Please pray for Father Joseph Mary, OCD
Father Joseph Mary Flannery, O.C.D., died Sunday, May 31 at age 87. Viewing is scheduled on Thursday, June 4 and burial will follow immediately at Holy Hill Shrine in Hubertus, Wisconsin.
Father Joseph Mary served in the Prelature of Infanta for 15 years. A prolific wirter, Father Joseph wrote extensively about his time in the mission.
We will give more details abot Father Joseph Mary later.
Below are excerpts from newsletters he sent to friends. We published this in the March 1996 issue of the Metro Infanta News.
Hikes to Burdeos
by Father Joseph Mary Flannery
On my first hike to Burdeos, my guide had been Cleto, the cross-eyed kapatas (foreman) of Bro. Vinces (Scheerer) construction crew.
The first stream we came to had a wide log across it. I was wearing sneakers, and I have always had a good sense of balance, so that posed no problem.
However, just as I reached the middle of the log, Cleto, who had already reached the other side, turned and said quietly, "There are crocodiles in this river." I don't know whether he ws being factual or funny. The effect on me was instantaneous. I froze. My feet would not move, my sense of balance paralyzed. Cleto started to come back to help me, but I stopped him with a hiss. The vibration and swaying of the log under his heavy step had almost toppled me into the river.
After a while, one of of us thought of using a mid-air support, and when he had found a pole long enough to reach me, I grasped the end, regained my balance and confidence, and walked surely to the other side.
Safely there, I made it clear to Cleto that I would not welcome any comments in the future while crossing logs. That was the only time that I looked at a log as anything but an unexpected luxury, and I never saw a crocodile on any of my many hikes to Burdeos.
The next stream that we came to had no bridge of any kind, and it was too wide to jump. Cleto offered to carry me across, but I was ashamed to let him, so I sat down, took of my sneakers and ocks and waded across.
On the other side, I sat down again, dried my feet and put them back on. Cleto was waiting patiently, but looking a little puzzled. After a few miuntes we came to another stream that would have to be waded. I looked at Cleto.
"You will take off your shoes and socks, Father," he asked.
"How many of these rivers will we have to wade?
"Many, Father," -- emphatically.
"Then the hell with it, I said. "Let's get going." From then on I never removed anything when hiking. Whatever could be damaged or destroyed by water or perspiration was wrapped in plastic and carried in a bag because I never hiked to Burdeos that we were not rained on for at least a portion of the trip and I was always soaked with sweat anyway.
When we reached a halfway point where there was a shallow pool of mountain stream, we Americans regularly submerged ourselves, fully clothed, to cool off and to wash off the mud (and sometimes manure) we might have waded or fallen into on the way. The 'Musketeers' [Ben Lunar, Federico (Edling) Calleja and Walter (Watty) Nilooban] and other companions used to keep a record of the many times I fell on each trip. They themselves cause me to fall by choosing a path or foothold that was fine support for their bantam weights, but failed to support my (compared with theirs) elephantine frame.
Editor's Note: Father Joseph was assigned to Polillo i n the late 50s, when he had to hike to Burdeos to celebrate Mass there.