioned its most distin-
guished member, Pope Leo XIII.

Why anyone, save through envy, should level such a
criticism was not clear. Over the years The Homeless Child
had hardly changed its format or its contents. It contained
brief lives of the saints with engravings from good paint-
ings, and these Father Drumgoole included so that his
readers, many of whom he had feared knew nothing about
them, might learn of these great men and women of their
Church. There were the reports he made to the arch-
diocese, and the poems on St. Joseph or Our Lady, usu-
ally written by members of the Union, and sometimes the
sermon of a prelate. In addition he published letters from
converts telling him that it was this little magazine which
had started them on the road to Truth. What could be
criticized about all this?

Another accusation, according to the rumors, was that
he received "private help" for his own needs. Those who
heard this were amused rather than irritated, for it was

Father of Two Homes 183

clear it came from those who had never known the simplic-
ity of his way of life, his few possessions, the clothing he
wore year after year until someone forced him to buy a
new suit or cloak. Once he had worn a cloak for more than
a year without noticing that it had no sleeves; he had
picked up an old one which was to be thrown away and
had used it until someone objected.

He felt he must explain and defend himself from these
vague accusations, and did so in the next number of The
Homeless Child. During the early difficult days of the
Home, he wrote, he had been helped personally by rela-
tives and friends, but he had never used for his own needs
a penny given him for his Mission. Years before, a loyal
friend, realizing that Father Drumgoole had certain per-
sonal expenses and no income of his own, had put $5,000
in a bank in his name so that he would never need to use
the smallest amount of Union funds for himself. But much
of that amount still remained in the account; he had used
less than half of it.

In his early days he had paid his own way, he explained,
and had earned much of it; only the cost of his priesthood
training had been met in part by his friends. He had set
aside, he said, of the money sent him to the Mission, $200*
yearly for Masses for those who helped clothe and educate
poor children in their own parishes, and he sent these
sums for Mass intentions to missionary priests in distant
lands. 'In dedicating myself to the Mission/' he wrote in
The Homeless Child, "I gave it my heart and all my
worldly goods with it, and since I have no one depending
on me since the death of my mother, my worldly goods will
belong to the Mission after my death."

As a matter of fact, the Mission property was no longer
even in his name nor did he have any personal claim on it.

184 Children's Shepherd

Long ago he had transferred it to the Mission of the Im-
maculate Virgin, which was an incorporated institution
and under archdiocesan control. "I will leave nothing un-
done to preserve it intact/' he had told the Archbishop at
that time, "and so after my death it will continue to save
hundreds of thousands of souls."

That very year he had asked an accountant of the arch-
diocese to go over the Mission accounts. This expert, when
he finished, complimented Father Drumgoole. The system
used was so clear that one could see at a glance the financial
condition of the Mission. This was true also, he said, of the
special account carrying the sums set aside for Mass inten-
tions.

This "special account" had grown with the years. Mis-
sionary bishops and priests in Asia and India and Africa
benefited from it, and over the years more than 50,000 had
been aided by Mass stipends and they in turn had given
their aid. Money often went through the Archbishop to
the bishop of some poor foreign diocese. "One hundred
dollars are enclosed, and the intentions are for the most
destitute souls in Purgatory," Father Drumgoole would
write. Sums went to a church at Nepal, India, to Father
O'Keefe in Nassau, in the West Indies, to "an old Roman
bishop who has written Your Grace for intentions," to the
Franciscan Fathers and this letter contained the promise
of more help, "after March first, when our cow calves."
To each contribution was always added the same request
that the Masses be said for the most neglected souls in
Purgatory.

In the pages of his little yearly magazine he told the
Union members of all these expenditures. He said he
knew they would be happy to help since for some of those
aided this money had been at times their sole income.

Father of Two Homes 185

There was no record that any member of the Union had
ever objected to this use of the funds.

And each year, in varying words but with the same basic
statement, he printed the question that was asked him
again and again: "Where does all the money come from
that pays for the new houses and the children's care and
the many other expenses?" And he answered always, "It
comes from the chief source of revenue we have to rely on
the fund created by the twenty-five-cent annual subscrip-
tion to The Homeless Child. From this we have built not
only the City House but defrayed all the necessary ex-
penses of the publications of St. Joseph's Union and all the
indebtedness incurred in carrying on the work of the Mis-
sion of the Immaculate Virgin. For the income from the
Mission from every source is always less than the ex-
penditures. This indebtedness which is very large is also
paid from the fund created by the annual subscription to
The Homeless Child"

These reports were always much alike, and they usually
ended, "We thank our friends and hope that God will bless
them for the donations they have made to the Mission/*
And he would repeat again his proud statement, "There is
no cent of debt against any of our works/'

14

A "Substitute*' for Rome

EVERYONE at Mount Loretto took part in the ceremony o
breaking ground for their new church on the feast of Our
Lady's Nativity in 1887, It was a lovely day at summer's
end; the ripples on the bay were gentle. The trees waved
in a little breeze as the long line walked in procession to
the site of the new church priests, acolytes, religious, em-
ployees, and children, all singing as they went.

At the Mass earlier that morning thanksgiving to God
for the favors and blessings bestowed on the Holy Father
had been offered. It was his year of jubilee; for ten years
he had been on the throne of Peter and in his sermon
Father Drumgoole told his large family that the new
church would be dedicated to God in honor of Pope
Leo XIII.

Father Drumgoole, armed with a new and shining spade,
dug the first sod himself, close to the cord which marked
the foundation lines. Then each priest in turn dug a piece
of sod, and one was dug for each of the Sisters who them-
selves removed from the ground her own bit of turf, as did
all the employees and each of the children who were old
enough. Father Drumgoole blessed the site. After that they
all knelt together under the bright sky and, led by Father
Drumgoole, they prayed that this great undertaking for
God would not fail, that in future years the cross on this

186

A "Substitute" for Rome 1 87

church would be a landmark, a sign to those who came
from over the ocean that America belonged to God.

Archbishop Corrigan had already given his promise that
he would come to bless the cornerstone which, it was
hoped, could be laid early the following year. The work of
excavation was to begin soon. As yet, of course, the church
was only architects' drawings and a hole in the ground, but
already Father Drumgoole visioned it as finished, and was
going on to his next project the building which was to
house his cherished trade school. There were many chil-
dren at Mount Loretto now who would be benefited by
such a school, and he was eager to make it a reality. As soon
as the church was up he would submit his plans for the
next structure.

This did not mean that he was for a moment forgetting
the others in his care, for there were many who could not
be given such training for some years little children who
must be made strong and healthy and given good training
in their faith and a primary education before a trade was
even thought of for them. And there were the others, those
whom he had the joy of seeing returned to their families
after a stay at the Mission. For very often he took small
children into his Home in order to give their parents a
chance to get on their feet, and then his greatest joy was to
send a child back to an unbroken home. Those returned
were not given back haphazardly, for parents had to give
proof that they would care for them and had to promise to
send them to church and to school. And also the Society for
the Prevention of Cruelty to Children had to be fully satis-
fied regarding the conditions that awaited the children
who had been under his care.

They worked well together, the Society and Father
Drumgoole, who knew that its work had saved many chil-

i88 Children's Shepherd

dren from degraded parents and from those who wanted
to use them for some selfish purpose, children who could
be reached in no other way than through the officers of
such an organization. Elbridge Gerry, its founder, had
come out to Mount Loretto that year and later spoke of
it as a "model/* a place that not only educated children to
be good citizens but taught them "that there is a God to
worship and a religion to follow/'

Father Drumgoole had told him that he was sorry he
could not take even more children from him, but that
he now had 1,300 in his homes and, until he could add
more space, must limit himself to what he called "hard-
ship cases." He did not like to be so limited, for he wanted
to give help to every child that needed it. Above all he
wanted such children to be placed where they would have
spiritual as well as material care.

"I sincerely trust," Mr. Gerry wrote him a little later,
"you will not forget in your prayers the Society for the
Prevention of Cruelty to Children, and that the interest
you have always so practically shown in your long and
laborious work of caring for helpless little ones in this city
will continue to find its echo in your appreciation of this
Society which stands always ready to second your praise-
worthy and most excellent efforts in their behalf."

It was true that there were many unusual features about
Mount Loretto, but no doubt the outstanding one was the
way in which the spiritual life was interwoven into the
daily routine. The children lived very literally close to
God. They attended a short daily Mass, marching in long
columns through the connecting passages of the main
buildings, chattering as they went, for conversation was
never rationed until they came into the chapel. In the
earlier years Father Drumgoole had always been the cele-

A "Substitute" for Rome 189

brant; now he managed to be there at least every other day.
After Mass the children went through the grounds to the
dining room, past a flower bed where all spring and until
late fall bloomed a floral cross and under it, also in flowers,
the words, "In hoc signo"

During the day the Sisters managed, along with the pre-
scribed studies, to tell the children occasional stories of
saints. And always before classes they led them in a brief
prayer. Evenings, the smaller ones went for a walk under
the tall trees, each little child holding the hand of another
small one, Sister watching carefully to see that no one
strayed off. Even when they were being tucked into bed,
they heard Sister murmur a little prayer over them and
often, much later, Father Drumgoole went softly through
the dormitories blessing the little sleepers.

There were many visitors to this unusual Home, and
often men in high places in church and state. One bishop
from Italy said he had seen in his lifetime two miracles:
one, when he had in his hands the glass which held the
dried blood of St. Januarius and saw it liquefy under his
very eyes; the other, Mount Loretto.

In July of 1887 Father Glynn, an Augustinian prior,
recently arrived from Rome, came to visit the home. He
had heard of this amazing Mission at the Vatican and he
wanted to see it for himself. Later he declared that there
had been no exaggeration in the reports. "Here you use
Christian and not merely anti-poverty principles," he said,
and that, thought Father Drumgoole's helper, was a very
good summing up of his entire aim.

In the same month Archbishop Corrigan, on his annual
visitation of Staten Island, came to Mount Loretto to be
Father Drumgoole's guest. Great preparations were made
for this visit. Father Glynn and Father Drumgoole went in

igo Children's Shepherd

to New York to meet the Archbishop at the foot of White-
hall Street and all three boarded the ferry. The pilothouse
at the front had been set aside for the party and they had
a fine view of the ships and the islands. The sky was blue;
the sails swelled in the river breeze. The statue of Liberty
gleamed from her height. At St. George a special train,
as well as the band from the city, was waiting.

Father Glynn had been very vocal about the Mission and
was still lauding it to the Archbishop. "There they work
for the poor and don't merely talk about it," he said en-
thusiastically, as if he were explaining something new to
the prelate. When they reached Mount Loretto even
Father Drumgoole, the perfectionist, could have asked for
no more than awaited them. The grounds were in perfect
order. The cottages looked the acme of neatness. As the
carriage passed, 1,000 children cheered and waved and the
bell in the tower pealed a welcome.

Around a great harp of flowers on the lawn stood the
smallest children, the boys in white, the girls in blue, and
when the Archbishop reached the top step of the main
building he turned to bless them. He smiled into their up-
lifted faces, and on his own was a very tender expression.

It was no wonder, said His Grace, that Father Glynn had
been amazed at what he saw. Each time he came there he
also felt that same amazement. On this visit he went over
the entire place the dormitories and the offices, the
chicken yard and cow barn, the artesian wells, the dock
with its floating bath at the pier, the fine machinery in the
great barn.

On the way back to the city Father Glynn was still voic-
ing his enthusiasm over Mount Loretto. In his many years
as a priest he said he had never seen an institution like it.
"I think it is truly the greatest and noblest work of charity

A "Substitute" for Rome 191

ever accomplished by the Christian energy and zeal of one
man/' he said to the Archbishop. It was a revelation, too,
he said, of the work the Church was carrying out in the
United States, and he was anxious to tell in Rome what he
had seen at Mount Loretto.

In October the plans for the new church were ready, and
Father Drumgoole sent them to Rome for approval. Each
of its three altars was to be the facsimile of an ancient altar
in a Roman church, and these were to be selected in the
Holy City. Father Drumgoole had written Cardinal Faroe-
chi that he would be satisfied with any changes made in the
plans and they could be made without consulting him
further. There was only one addition which he was very
anxious to have made to the design of the church, and that
was a spire. He explained exactly why he wanted it: "I
wish to have one, as it will render the church more con-
spicuous to steamers entering and leaving the New York
Harbor."

At the year's end a parcel came from Rome, accom-
panied by a letter from the Cardinal. He called it a "small
present." On opening it Father Drumgoole found it con-
tained an announcement of the blessing of the Holy
Father, sent him during the jubilee year. He showed it
next day to everyone he saw priests, laity, Sisters, and
he read it in translation to the children. "No earthly gift
could equal it in my estimation," he declared. "And now
we must hurry more than ever with our new church which
will, in a way, be a memorial of this jubilee." When he
wrote to thank the Holy Father, he told him that work
would soon start on the foundations of the new church
and that the Archbishop had made arrangements to lay
and bless the cornerstone on July 26 of the next year.

Cardinal Parocchi had written him that the Holy Father

Children's Shepherd

wished very much to see the American priest who was
caring for so many homeless children in America. Father
Drumgoole found it difficult indeed to reply.

When he did answer he made it very clear that to come
to Rome would be his dearest wish. But to absent himself
even for a few months from the Mission, especially now
that the building of the church would soon start, added to
the fact that he was at work on the annual number of The
Homeless Child, would be like running away from his re-
sponsibilities. But he sighed as he wrote, for he was re-
linquishing something that would have been the greatest
joy he had known in his life of many joys.

"It would afford me the highest earthly pleasure/' he
wrote, "to get one sight of our Holy Father Leo XIII, and
to be enabled to thank personally the Cardinal Vicar for
his extraordinary kindness to me. Next to His Holiness
there is no one on earth I have a greater desire to see than
His Eminence."

His letter was received at Rome with regret. Cardinal
Parocchi, taking it to the Pope, remembered a letter he
had received a few years earlier, at a time when reports to
America said the Holy Father was in actual danger. Father
Drumgoole had written offering Mount Loretto as a
refuge and a home. The smile that he and the Holy Father
had exchanged over that had been very tender.

That same winter Father Drumgoole had to settle the
affairs of Yolande de Comeau, On entering the community
of the Sisters of St. Francis and before she made her vows,
she had given Father Drumgoole $ 100,000 for a home for
blind girls. At that time she had asked that one part of the
building be set aside to house a group of Sisters of per-
petual adoration, who could come from the ranks of the

A "Substitute' 9 for Rome 193

Sisters themselves those too old for the usual duties or
those in some way unfitted for active work.

This home for the blind Father Drumgoole planned to
begin the following spring. The Archbishop highly ap-
proved the project. It would be the first effort made in
New York by Catholics to care for the blind.

It was always difficult for Father Drumgoole to put
down in his report to the Archbishop everything that had
happened; each day something new occurred, just as every
day new plans came to him which he wanted to carry out.
At the end of 1887 he placed emphasis on those boys who
were working on the farm at Mount Loretto, and to whom
he was now paying regular farm hands' wages. During va-
cations some took jobs on neighboring farms, and the em-
ployers were always very complimentary about their work.
He had begun to receive letters from the West offering
good acreage at reasonable prices, and, though this was a
matter for the future, he had some of the boys saving to
buy farms and studying drainage and soils and other neces-
sary agricultural subjects.

To the Union his letter of 1887 was chiefly an expression
of gratitude to these generous people who had made all his
work successful and helped it grow each year. Especially
he thanked those solicitors all over the world who obtained
new subscribers for him: "As an act of gratitude we shall
have 500 Masses said this year for the spiritual and tem-
poral welfare of the solicitors/' he wrote, "and of all who
aid us in obtaining subscriptions. It must be consolation to
you and to all the members of the Union to know that at
present the Mission shelters about 1,400 in both houses,
who, principally through your continual, noble, charita-
ble, and truly Christian efforts are enjoying all the benefits
of a Catholic home. . . . Through your united efforts

1Q4 Children's Shepherd

many thousands of poor children are preserved from losing
their faith and from ignorance, vice, and degradation/'

There followed directions regarding papers and certifi-
cates and letters, and he ended by praying that God would
bless the Union members "for what you are doing for His
suffering members/' and begging them to remember him
in their prayers and Communions.

During the first months of 1888 Father Drumgoole gave
some hours each day when he could spare them to the
preparation of what he called the "substitute" he was send-
ing to Rome in his place. This was an album containing
many views of Mount Loretto. It was a really wonderful
affair, for it showed for the first time in one place all the
activities of that far-spread mission. There were interior
and exterior views of every building erected at Mount
Loretto the chapels, the dormitories, the playgrounds for
summer, the recreation rooms for winter. There were pic-
tures of the boiler room, the bakery "where six barrels
of flour are used daily/' said the caption the bathhouse,
the bay itself, the barn, still reputed to be the largest in
the country, big enough for 200 cows and fifty horses, its
upper floors fitted up for the more than fifty farmers em-
ployed on the farm. There were pictures of the cottages of
the other workers, and always Father Drumgoole was care-
ful to have the family assembled on the porch when the
picture was taken. The icehouse was photographed, the
carpenter house, the slaughterhouse, the pen where 600
pigs were kept, the hennery, and the rabbit warren.

There were photographs of the various classes of chil-
dren at the school, of the little ones too small for school, of
the boys being trained in trades. The latter were shown
tailoring, making shoes, baking, working in engine room,
boiler rooms, and dairy. And there was one picture which

A "Substitute" for Rome 195

showed smiling farmers of the future. All these photo-
graphs were now being carefully arranged so that the Holy
Father and Cardinal Parocchi and their friends could
"visit every apartment in every house in Mount Loretto
at their leisure.'*

Then Father Drumgoole decided the City House must
be included, and again the photographers went to work
and made pictures of everything there from the statues of
Our Lady and St. Joseph to the cubicles where each boy
had his own place. Since it was still winter, the work some-
times lagged, for the weather was often cloudy and picture-
taking was difficult.

There was one photograph which everyone said must be
included that of the Founder himself. This he opposed,
as he had always opposed the taking of his picture, but
eventually he capitulated. He sighed when they brought
him this photograph for approval. "It does look like me,"
he admitted. "It is very natural." But he still looked un-
easy, and helpers quickly pasted it in the book so that he
could not change his mind.

In sending the album to Rome he said he hoped it
would serve as a substitute for his own presence that year,
at least until the church was under way or, even better,
finished. "I have no one living to take my place," he wrote,
"and everything going on at the present time requires my
own immediate presence every day. I have not taken a
day's complete relaxation in over nineteen years, and I
could not come to Rome now without doing more or less
injury to the Mission, which, in conscience, I cannot do
under any considerations."

The "substitute" completed, he turned to other work.
As soon as he received final approval of his plans from
Rome he would begin to build his church.

196 Children's Shepherd

The plans for the blind girls' home were ready and he
discussed them with Yolande de Comeau. She told him of
one more gift she wanted to present to the Mission before
she made her vows. When he and Father McNichol went
with her to her home to get this, they found awaiting them
a great pile of plate and much jewelry, which she told them
was to be sold at auction and the proceeds given to the
Mission,

Father McNichol was awed to note with what indiffer-
ence she looked at it all. Later, on a visit to Buffalo, Father
Drumgoole went to see Yolande at the convent and was
greatly impressed at the way this girl who, when she lived
in the world, had had every wish anticipated, now carried
out the menial duties of a postulant.

During that cold winter snowy days made travel difficult.
Father Drumgoole kept to his usual routine of spending
alternate days at the City House and at Mount Loretto.
Perhaps his greatest joy during this latter part of his life
was to go in turn to each of his homes.

He would come to Mount Loretto over the footpath
from the station at Pleasant Plains, to see how the farmers
were preparing the ground for the spring sowing, to pass
by the smithy, to see his children helping the farmers
sitting on a plodding, patient horse or feeding the stock
to walk to the rooms where his boys were learning a trade.

He always gave a look of satisfaction at one small cottage,
where Mr. Kernan, formerly an Episcopalian clergyman,
taught Latin to those among the older boys who showed a
predilection for learning. He hoped that from this group
there would come vocations someday, and when he passed
the cottage he always said a little prayer for that intention.

All this was good to see, as it was good to pass the place

A "Substitute" for Rome 197

where the earth had been dug for the new church and
where before long the Archbishop would bless the first
stone of the edifice which was to house Our Lord and
honor the two who were not only His parents but the par-
ents of every child who slept the sleep of carefree child-
hood in this Mission. He loved the moments when the
smaller ones saw him coming and ran to meet him, snug-
gling under the black cloak that was too small to hold them
all yet seemed to expand as they crept under it. And if they
grew obstreperous, a few words from him would quiet
them and they would trot off to their play again.

He looked after them with his protecting smile. He had
always been a quiet man who rarely raised his voice, who
never expressed resentment when people hurt him. But if
someone hurt his children or spoke ill of them, he roused
like a lion, standing always between them and injustice,
no matter whether he had to defy parent, charity aid, or
legislature.

After a quiet night at Mount Loretto, he would say Mass
and go back to the City House for a day and a night there.
And that was a joy, too, to look at the great structure that
St. Joseph and he had raised, the cross standing at its peak,
high over the tired noisy city, to bow to St. Joseph at the
southern wall and to lift his hat to Our Lady, her arms out-
stretched over the entrance. He thought when he first saw
the statue in place that she seemed to be saying, "Come to
me, little wanderers of the streets," and she had never
ceased to say it. And when he entered the house there were
the voices of his boys calling, "Hello, Father John/ 1 and
often in the morning there were the poor being given a
meal in St. Joseph's hospitable room.

Next day he was on the road again on the trip by ferry
and train to his other Home, saying his rosary on the upper

198 Children's Shepherd

deck, greeted by half the passengers, for he was now so well
known that he had become almost a legend. Everyone who
passed had a smile for the elderly priest with his crown of
snow-white hair he looked exactly like Pius IX, said those
who had seen that Pope and more than one said they
loved to greet him so that they might hear the clear, musi-
cal voice in which he answered them.

15

The Great Blizzard Father
Drumgoole's Death

THE WEATHER in early 1888 continued unpleasantly cold
and rough, with gales and sleety snow. Both at Staten Is-
land and in the City House his helpers begged Father
Drumgoole to make fewer trips back and forth until the
weather improved, but he merely laughed at such advice
and serenely went his accustomed way.

Those who worked with him had noticed more than
once during the past year that Father Drumgoole was los-
ing his accustomed vigor, that his step was slower. But he
always waved aside the suggestion that he have a doctor
check his condition, just as he had done on his first en-
counter with illness many years before. But to himself he
admitted that sometimes during the day he found himself
overcome with a weariness such as he had never known in
his strong and active life. His back ached and his head felt
heavy, and, worst of all, the symptoms did not disappear
even though he applied himself with extra energy to the
work before him. One evening he said to Father McNichol,
as they sat together for a quiet moment in his little room,
"I'm getting old and I'm afraid I may soon be useless."

Father McNichol laughed at his fears, but it was true
that his old chief was far from his robust self. His eyes were
growing dim; his once-straight shoulders were bent; some-

199

soo Children's Shepherd

times one noted a trembling of the hands. "You could take
a short rest," he hazarded. "Perhaps that is all you need."

Father Drumgoole looked quizzically at the worried
face of his assistant. "I'll tell you my plans. When I'm sure
I've got the Mission going without me, I'm going to re-
tire to some quiet monastery. But first the church must be
built and the vocational training house. Then I'll go to
my old-age retreat."

On March 10 he said Mass as usual at the City House
before his return to Mount Loretto, After Mass, Father
McNichol, coming into the chapel, saw him kneeling in
prayer before Our Lady's altar. His white hair was shining
in the light from the window; his arms were outstretched
as he so often held them when he was praying, and Father
McNichol thought that so must Moses have looked when
he was begging God to help his people. Father Drumgoole
was praying half-aloud, and something in his attitude made
the younger priest think of their earlier conversation. He
found himself adding a prayer to Father John's thanks-
giving: "Keep him for us, Lord. Watch over him," he
prayed.

On the afternoon of Sunday, March 11, a light rain fell,
which gradually turned to snow. By night a violent gale
had arisen, and at Mount Loretto the Sisters and the
resident priests begged Father Drumgoole to forego his
usual trip to the city next day. He laughed at their fears
and boarded the train at Pleasant Plains as usual. He found
it unusually empty for a Monday morning, and when the
conductor came through he smiled to see this passenger in
his accustomed place.

"Well, you are braver than some of them, Father," he
said. "Lots of folks think this will turn into a real blizzard
and they're staying home."

Father Drumgoole's Death 201

Father Drumgoole looked out at the driving snow and
for the first time he felt apprehensive. "Think we'll get
through all right?"

"Oh, we'll get through all right/' said the conductor re-
assuringly, "but if well get back I'm not so sure/'

At St. George he found things strangely quiet. And now
Father Drumgoole learned that he could go no farther that
day. The Southfield was making its last trip back until the
storm was over, and no other ferries would be allowed to
start out to New York. The boat reached the pier, but with
difficulty, the flagpoles fore and aft broken off by the
fierce wind and its shivering, frightened passengers hud-
dled on the deck. Even Father Drumgoole saw that it was
useless to try to get to New York. He decided to take the
train back to Pleasant Plains. But at the gate the official
shook his head. "No more trains till further notice," he
said.

Father Drumgoole pondered what to do. He could stay
in St. George, of course, but it would be better to get to
Mount Loretto while there was still an opportunity. He
hired a horse and gig from a man he knew and set out for
home.

How he made it perhaps he himself hardly knew, but in
the early afternoon a Sister, looking from the window at
the stormy world before her, saw a horse and gig coming
slowly up the drive. She called to the others and they
brought the exhausted man into the house, while one of
the hastily summoned workers took the tired horse to the
barn.

It was not until some days later that communication was
restored to Mount Loretto, which had been entirely iso-
lated. There was no getting about at all, save with dif-
ficulty, from house to house and house to barn. But the

2O2 Children's Shepherd

fires had not failed and the children had been fed. Because
the storm had occurred on a Sunday, many of the cooks
and bakers who had gone to New York for the week end
had not been able to return to work. The Sisters had baked
the many loaves needed for the hundreds of children and
cooked the meals, and had done their best to keep their
charges warm and happy and unafraid.

By Tuesday the storm abated, but on Wednesday the
wind's velocity was still eighty-five miles an hour. Not un-
til Thursday did any trains begin to run to Pleasant Plains.
The drifts were so high in many places that tunnels were
dug from house to road. Trees had been uprooted and
dead birds lay everywhere. Most people had not left their
homes at all, but some who did had been exhausted by
their struggle to get through the drifted snow and now
their deaths were reported.

At Mount Loretto, when the full danger of Father
Drumgoole's trip from St. George was fully realized, many
prayers of thanksgiving were sent up for his safe home-
coming. He himself seemed no worse for the ordeal, though
he had developed a cough which worried the Sisters, He
merely laughed at their anxiety: when one considered the
real tragedies of the storm, surely a cough was nothing to
give thought to. Nevertheless they won from him a promise
that he would stay at Mount Loretto until the weather
gave definite promise of betterment. Word had come from
New York of the ravages of the storm there of streets
piled high with snow, of broken telephone poles coated
with a foot of ice. No one had ventured from the City
House on the day of the storm, and on Thursday Father
Drumgoole learned to his relief that no one there had been
hurt, no one had suffered. The City House had resumed
its usual tasks and they all hoped, the message ran, that

Father Drumgoole' 3 Death 203

Father Drumgoole would rest at Mount Loretto until
travel was completely restored.

On St. Joseph's feast day Father Drumgoole said Mass in
St. Anne's chapel. He gave a short sermon to the children
on the Patron of the Universal Church who was also their
special patron. He spoke of his love for the Child en-
trusted to him and through Him of his love for every
child. Always, he said, they were to remember that St.
Joseph would help them in their difficulties now and in
the future; always they were to call with confidence on him.
When they grew older and left Mount Loretto, when
difficulties came into their lives, and when earthly help
seemed failing them, they were to remember that St.
Joseph would not fail them.

"Now you trust me to take care of you/' he said. "But
when I am not with you to counsel you or anyone to turn
to, never, my dear children, never yield to despair. Turn
to St. Joseph. He has never failed me, not once in my life.
He will not fail you either."

After Mass he made his first trip to the city after the
storm. Train service was quite restored, though snow still
lay deep on the surrounding fields. The ferries were run-
ning normally and many people greeted him when they
saw his familiar black cloak back on the upper deck.

In New York he was welcomed back with joy by his
household, and he promised that since he had been so long
away he would stay a few days with them before he re-
turned to Mount Loretto. He seemed well, they all
thought, though a little tired, and the Sisters gave him a
syrup to help the insistent cough.

On Palm Sunday he said Mass as usual and preached a
short sermon, but he did not look well. The ruddy glow
on his cheeks was missing and he looked haggard. But his

2O4 Children's Shepherd

smile was as kind, his words as vigorous, and his attentions
to his boys as thoughtful as ever. So those about him
stopped worrying, for he went about his work as usual.
Only the annoying cough remained, and the Sisters doc-
tored that faithfully.

On Monday morning, as he was preparing to rise at four
o'clock to say his Mass, he suddenly felt his strength go
from him. He fell to the floor and found he was too weak
to rise. He called for help but not until he managed to rap
on the wall could he attract attention to his plight. Two
boys passing the door heard the rapping and his weak call
for help.

He was lifted back into his bed and a doctor hastily sum-
moned. It did not take him long to make the diagnosis.
Father Drumgoole had pneumonia, no doubt from a cold
caught on the day of the fearful snowstorm, for the doctor
said he had evidently been suffering from it for some time.
He should have been called in earlier, he said reproach-
fully, to have been of any help.

When the Sisters gathered about the doctor as he came
from the sickroom and asked in deep anxiety how serious
was his condition, the doctor said bluntly, "He is only a
shell. He is worked out."

Father Drumgoole lay quietly in his bed, his big black
rosary wound round his wrist. He smiled when the doctor
and the Sister who was to care for him came to tell him
that his condition was serious. In fact, the doctor told
him bluntly that he was close to death because treatment
had been too long delayed; both lungs were seriously af-
fected.

His face was serene even after he heard this verdict and
he smiled reassuringly into the faces of the two bending
over him. Then he grew sober. "God's will be done/' he

Father Drumgoole's Death 205

said, but he added in a wistful tone, "I had hoped to live a
little longer to advance the work of the Mission. But God's
will be done/' he repeated, and this time he spoke very
firmly.

He asked Father McNichol to say his Mass for the mem-
bers of the Union that morning. Long ago, at the very in-
ception of that organization, he had promised to say Masses
daily for them "as long as I can stand up." This was his
first failure and not really a failure, for his heart was at
the altar with Father McNichol.

During the morning he made his confession and re-
ceived Viaticum. When the Blessed Sacrament was brought
into the room, those about him noticed he was making an
effort of some kind. They soon realized he was trying to
rise and kneel before his Lord. He was gently restrained
and told he had not the strength, that Our Lord would
understand his intention.

After he had been anointed, he asked the Sister with
him for the picture of Pope Leo XIII, which was one of
his greatest treasures. On it were written the words of the
Pope's blessing for Father John Christopher Drumgoole
in the hour of his death and granting him the plenary in-
dulgence. He looked long at the face of the Pontiff, smiled
and nodded, as if bowing his thanks for the favor granted
him, and told them to put the picture back in its place on
the table.

His mind still alert, he turned to the matter of his
temporal interests, since he had now completed the spir-
itual, and at intervals that Tuesday morning he arranged
with his assistants the affairs of the Mission. When this was
done, and the plans for the new church had been scruti-
nized once more, he said, "All I possess is my poor chil-
dren's. Everything belongs to them. For them I have

2o6 Children's Shepherd

worked and fought. It is their cause I shall take with me
and continue pleading."

He made a will, leaving everything he had, real and
personal, to the Mission. He was able to sign only with
difficulty, and Father McNichol, thinking of the firm,
running signature to which he was accustomed, was moved
at the sight of this shakily written name, legible only to
one who knew what it was meant to be.

Last of all, Father Drumgoole arranged that a sum be
sent to a little convent of nuns in Africa, so that they
would be able to have Masses said "for the poor souls in
Purgatory." It was for the poor souls that, since the day of
his ordination, he had offered all his work; it was for their
intention that he asked for Masses with every stipend he
sent throughout the world.

He then asked Father McNichol to bring him a paper
from his desk a letter from Lord Rosebery. The younger
priest found letters wrapped around the picture of a
handsome young man in a silver frame. "I have never left
your house," ran one brief note, "without feeling better
for it and without feeling that I had got an insight into a
higher and holier life than men are generally privileged to
lead or indeed are capable of leading. God bless you if
that may be said to you without presumption. Rosebery."

Father McNichol looked at the quiet figure on the bed
and thought that the letter was an exact expression of his
own feelings. He found another letter and knew this was
the one which Father Drumgoole wanted. It was very brief:
"Do not forget me in your prayers," and bore the same
signature. He brought this to the sick man, who smiled as
he held the lines closer to his eyes so that he could read
them. "I never failed him. Now you must carry on in my
place," he said.

Father Drumgoole's Death 207

That afternoon Archbishop Corrigan came hurrying
down to Lafayette Street, having learned of the serious-
ness of his old friend's illness. He sat by Father Drum-
goole's bed and talked with him, gently and comfortingly.
Looking about the room, as bare now as it had been when
he lived in the small room on Warren Street, his eyes
lighted on the picture of St. Joseph at the head of the bed.
"I see you have St. Joseph very near you," he said.

The sick man nodded earnestly. "Oh, I couldn't live
without him," he said, and then, in a low and very tired
voice, he added, "nor die without him."

After the Archbishop blessed him and said good-by,
Father Drumgoole went back to his prayers, his old black
beads tight in his hand. It grew dark, and after a long time
dawn came, and those beside him knew he had never
stopped praying. His only interruption was when the
watchers at his bedside urged him to rest a while, to try to
get some sleep.

The day wore on, and during much of it Father Drum-
goole's mind wandered. Now and then he raised his hand
as if blessing the children, and sometimes he called one by
name. Sometimes he seemed to be preaching, for he spoke
about Our Lady. Once, at a time when his mind was clear,
he said to Father McNichol, "The children please have
all the children at my requiem Mass." And once he said
very clearly, "I won't get to Rome next year, after all."

Now and then he murmured a few words which were
interpreted by the watchers as aspirations though they
could distinguish no words. Toward evening they heard
him say in a clear voice, "Jesus, Mary, Joseph, I love you,"
and every word was distinctly spoken. After that his breath-
ing grew difficult and then very faint.

Round about him the priests and the Sisters recited the

2o8 Children's Shepherd

prayers for the dying, and as they neared the end it was
seen that he had ceased to breathe. The bells of the Ange-
lus rang the end of day, and to those listening by the bed-
side it was like a gentle knell for the dying of a gentle man.

Everyone was weeping, his priests for the loss of a friend,
his Sisters for the loss of a father. In the chapel of the City
House his orphans were praying for him and most of them
were crying. A world even a house without Father John
in it simply could not be imagined. When they had heard
the whispered words, "Father John is dead," they had
broken into tears, unashamed, as children do when some-
one who has taken care of them is gone. The older people
knew there would be others to take up the work, but the
young felt only the immediate loss, the terror of being
alone. And especially strong was the feeling of these chil-
dren rescued by him from the streets, from neglect, even
from cruel treatment.

The hundreds who came to the door a little later, to get
their soup and bread in St. Joseph's room, also wept when
they heard that Father John was gone. And these were not
children, but men and women whose hearts were often
long closed to feeling. But the man who had fed them and
had often come to speak to them comfortingly would
speak words of comfort no more, and they wept his loss.

On his death certificate the first cause of death was stated
as exhaustion, the secondary was pneumonia. As one of his
friends well phrased it, in feeding the lamp of charity he
had exhausted the lamp of life.

When the news reached an anxious Mount Loretto and
the children learned that their Father John was dead, they
would not believe it. Father John was different. Other peo-
ple died parents and brothers and sisters but not Father

Father Drumgoole's Death 209

John. He was necessary to one's day; he came to bless them
when the night was dark; he played with them in recrea-
tion room and playground. At intervals next day, when
wheels were heard on the drive or voices on the porch, the
very little children rushed out to meet him as usual, and
their faces wore a bewildered look when Father John did
not come.

Holy Thursday came and Good Friday, doubly sad this
year to his family and his friends. His body, vested as for
Mass, was taken from his room to the largest room at the
Home. At each side of the coffin stood boys of the Mission,
in white shirts and black trousers and ties. A Sister stood
at the head of the coffin and from time to time children
and Sisters were replaced in the guard of honor.

The streets outside were filled with people who had
come to take their places in the ranks of those who wanted
to see for the last time the man who had been good to them
or of whose goodness they had heard from those he had
helped. As the people passed along there was complete
silence, broken only by the shuffling of feet and the oc-
casional clicking of a rosary as it was lifted to touch the
hands that lay over Father John's breast where his own
rosary was twined as it had always been. Many in the long
lines knelt and asked his intercession, for there was a gen-
eral belief that he was already with God. In the great
crowds it was estimated that at least 100,000 passed the
coffin during the days he lay there were children he had
befriended, poor he had fed, rich and important people,
lowly and poor, young and old, some hobbling on crutches,
some infirm with age. It was with difficulty that his vest-
ments, even the lining of his coffin, were protected from
those who wanted to bear away some relic that had touched
him.

<> 10 Children's Shepherd

"Grief dulls our pen/' wrote the editor of the Catholic
Review a few days later. For it had been so unexpected.
People had seen him only the week before, full of life and
hope, and planning for the church which was to be built
in honor of the Holy Father. That week he had spoken of
an additional plan to build on the grounds at Mount
Loretto a reproduction of the little House of Loretto. And
he had been talking of the plans for his next big building

the trade school. It seemed incredible that this man who

dealt in futures would not carry out these plans.

Not only the Catholic press wrote his eulogy. The
Herald, which could be very caustic in political matters,
had only words of affection here: "His name was a house-
hold word in every city and town throughout this broad
land, as well as in foreign countries. And wherever the
Herald was read yesterday the same grief came to those
familiar with his work. Few men have lived in this age
whose deaths have commanded such widespread and heart-
felt regrets/ '

Then the reporter spoke of the results of his work among
destitute city children: "He went into the highways and
byways, to the water front, wherever he thought to find a
little vagrant. . . . Today there are hundreds of young
men prospering in different walks of life here and else-
where who can attribute all they now possess of success
and respectability to the patient, earnest exhortations and
saving help of Father Drumgoole."

In the Freeman's Journal the editor, Maurice Francis
Egan, wrote a long editorial on him: "No merely human
power could have done what Father Drumgoole did; genius
could not have done it; wealth could not have done it; both
combined might have done much; but only supreme and
impregnable faith could have done what he has done. . . .

Father Drumgoole's Death 211

Credulous but shrewd, easily imposed on but prudent;
strong yet gentle; homely in manners, yet the truest gen-
tleman at heart. ... He changed the vicious child of the
street into a self-respecting and neighbor-respecting Chris-
tian. He was a national benefactor. May he rest in peace!"
But it was a friend of Father Drumgoole who perhaps
best expressed it when he said the epitaph for him might
well be the words of Goldsmith on his own father:

His house was known to all the vagrant train;
He chid their wanderings but relieved their pain.

And it was Monsignor Preston who said what many felt:
"I think that I can safely say that we may pray to him in-
stead of for him."

On Easter Sunday, after his body was brought to St.
Patrick's Cathedral, crowds again came to pass by his bier.
That evening the Office of the Dead was chanted.

On Easter Monday, in a cathedral where one seemed
still to hear the echoes of the joyous feast of the day before,
his funeral was held. The great church was filled with
hundreds of bishops and priests and lay people come to
pay their last respects. The pallbearers were the trustees
of the Mission of the Immaculate Virgin, and a guard of
honor of twelve senior boys from the Home stood about
the catafalque. In pews near by were Sisters of St. Francis
and Sisters of Charity. The coffin was open. Father John
lay in his purple chasuble. The rugged face was very much
as he had looked in life.

The celebrant of the Mass was Archbishop Corrigan,
with Monsignor Farley assisting him. Father Landry, come
from Niagara University to do a last service for his old
student and friend, was deacon of honor. In the sanctuary
were the two boys who were the first fruits of his search

Children's Shepherd

for vocations John McCormick and Charles Cassidy,
both to be ordained the following year.

Monsignor Preston read a cablegram from Rome, ex-
pressing the Holy Father's sorrow at the death of the priest
whom he had so much wanted to see in person. The grand
choir sang Cherubini's Mass of Requiem and then Arch-
bishop Corrigan performed the ceremony of absolution
and the coffin was closed.

When it was all over, the body was taken to Mount
Loretto. A long line of funeral coaches followed the hearse
down Fifth Avenue and Broadway to the ferry. At St.
George a special train was waiting.

The house at Staten Island had been wrapped in deep
sorrow since the word had come of Father Drumgoole's
death. The weather since the great storm had been gray
and the air was damp and chill even inside the house.
There were great patches of snow, witnesses of the blizzard
of a few weeks before. Spring was on the way but winter
still ruled.

There was unusual silence throughout house and
grounds, none of the customary noise of shouting and
laughter. The older children who really understood what
had happened went about their duties with faces on which
were often seen unashamed tears. The smaller ones,
though aware that something had happened to their
Father John, were still only half-comprehending.

Of the older children some were not unaccustomed to
sadness. Many had known the loss of parents, had come
from the darkness of New York's tenements to the beauty
and pastoral charm of Mount Loretto, to live good days
there, playing and singing and studying and working and
learning the faith that permeated a home where Father
John was everywhere.

Father Drumgoole's Death 213

They were all too young to realize the real nobility of
one who had taken them in to care for them when others
could not or would not. But they all could know and feel
the father's affection he had given them, as he walked
among them as though he were merely a workman in the
great structure he had himself built. He had time for them,
time to listen to their stories, to play their games, and even
to tease them. Not one boy or girl there but had felt Father
John's hand patting his head; none had ever been made
to feel unwanted or had gone unnoticed by him. He was
the father of each one of them.

To the little children his death was confusing. He had
gone to God, to heaven, they were told. During those next
days they talked about him a great deal. Gradually the
deep sadness went away, for childish grief is a resilient
thing, but they continued to talk about him. Where would
he be in heaven, they wondered.

"With the saints, of course," said one. "He's a saint, my
mother told me, and that's where he belongs."

"Then he must have a name the way saints do," said
another.

What was he to be called? What name would Our Lord
give him? The favorite name chosen was St. John of Mount
Loretto, but when one lad presented St. Father John, this
was conceded the best title of all.

On the day he came home for his burial the sun broke
through the overcast heavens. The sky became blue with
white clouds drifting across it as the funeral cortege came
slowly to Mount Loretto.

In the chapel Father Landry sang the Mass. Father Mc-
Nichol gave a brief sermon. He spoke of John Christopher
Drumgoole's fine life, of his good death, of how the Holy
Father had wanted to see this priest of whom he had heard

2 14 Children's Shepherd

such fine things from visitors to the Mission. He told of
the honors offered Father Drumgoole, and how he had
gently refused every honor, saying he did not want them.
"What you have to give, give to my children," he had
asked, and the response had been generous, an answer of
love to a man who asked only for gifts of love given in
love.

He was buried on the sloping woodland in the little
cemetery where children who had died at the Home were
buried. Many of those who had been at the rites at the
Cathedral were not present. But his family was there, hun-
dreds of the little boys and big boys, the little girls and
older girls, and when he was taken from the chapel to the
burying ground they formed a procession that stretched
all the way from the door of the chapel to his grave. In the
procession was every one of his children and every grownup
who worked at Mount Loretto and every Sister who had
helped him there in his work of love.

Afterward the procession of children walked slowly
back from the cemetery. Usually they would have broken
ranks after a procession, but this time they stayed in close
lines all the way back to their home.

16

^^^fr^^^^^^

Epilogue

AMONG THOSE who knew Father Drumgoole there was con-
siderable apprehension regarding the ability of any other
man to carry on a work so peculiarly his, a work which, de-
spite its immense growth with the years, he had managed
practically alone. Under the direction of another it might,
they feared, fall into difficulties. The Archbishop himself,
troubled about this, had, some months before Father
Drumgoole's death, held a long discussion with him re-
garding the latter's idea of establishing a religious con-
gregation to take over his work, a group patterned after
the Salesian congregation of Don Bosco, whose methods
he greatly admired.

"I have three excellent priests assisting me now/ 1 he said,
"but not one has a special calling to devote himself to this
work and all will someday no doubt be called by Your
Grace to other work outside the Mission. Any man who
takes over a work like this, even if he has deep piety and
zeal and learning, will not succeed unless he has also love
of children and sympathy with them."

The two need not have worried, for the man chosen by
the Archbishop as Father Drumgoole's successor was well
fitted to become the new head of the Mission. Neverthe-
less, Father Dougherty, pastor of St. Monica's Church in

215

2 1 6 Children's Shepherd

New York City, was overcome when the Archbishop sent
for him and told him of the task he wished him to under-
take, and said he did not believe he could ever carry it
out. And when he realized that he must accept, he knelt to
beg of the Archbishop his blessing and his prayers.

During the next years many of Father Drumgoole's
cherished plans were to come to fruition under the sympa-
thetic and understanding leadership of the new director.
The building of the church, though delayed, went for-
ward. The employment office was formally opened and
soon had to be enlarged. It was learned from the files that
during the last year of Father Drumgoole's life he had
placed 498 boys in good positions; it was evident that such
a work filled a great need and Father Dougherty continued
to add to that fine record.

The asylum for the blind was built, the gift of Yolande
de Comeau, now Sister Mary Ann of the Franciscan com-
munity; in 1900 she herself came again to Staten Island as
superior of the house. She established an industrial room
for the girls, fitted with looms, and she was still at work on
new ideas for her beloved blind when she died in 1918,
after nearly twenty years of happy work among them.

The trade school building was completed in 1889, a
sturdy five-story building. When, some months later, it was
blessed by Monsignor Farley, there was a big procession,
and in it the proudest of all were Father Dougherty in his
cassock and the trades' apprentices in their clean blue over-
alls. The machines were in place for sawing and planing,
for cloth and fabric work. There was a fine library, a good
reading room, and over these a dormitory with baths.
Father Drumgoole would have rejoiced to see his dream
become fact in brick and stone.

Epilogue 217

In September 1891 the cornerstone of the new Church
of St. Joachim and St. Anne was laid. And when several
years later the building was ready, a photograph of it was
sent to Pope Leo XIII, who had in fact himself chosen its
design and in whose honor because Father Drumgoole
knew how great a devotion the Holy Father had for St.
Joachim the church was named. Word came from the
Cardinal Vicar that the Holy Father was delighted with
the gift and had had it hung in a room in his private apart-
ments.

The church was indeed a beautiful structure. Its spire
rose 225 feet above the ground and, as Father Drumgoole
had planned, it was so tall that its cross would be one of the
last things seen by ships leaving the harbor, one of the first
to greet the eyes of passengers on incoming ships. The high
altar was the gift of the De Comeau family, his great
friends. Its interior was Gothic and its upper walls were
pierced by small stained-glass windows. Below these were
great stained-glass windows, the work of Munich artists.
Each illustrated a scene from the New Testament, and all
those depicted in them belonged to Biblical times save
in the case of one.

This one exception illustrated the text, "Suffer little
children to come to me/' and showed Our Lord seated,
and all about him children and mothers with children in
their arms. On the right of the picture stood Father Drum-
goole, directing several small children to Our Lord. He
was gesturing with his right hand, calling Him to the at-
tention of two little boys in the skirts and jackets that the
smallest children wore when first he founded his Home.
Back of them St. Joseph and Our Lady watched him and
his children.

2 1 8 Children's Shepherd

Ever since Father Dougherty had undertaken his task at
Mount Loretto he had known the need of more Sisters than
the Congregation at Buffalo felt it could spare him. When
the asylum for the blind, planned by Father Drumgoole,
was opened, Father Dougherty knew that the less than
fifty Sisters at Mount Loretto and the City House could
no longer carry the burden. His request for more Sisters
from the motherhouse at Buffalo met with another re-
fusal.

Meantime a new Rule passed by the Buffalo Congrega-
tion was found to contain so many points impossible to
carry out at Mount Loretto that eventually, in July of
1893, the New York Sisters became a separate community
with the title of Sisters of St. Francis of the Mission of the
Immaculate Virgin, conventuals of the Third Order. The
fact that their title included the name of the Home itself
showed how closely their entire congregation was vowed to
the work to which Father Drumgoole had called them.

The first mother general of the new community, who
had been for some years superior at Mount Loretto, was
Mother Mary Catherine. She was the Mary Wallace who
had many years ago entered the religious life through the
encouragement of Father Drumgoole when he was a semi-
narian at Our Lady of Angels Seminary and she a young
woman who cared for the altars of the little Canadian
church where he served as summer helper.

In May of 1898 took place the solemn consecration of
the Church of St. Joachim and St. Anne, with Bishop Far-
ley as celebrant of the Mass and Archbishop Corrigan pre-
siding. One incident which occurred that day would have
greatly delighted the heart of the Founder. As the day
marked the silver jubilee of the Archbishop, the Mission
gave recognition to this event in a charming way. At the

Epilogue 219

dinner in his honor following the Mass, a small girl from
the Mission recited before him a poem in his honor. She
did it very quietly and clearly, with no affectation or fear.
But when she came to the end she looked around as if be-
wildered and then, her eye lighting on Father Dougherty,
she ran to him and threw herself into his arms. It was an
entirely unrehearsed part of the program and it made one
visitor say, "Surely that is no homeless or friendless child."
Moreover, such an artless gesture should have reassured
any who might have feared that Father Dougherty could
not take the place of the Founder. Evidently here was the
sort of priest whom Father Drumgoole himself would have
chosen, one to whom he could entrust his children.

The speaker who represented St. Vincent's Conferences
on this occasion was a happy choice, too. This was James
Dougherty, Father Drumgoole's friend and helper of many
years, from the time he had helped him with his boys' clubs
until the last days when he witnessed his will and followed
his coffin to the Cathedral and to the cemetery at Mount
Loretto. His heart was full and he found it hard to speak,
but he managed to convey to His Grace the hearty good
wishes of all the St. Vincent de Paul Conferences on his
jubilee.

The two represented well the man who was gone the
little child set in the midst of the priests, the layman who
represented the work of St. Vincent after whom Father
Drumgoole had patterned his work.

In 1900 was completed the mortuary chapel where
Father Drumgoole's remains were to rest permanently and
it was consecrated by Bishop Farley, with the Archbishop
present. The day chosen was Thanksgiving Day, an ap-
propriate occasion, for it was the reunion day for the old

220 Children's Shepherd

boys and also a day which Father Drumgoole had always
used as a time to speak of patriotism and unselfishness to
his children.

This chapel was built on an elevation overlooking the
buildings of Mount Loretto. On its altar stood a marble
statue of the Immaculate Conception. Two circular win-
dows of soft blue glass cast shadows of a softer blue on the
stone over his grave. For twelve years he had lain in his
grave in the earth; now he was transferred to this lovely
replica of the House of Loretto, dedicated to Our Lady
under the title he loved.

After Mass had been said, they left him again with his
Sisters and his children and the De Comeau family and the
few soldiers who had been children here and had been
brought home for burial. He lay at the feet of Our Lady.
One of the windows represented Christ with His mother,
the other Christ with St. Joseph. The Holy Family had
been with him all his life; in death they were still around
him.

To Mount Loretto and to the City House World War I
came and took toll of its boys. During those years the
houses were often thronged with khaki-clad soldiers come
to say good-by to their alma mater and their friends. When
they returned on leave, they told with delight how the
military drill taught them at the Home had made their
new task much easier and that more than one officer had
asked where they, who had not been soldiers before, had
received such fine training. And they were proud to
answer, "At Mount Loretto/'

At the City House, too, the younger boys gave evidence
of their patriotism by buying war bonds with their savings.
In all, the two houses of the Mission bought more than

Epilogue

$10,000 worth of these. And gold stars marked the loss of
many, bringing sorrow to those who considered these boys
as their own children.

In other ways the Mission continued as in Father Drum-
goole's day. During the winters in the City House thou-
sands of the poor were given breakfast. At Christmas they
were given dinners, and, no matter how large the number,
Father Drumgoole's rule, that no one be turned away, was
still observed. Yearly more than a hundred of the Mission
children were reunited with parents or other relatives. In
the early years Father Drumgoole had established a de-
partment for girls chiefly because he wanted brothers and
sisters to live near one another. The latest statistics at
Mount Loretto show that there are more than 150 families
represented there now, with totals of three to six children
in each family.

The sending of mission intentions continued, too. It
had amazed those who took over the work after his death
to learn how far their Founder was known and how wide
had been his charity to missionary priests. From little
churches in Ireland came letters of sorrow about his death;
from small missions in distant Africa and India they came,
and one from one tiny mountain church in the far north of
France.

Unfailing also was the response of the Sisters whom
Father Drumgoole had long ago begged from the Bishop
of Buffalo. Each year more Sisters came to care for the
growing number of boys, and later of the girls.

Perhaps representative of all these religious was Sister
Angelica who in 1944 was to celebrate her diamond jubi-
lee. Long ago more than fifty years before that date she
had come to work at the Mission on Lafayette Street, and
in all those years she had never failed the boys who lived

222 Children's Shepherd

there. Many people said she was more like the Founder
than anyone. She was the one who remembered everyone's
feast day, who mothered all the children, and would never
admit that any child was bad. One Christmas, when a
Sister thought it a good idea to utilize the occasion to stress
that Santa Clause would bring gifts only to children who
were good, Sister Angelica made it privately clear to them
that they were all good and all deserved gifts. She was like
Father Drumgoole in that she could never bear to see a
child disappointed, and, like him, she strove to keep un-
happiness from children.

Her favorite topic was always her boys. "They're just as
hungry as they ever were/' she would say, her brown eyes
twinkling. "They always liked to help me around the
kitchen and dining room because then they are nearer
the ice box/'

At the time of her diamond jubilee the City House was
only a memory, but Sister Angelica, looking over the
broad acres of Mount Loretto, still spoke with affection of
the "big ten story building" where she had spent so many
busy useful years.

St. Joseph's Union, which was responsible for all these
works the church, the schools, the wherewithal that fed
and clothed the children, the very land on which stood all
the houses of the Mission St. Joseph's Union flourished.
The thousands and thousands of members the world over
no longer saw the spirited, running signature at the close
of the letters of appeal, but were all well aware that Father
Drumgoole was still askifig them to help his children, his
destitute, his poor, his beloved. And the response grew
with the years.

Epilogue 223

In 1894 a statue had been unveiled before the City
House, a heroic bronze designed by Robert Gushing. It de-
picted the well-known tale of Pat, the child whom Lord
Rosebery had brought to Father Drumgoole for help and
whom the former had helped to rear. The central figure
was Father Drumgoole, his breviary and rosary in one
hand. The boys on either side of him represented Pat at
different stages, one as a ragged newsboy who had wearily
thrown down his unsold papers and was reaching for the
priest's outstretched hand, the other a neatly dressed boy
sitting studying from an open book on his knees.

The unveiling of the statue was a civic occasion, and
more than 5,000 people, the Herald estimated, attended it.
Among the speakers was Elbridge Gerry, head of the Soci-
ety for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children, Father
Drumgoole's lifelong helper and friend. He spoke of the
one thing which had most impressed him in his work with
Father Drumgoole: "He stood up bravely in practice for
the principle of religious instruction accompanying secular
studies and he was wise in so doing. The prisons of the state
are filled with men who had an education without re-
ligion; they are the most dangerous class. The duty of the
public is not finished when they clothe a man and fill his
stomach." And he ended, "I doubt if any man had the tears
of so many children and adults when he died. I doubt if
for any individual more prayers are said. As long as the
children of the poor have to be rescued and cared for, so
long as the city of New York lasts, the memory of Father
Drumgoole will live on the earth as certainly as he is im-
mortal in heaven."

At the ceremony the Mission band of seventy-five mem-
bers furnished the music. There was no doubt but that

224 Children's Shepherd

Father Drumgoole would have voted it * 'better than Gil-
more's," and that he would have listened with delight
when the boys' chorus of 250, standing on the steps and
balcony of the Mission house, sang his favorite hymns.

When the speeches and the music were over, the Arch-
bishop drew the veil from the statue. All present were
moved at the sight of the familiar figure in cassock and
biretta, rosary and breviary in hand, with a child on each
side of him.

Twenty-six years later the statue was brought to Mount
Loretto to stand in the center of the lawn facing the church
Father Drumgoole had planned. Ten feet in height and
resting on three huge marble blocks, it was no small under-
taking to move it there. The day after it was taken away
from the City House, the doorbell there rang and a gentle-
man who was recognized as Judge Vernon Davies, of the
New York Supreme Court and a well-known Episcopal
layman, asked what had happened to the statue. When he
learned that it was being placed on Staten Island he said
sadly, "I am very, very sorry it is gone. Every day when I
passed here I raised my hat to that fine man. Something
has gone from my life and I shall miss it"

In 1926 the Mission bought the lighthouse and the prop-
erty around it belonging to the federal government. Built
on a knoll seventy feet above sea level, the revolving light
in the lighthouse tower for nearly a hundred years had
guided the ships that passed on Prince's and Raritan bays.
When a newer system of navigation made the light unnec-
essary, it was put on sale and bought by the Mission. It was
then that from the City House was brought the statue of
Our Lady that Father Drumgoole had placed there some
fifty years before, and which now took its place atop the

Epilogue 225

lighthouse tower a fitting place for the statue of one
whose title is Star of the Sea. It was illuminated for the
first time on her own great feast day that of the Im-
maculate Conception.

In June 1938 was celebrated the fiftieth anniversary of
the death of Father Drumgoole. Cardinal Hayes presided
at the Mass which opened the day. There was a colorful
procession into the church acolytes in red and white,
schoolboys in blue coats and white flannels, girls in wide
straw hats and pretty summer dresses, priests in black and
white, monsignori and bishops in purple. In the pews
were many of those who had been children in Father
Drumgoole's day and many others whose lives were still
influenced by his gentle rule.

Monsignor Lavelle preached a sermon on sympathy
transformed into practical love and pointed to the results
of such a life visible everywhere about them at Mount
Loretto. Then unexpectedly and to the surprise of all
Cardinal Hayes rose to speak.

"I knew him/' he said. "Fifty years ago and just before
he died I paid my first visit to Mount Loretto. I had a
long talk with him and was greatly impressed. I see him
today as plainly as if he were standing before me. He took
me into his room. In one chair, and there were very few,
was a statue of St. Joseph. Each morning, so he told me,
he took the mail to St. Joseph, considering himself his
secretary. That day a letter had called Father Drumgoole
a fool. 'Well,' he said to St. Joseph, 'if I am a fool you are
a bigger one. For I'm doing your work and you should not
let anyone talk to you like that/ " And then the Cardinal
spoke a little more about the greatness of the man whose

226 Children's Shepherd

anniversary they were met to celebrate and he ended: "Of
such Christlike compassion and vision, of such childlike
and courageous faith, the saints of God are made/'

Those who were still children when Father Drumgoole
died and those who came in later years to his Home have
brought credit to the man who believed in them. His chil-
dren have not failed his faith in them. The two little boys
who had lived under the market and whom no other
institution would take became two of the finest children in
the Home and later made equally fine citizens.

The first two boys he educated to be priests were or-
dained shortly after his death. One, after some years of duty
at Mount Loretto, was sent to Tuckahoe in Westchester,
and there built a beautiful church and staffed its school
with Sisters from the congregation whose members Father
Drumgoole had begged long ago from Bishop Ryan. The
other was for many years pastor of St. Peter's Church
in Staten Island. Both wore the robes of domestic prel-
ates.

Among the ranks of his alumni are boys who have be-
come secular priests, Oblates, Passionists, Dominicans,
Holy Cross Fathers, Jesuits; hardly a well-known order is
without Mount Loretto boys in its ranks. From the famous
Latin class under Mr. Kernan came boys who, after they
left the classic retreat of their cottage, went to Dunwoodie
and became priests.

The girls have not failed him either. Many have entered
the Franciscan community which he brought to his Home
and there are others who are Sisters of St. Joseph, Sisters of
Mercy, Dominicans, Trappistines.

Brother Adrian of the Community of the Sacred Heart
wrote of the Mission, "My heart goes out to the dear old

Epilogue 227

Home when I think of my blessings in its sheltering arms.
It gave me a mother's love and a father's care." And Father
William Fogarty, once a boy there, said, "If today I am
able to stand at God's altar to off er Him the sacrifice of the
Mass, all the credit must be given to the Mission of the
Immaculate Virgin/'

These are among the glowing examples of the results of
training in the Home built by a man who had faith and
hope and an incredible amount of charity. He made
Mount Loretto, as a Commissioner of Charity was to say,
"an outstanding example of what one fervent, energetic
man can accomplish."

In 1940 the alumni planned their first formal reunion.
Fifteen hundred attended with their wives and husbands
and children. They were quite evidently a prosperous and
happy group, among them lawyers, merchants, doctors,
musicians, women in business life, mothers of children.
They were a living answer to the question of what be-
comes of children raised in such an institution as the Mis-
sion. Do they become good citizens? These people were
living proof that they do.

Often to his children Father Drumgoole had said, "You
are American citizens. Be proud of it. Be faithful to God
and you will be faithful to your country." And the many
who on that day crowded the lovely church of his planning,
where stood the flag of their country and the flag of their
Church, were proof that his teachings are living still. They
were proof, too, that the true glory of the Mission of the
Immaculate Virgin is not in its size or its buildings or its
fine program, but in the hearts of the countless children
who knew it as a home where they had found love, a home
to which they could return in sorrow or in joy, in defeat
or in victory.

228 Children's Shepherd

At the fiftieth anniversary of his death Monsignor
Lavelle had said that Father Drumgoole was among the
giants like St. Paul and St. Vincent and Father Damien,
"whom every once in a while God sends into the world/'
That was very true and, like them, he had his feet firmly
fixed on the earth while his mind and his heart had broken
through the clouds to reach heaven.

And one more thing is surely true of him today that
where he walks in heaven innumerable children are cling-
ing to his long black cloak.

Bibliography

Adams, William: Ireland and Irish Immigration. Yale Univer-
sity Press, New Haven, 1932.

Bayley, James Roosevelt: Brief Sketch of the Early History of
the Catholic Church. Catholic Publications Society, New
York, 1870.

Brace, Charles Loring: Short Sermons to Newsboys. Scribner's,
New York, 1854.

Carty, Mother M. Peter, O.S.U.: Old St. Patrick's Cathedral,
United States Catholic Historical Society, New York, 1947.

Crimmins, John D.: Saint Patrick's Day. Privately printed,
1902.

Davis, W. T.: Staten Island and Its People. Lewis Historical
Publishing Company, New York, 1930.

Dougherty, James E.: Day Book, years from 1879 to 1889
(manuscript).

Emmet, T. H.: "Irish Immigration." Journal of American His-
torical Society, volume 2, 1899.

Flynn, Rev. Richard A.: "Reverend Father Drumgoole."
Three articles, Our Lady of Perpetual Help, New York City,
October to December 1939.

Folks, Homer: Care of Destitute and Neglected Children. Mac-
millan Company, New York, 1902.

Jacoby, Rev. George Paul: Catholic Child Care in ipth Cen-
tury New York. Catholic University of America Press, Wash-
ington, D. C., 1941.

Lewis, Samuel: Topographical Dictionary of Ireland.

Maguire, John F., M.P.: The Irish in America. S. Lewis and
Co., London, 1840.

McColgan, Rev. Daniel: A Century of Charity. Bruce Publish-
ing Company, Milwaukee, 1951.

229

230 Children's Shepherd

McNichol, Rev. F. P.: Life of Father Drumgoole. Mount Lo
retto Press, Staten Island, 1894.
McKey, J. P.: History of Niagara University. Privately printed.

^Si-
Marquess of Cress: Lord Rosebery. John Murray, London,

McGee, Thomas: History of the Irish Settlers. Patrick Dona-

hoe, Boston, 1852.
Shea, John Gilmary: Catholic Churches of New York City.

L. G. Goulding and Co., New York, 1878.
"What Can Be Done for Our Orphans?" American Catholic

Quarterly Review, January 1866.
Sister Marie Eucharia, O.S.F.: Rev. John C. Drumgoole.

Mount Loretto Press, Staten Island, n.d.
Taraffe, Thomas Gaffney. "Archbishop Hughes." Catholic

Review j 1881.

Catholic Encyclopedia

Columbia Encyclopedia

Freeman 9 s Journal

Mount Loretto Messenger

Note Books and Letters City House

Pamphlet: Memorial of St. Xariefs Church, New York, 188?

Souvenir Album: Centennial Anniversary of N. Y. Archdiocese

1808-1908

The Homeless Child
The Truth Teller

Index

Abbeylara, Coolcraff parish, 10
Abbey of Our Lady of Loretto,

49

Adams, John Quincy, 157-8
Adrian, Brother, 226-7
Africa, nuns in, 206
Agnes, Sister M., 171
Albany, N. Y., 21
Alderney Park, N. J., 128
American Revolution, 13
Angela, Sister M., 171, 172
Angelica, Sister M., 221-2

Baltimore, Second Plenary Coun-
cil of (1866), 63

Barry, Rev. T. M., 27, 28

Battery, the, 8, 17

Baxter, Rev. H. P., 56

Bayley, Most Rev. James Roose-
velt, 39

Bennett Farm, 152 ff., 155

Billopp, Christopher, 157-8

Blackbird, steamer, 127

Blind Girls Home, 192-3, 196,
216

Board of Charities, New York
State, 84

Bonaventure, Sister M., 155

Bosco, Don John, 3, 130-1, 215

Bowery Road, 17-18

Bowling Green, New York, 17

Boyle, Sister Elizabeth, 13, 26

Brace, Charles Loring, 60-2
Brendan, St., 14-15
Broadway, The, 8, 18
Brooklyn, N. Y., 21, 65
Buffalo, N. Y., 21, 154

Cahill, William, 117
Canal Street, 17, 18
Carroll, Charles, 169
Carroll, Most Rev. John, arch-
bishop of Baltimore, 22
Cassidy, Charles, 149
Castle Garden, 18
Calvary Cemetery, 94
Catholic Emancipation Act, 24,

34

Catholic News, 107
Catholic Protectory, 59, 63, 95-6,

!6 7

Catholic Review, 210
Catholic Union, 120
Catholic World, The, 59
Chatham Street, 18
Children's Aid Society, 60-1, 65,

66, 122

Christ Church, 24
Christian Brothers, 12, 58
City Hall, New York, 17
City Idiot Asylum, 136
Civil War, 41, 58
Clare, Sister M., 172
Clinton, De Witt, 19

231

232

Index

Clinton, Sir Henry, 158

Collect Pond, 17

Commissioners of Public Char-
ity, 59> 96

Connolly, Most Rev. John, bish-
op of New York, 12-13, 20-1

Cooper Union, 144

Corrigan, Most Rev. Michael A.,
archbishop of New York, 108,
145, 146, 147, 160-1, 173, 176,
181, 187, 189-91, 193, 207, 211,

215, 218, 224
Gushing, Robert, 223

Damien de Veuster, Father

Joseph, 3, 130
Davies, Judge Vernon, 224
De Comeau, Louis and family,

174-6, 217, 220
De Comeau, Yolande (Sister

Mary Anne), 174-6, 192-3,

196, 216

Degnan, Rev. James, 171, 179
Dilkes, Police Inspector, 105-6
Dornin, Bernard, 19
Dougherty, James E., 66, 71-2,

77> 79> 9 1 * 95> 99~ioo i<>3> io?>
116-17, Il8 > 128-9, 150-3, 157-
8, 219
Dougherty, Rev. James J., 215,

216, 218

Dougherty, William, 44-5, 56

Drumgoole, Bridget, 6 fL, 23, 32,
38, 40-1, 42-3, 55, 92-4

Drumgoole, John, 7, 10

Drumgoole, John Christopher:
boyhood in America, 5-30;
sexton at St. Mary's and book-
seller, 31-45; seminary years,
46-54; assistant at St. Mary's,
55 fL; in charge Newsboys'
Home, 66 fL; founds Mission

of the Immaculate Conception,
101 fL; builds new boys' home,
i26fL; purchases and builds
Mount Loretto, 149 fL; work
in both Homes, 167 fL; last ill-
ness and death, iggff.; later
developments of work from
his plans, 215-28
Dubois, Most Rev. John, bishop
of New York, 22-4, 25, 28-9,

Edgeworth, Maria, 14
Edinburgh, indigent children in,

89

Egan, Maurice Francis, 210-11
Emmitsburg, Md., 23
England, Ragged Schools in, 89
Erie Canal, 18-19

Faber, Rev. John, 33

Farley, Most Rev. John, arch-

bishop of New York, 108, 145,

216, 218, 219
Farrell, Ward, 13
Ferraro's Assembly Rooms, 102,

103 fL

Fifth Avenue, 58
Fort Washington, 131, 137, 150,

i55> l6 3 l6 4 if*
Fort William Henry, 13
Franklin, Benjamin, 157
Freeman's Journal, 41, 210
Friends of Ireland, 34

Garrica Singers, 24-5
Gelinas, Rev. Raphael, 137
Gerry, Elbridge, 188, 223
Gibbons, Most Rev. James, arch-

bishop of Baltimore, 138-9
Gilmore's Band, 133, 146, 147-8
Gladstone, William, 113

Index

233

Glynn, Very Rev., Augustinian

Prior, 189-91
Goldsmith, Oliver, 14
Granard, Co. Longford, Ireland,

10, 14, 15
Grand Republic, steamer, 172,

i?3

Grand Street, 28, 38, 48
Grant, Ulysses S., 113
Great Jones Street, 126

Haggerty, Washington, 104
Hayes, Patrick Cardinal, 225-6
Hecker, Rev. Isaac, C.P., 59
Hennepin, Louis, O.F.M., 48-9
Herald, The, 210
Hobart, Bishop William, 21
Holmes, Oliver Wendell, 113
Holohan, Maurice, 107
Homeless Child, The, 3, 98, 108,
118 ff., 130, 133, 169, 181, 182-

5> 19*

House of Loretto, 210, 220
Howe, Julia Ward, 113
Howe, General William, 157,

158

Hughes, Most Rev. John, arch-
bishop of New York, 30, 39-40,
41-2, 59, 169

Immigrants: conditions of early,
in New York City, 5-6, 7, 17-
18; Irish, 16, 27-8, 34, 35
Ireland, 9-10, 34-5; famine in,

34~5> 167

Irish Emigrant Society, 79, 83
Irish Rebellion, 1798, 10
Ives, Levi Silliman, 59, 63

Jasper, Brother, 104
Jessup farm, 155-6

Jesuits, 38, 39-40

Joseph, St., 69, 133-4, 145, 203

Kenedy 8c Sons, John, 39
Kernan, Mr., teacher at Mount

Loretto, 196

Kerrigan, Annie, 42-3, 55
Kerrigan, Michael, 42, 44, 55
"Know-Nothing" movement, 41,

4*

Ladies of Loretto, convent of,

49-50, 53

Lafayette, Marquis de, 18
Lafayette Street, 126, 129, 135,

142
Landry, Rev. John, C.M., 48, 53,

55 5 6 165, 211, 213
La Salle, Rene" Robert de, 48
Lavelle, Rt. Rev. Michael, 225,

228
Leavy, Matthew & family, 76,

118, 164
Leo XIII, Pope, 3-4, 130, 133,

166, 181-2, 186, 191-2, 205,

212, 217

Letchworth, William P., 84-8,

121, 177
Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth,

H3

Longford, county, 7, 14
Lord & Taylor, 177
Lowell, Josephine, 177-9
Lynch, Dominic, 24
Lynch, Most Rev. John Joseph,

archbishop of Toronto, 46

Malou, Rev. Pierre, 4, 8, 25-6
Manhattan College Band, 102-3,

104

Marine Court, New York, 31-2
Mary Anne, Sister. See De

Comeau, Yolande

Index

Mary Catherine, Mother. See

Wallace, Mary

Mathew, Father Theobald, 39
McCann, Father, 37-8, 55
McCloskey, John Cardinal, 39,

46, 66-8, 80, 98-9, 119, 133,

143-5, 169-71, 174
McCormick, John G., 149, 212
McEvoy, Rev. M. B., 56
McGibney, James, 73, 76
McGinn, Annie, 131, 137
McGlynn, Rev. Edward, 146-7
McGuire, Rev. Timothy, 28
McNichol, Rev. Francis P., 171,

196, 199-200, 205, 206, 207,

213
McQuaid, Most Rev. Bernard,

bishop of Rochester, 51-2, 64
Mission of the Immaculate

Virgin, 101, 105, 126 ff., 135 ff.,

164, i67ff., i84ff.
Mott Street, 8, 9, 10, 17, 32
Mount Loretto, Staten Island, i,

2, 149 ff., i67ff.
Mount St. Mary's College, Em-

metsburg, Md., 23, 29, 30
Mount St. Vincent, 169
Mullen, John, 46

Nance farm, 156
Native Americans, 28
Nautilus, steamboat, 7, 8
Navesink, highlands of, 153
Neumann, Venerable John
Nepomucene, bishop of Phila-
delphia, 154
New Discoveries, by Father

Louis Hennepin, 48-9
Newsboys' Home. See St. Vin-
cent's Home for Boys
New York City, early life in, 5 ff.,
17-19; conditions of children
in, 24, 33 ff., 58 ff., m; epi-

demics in, 29; orphanages in,

59 ff-

New York Times, 139-40
Niagara Falls, N. Y., 46 ff.
Nolan, Patrick, 96

O'Connell, Daniel, 19, 34, 130
O'Donnell, Hugh, 118
O'Donoghue, Rev. T. M., 53
O'Neill, James, 118
O'Reilly, Rev. E. J., 55, 56
Orphan asylums in New York,

59

Our Lady of Angels Seminary,
43, 46 ff., 149, 153, 165, 218

Parocchi, Lucidus Maria Cardi-

nal, 4, 181, 191-2, 195
Paterson, N. Y., 21
Patrick, St., 8, 9, 10, 14
Peyton, Charles, 164
Pilot, The, Boston, 143
Pius IX, Pope, 57, 130, 154, 198
Pleasant Plains, 200, 201, 202
Power, Rev. John, 21, 22, 23
Preston, Rt. Rev. John, 44, 63,

145, 211, 212
Prince's Bay, 155
Prince Street, 12, 17; orphan

asylum, 25

Quarantine, Staten Island, 5
Quinn, Rt. Rev. William, 133,

Ragged Schools, 89
Randalls Island, 79, 96, 136
Raritan Bay, 163
Red Bank Lighthouse, 159-60
Reilly, Bernard, 118
Reilly, William, 118

Index

235

Rice, Rev. Robert, C.M., 46, 48,

153

Rosebery, Lord, 88-92, 113-14,
206, 223

Ryan, Most Rev. Stephen, bish-
op of Buffalo, 51, 154

Sadlier Brothers, 39

St. Anne, Chapel of, 160, 181

St. Bartholomew's Episcopal

Church, 126, 132
St. Francis Xavier's College, 40,

4** 43> 47
St. George, Staten Island, 190,

201, 212

St. James' Church, Brooklyn, 28
St. John's College, Rose Hill, 38,

39-40, 43, 47
St. Joachim and St. Anne,

church at Mount Loretto,

186-7, 21 7 218-19
St. Joseph's Union, 98 ff., 118 ff.,

124, 126, 129, 130-1, 136, 138,

143, 150, 166, 184-5, 193-4-

205, 222, 225

St. Mary's Parochial School, 57-8

St. Monica's Church, 215

St. Patrick's Cathedral, Fifth

Avenue, 41, 211
St. Patrick^ Cathedral, Mott

Street, 8, 9, 10-11, 22, 23, 57
St. Patrick's Parochial School, 1 1,

12-13, 16, 19

St. Peter's Basilica, Rome, 90
St. Peter's Church, Barclay

Street, 8-9, 22, 23
St. Peter's Parochial School, 12,

130
St. Vincent de Paul Society,

64 ff., 70 ff., 78-9, 80, 91, 97,

102, 120, 123, 219
St. Vincent's Home for Boys, 65,

67 ff., 75, 79 ff., 119-20

St. Vincent's Hospital, 115
San Andrea della Valle, 182
Santa Maria sopra Minerva, 119
Saratoga Springs, N. Y., 121
Scotland, Ragged Schools in, 89
Sequine farm, 165
Seymour, Gov. Horatio, 42
Sheridan, General Philip, 169
Sheriff Street, 22
Sisters of Charity, 12-13, 29, 58,

97 *45> *52, 211
Sisters of St. Francis, 51, 56,
154-5, 19** i93 2 9> *n* 214,
216, 218

Sisters of St. Francis of the Mis-
sion of the Immaculate Virgin,
218, 221-2, 226
Social Science Congress, Glasgow,

88
Social Service Association, 121-

23

Society for the Prevention of
Cruelty to Children, 111, 167,
187-8, 223

Southfield, ferry, 201

Starrs, Very Rev. John, 33, 65, 79

Starrs Wharf, 137

Staten Island, i, 5, 128-9, 152 ff.

Stewart, A. T., 113, 144, 177

Sullivan, John, 109-10

Sullivan, Timothy, 72-3, 76

Suspension Bridge, N. Y., 46 ff.

Tottenville, 150, 168

Trade School, Mount Loretto,

216

Tribune, New York, 107
Trustees of the Mission of the

Immaculate Conception, 2 1 1
Truth Teller, The, 19
Tuckahoe, Westchester County,

226
Tweed Ring, 58

236 Index

United Irishmen, 10 also St. Vincent's Home for

Utica, N. Y., 21 Boys

Tr ., ~ Washington, George, 13-14

Vail farm, 165 Washington, Mary Ball, 13-14

Wall Street, 58 Weaver, Tommy, 70, 71, 73

Wallace, Mary, 50-1, 56, 218 Welch, Dr., 115

Warren Street, 65, 70 fi., 125. See Whitehall Slip, 8

12782