 |
| Sister Rosemary Connelly (photo by Heidi Zeigler) |
I feel blessed to have known Sister Rosemary for over 30 years, and to have worked with her on many stories. She's the only person who ever caused me hesitation over this blog's name. We were having lunch at the Greenhouse Inn, maybe a decade ago, and I mentioned something about the blog.
"And what is this blog of yours called?" she asked. I looked into the wide blue eyes of this good nun, bright with curiosity, and my mouth dropped open. I just couldn't say it.
Catholic women who became pregnant out of wedlock in Chicago 100 years ago would quietly disappear into the Misericordia Maternity Hospital and Home for Infants on 47th Street, to bear their illegitimate babies under the care of the Sisters of Mercy, joined by indigent married women and those "of foreign birth or parentage."
They often emerged without their infants. Most healthy children left behind would eventually be adopted. But those with disabilities became charges of the Archdiocese of Chicago, which warehoused them "out of sight, out of mind" until they turned 6, and could be delivered to the state of Illinois and its notoriously nightmarish mental institutions, where residents were tied to beds and worse.
By 1954, the Home for Infants housed about 50 children with developmental challenges like Down syndrome and cerebral palsy. In 1969, the task of keeping them alive until the state could take over fell to a 38-year-old nun with the Sisters of Mercy, Sister Rosemary Connelly, who knew little of Misericordia, but immediately realized she had found her calling.
"I felt God's presence on my very first day at Misericordia," she said. "I could tell that all the children were loved."
Loved, but not busy. They were well-dressed, but stayed in bed all day. They ate there. Sister Rosemary decided that these were not inert objects that could just be allowed to languish, but God's children, precious souls, each with the spark of humanity, no matter how buried. That flame had to be nourished, physically and spiritually.
She would provide them with the rich and rewarding lives they deserved, and since programming for such children didn't exist, she created it. In the process, becoming the dynamic, irresistible force building Misericordia into the pre-eminent home in Chicago for children and adults with developmental challenges.
Beloved for the energy, skill, devotion and unwavering faith she brought to Misericordia for more than half a century, Sister Rosemary Connelly died June 19 at Misericordia. She was 94.
"Sister Rosemary was the heart and soul of Misericordia for more than 50 years," said Fr. Jack Clair, president and executive director, of Misericordia. "Her love and guidance helped build a community where hundreds of people with developmental disabilities enjoy living the highest quality of life. Sister’s life was a life of faith dedicated to God’s promise of eternal life.
"There are few people in the City of Chicago who have done so much for so many as Sister Rosemary," said Richard M. Daley, then mayor, at her 40th anniversary as head of Misericordia in 2009. "Her extraordinary devotion to those in need and their families make her a role model for us all."
"When you think of the number of lives she touched — thousands," said David Axelrod, the former senior adviser for Barack Obama. "Not just the folks who lived in Misericordia, but their families. It changed my daughter's life and it changed my whole family's life for the better. This whole place exists because of the force of her will."
Rosemary Connelly was born in Feb. 23, 1931 on Chicago's West Side, the third child of a pair of immigrants from County Mayo, Ireland, pub owner Peter V. Connelly and Bridget Moran. She joined the Sisters of Mercy at age 18, served as a psychiatric social worker in Aurora, and a school teacher in Chicago before drawing the Misericordia assignment.
Why her? Nobody ever explained.
“I don’t know,” Sister Rosemary said on her 90th birthday in 2021. “That’s been a mystery. They always had a nurse in charge. And I had a master’s degree in social work and one in sociology. Maybe that’s why.’”
She graduated with a degree in social science from St. Xavier University in 1959, received her masters in sociology from St. Louis University in 1966, and a masters in social work from Loyola in 1969.
One of her inspirations was a nephew who had disabilities. Her first order of business after being put in charge of Misericordia was to go to Sears for tricycles and wading pools. Then she opened a dining room, so children could eat together, as a community.
Catholic women who became pregnant out of wedlock in Chicago 100 years ago would quietly disappear into the Misericordia Maternity Hospital and Home for Infants on 47th Street, to bear their illegitimate babies under the care of the Sisters of Mercy, joined by indigent married women and those "of foreign birth or parentage."
They often emerged without their infants. Most healthy children left behind would eventually be adopted. But those with disabilities became charges of the Archdiocese of Chicago, which warehoused them "out of sight, out of mind" until they turned 6, and could be delivered to the state of Illinois and its notoriously nightmarish mental institutions, where residents were tied to beds and worse.
By 1954, the Home for Infants housed about 50 children with developmental challenges like Down syndrome and cerebral palsy. In 1969, the task of keeping them alive until the state could take over fell to a 38-year-old nun with the Sisters of Mercy, Sister Rosemary Connelly, who knew little of Misericordia, but immediately realized she had found her calling.
"I felt God's presence on my very first day at Misericordia," she said. "I could tell that all the children were loved."
Loved, but not busy. They were well-dressed, but stayed in bed all day. They ate there. Sister Rosemary decided that these were not inert objects that could just be allowed to languish, but God's children, precious souls, each with the spark of humanity, no matter how buried. That flame had to be nourished, physically and spiritually.
She would provide them with the rich and rewarding lives they deserved, and since programming for such children didn't exist, she created it. In the process, becoming the dynamic, irresistible force building Misericordia into the pre-eminent home in Chicago for children and adults with developmental challenges.
Beloved for the energy, skill, devotion and unwavering faith she brought to Misericordia for more than half a century, Sister Rosemary Connelly died June 19 at Misericordia. She was 94.
"Sister Rosemary was the heart and soul of Misericordia for more than 50 years," said Fr. Jack Clair, president and executive director, of Misericordia. "Her love and guidance helped build a community where hundreds of people with developmental disabilities enjoy living the highest quality of life. Sister’s life was a life of faith dedicated to God’s promise of eternal life.
"There are few people in the City of Chicago who have done so much for so many as Sister Rosemary," said Richard M. Daley, then mayor, at her 40th anniversary as head of Misericordia in 2009. "Her extraordinary devotion to those in need and their families make her a role model for us all."
"When you think of the number of lives she touched — thousands," said David Axelrod, the former senior adviser for Barack Obama. "Not just the folks who lived in Misericordia, but their families. It changed my daughter's life and it changed my whole family's life for the better. This whole place exists because of the force of her will."
Rosemary Connelly was born in Feb. 23, 1931 on Chicago's West Side, the third child of a pair of immigrants from County Mayo, Ireland, pub owner Peter V. Connelly and Bridget Moran. She joined the Sisters of Mercy at age 18, served as a psychiatric social worker in Aurora, and a school teacher in Chicago before drawing the Misericordia assignment.
Why her? Nobody ever explained.
“I don’t know,” Sister Rosemary said on her 90th birthday in 2021. “That’s been a mystery. They always had a nurse in charge. And I had a master’s degree in social work and one in sociology. Maybe that’s why.’”
She graduated with a degree in social science from St. Xavier University in 1959, received her masters in sociology from St. Louis University in 1966, and a masters in social work from Loyola in 1969.
One of her inspirations was a nephew who had disabilities. Her first order of business after being put in charge of Misericordia was to go to Sears for tricycles and wading pools. Then she opened a dining room, so children could eat together, as a community.
Misericordia — the word means "mercy" or "compassion" in Latin —stopped sending children to the state.
"I decided we'd keep them," she said.
That meant the population grew, and by 1976, the Misericordia Home for Special Children, was too small.
That meant the population grew, and by 1976, the Misericordia Home for Special Children, was too small.
Meanwhile, the largest Catholic children's home in the city, the Angel Guardian Orphanage at Devon and Ridge, had closed for lack of state funding and the rise of foster homes. Sister Rosemary saw its possibilities, and talked Catholic Charities into putting the 31-acre campus under her control.
On March 29, 1976, 39 children boarded a yellow school bus for the trip from 47th Street to the North Side. This being a Sister Rosemary Connelly operation, on the way the bus stopped at the Lincoln Park Zoo, so the children could visit the animals.
"To put these children in a nursing home is unfair," she said. "We want to help them become caring people. We're trying to break this whole condescending world in which retarded people live."
Sister Rosemary inherited an aged campus of cottages in need of repair, and exercised two strengths she showed a positive genius for: mobilizing volunteers and raising money.
"She was the best politician in town," said Axelrod, who was also founding director of the University of Chicago's Institute of Politics. "She knew everybody. You didn't want to disappoint her."
Axelrod said she called Joe Biden "My brother Joe," and once, when she was visiting the White House, Biden walked her into the Oval office to meet Barack Obama, introducing her with, "Mr. President, this is why I'm a Catholic."
"She looked like a sweet white haired nun until you realized she was made of structural steel," said Carol Marin, the former newscaster and co-director of the DePaul Center for Journalism Integrity & Excellence.
To continue reading, click here.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Comments are vetted and posted at the discretion of the proprietor. Comments that are not submitted under a name of some sort run the risk of being deleted without being read.