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| 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.
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Thank you, a very fitting tribute.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful. I have been aware of Misericordia for decades but never knew such detail. I just read this after reading Heather Cox Richardson's depressing notes today of ICE's raids, arrests, dehumanization, and misinformation. I'm not going to read a single other current events thing today but will keep this account of the good Sister Rosemary top of mind for the next 24 hours to remind me there is still hope for acts of kindness and love in this world for all we humans, no matter our circumstances.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful tribute to a special person. I’ve had brunch with my aunt at Misericordia bakery on the North side. What a joyful place!
ReplyDeleteThanks for this inspiring story of Sister Rosemary; our local Rotary used to make an annual donation to her organization; one of our members was a volunteer there and had a daughter living there.
ReplyDeletesitting here with oxygen going into my nose I read this and cried and cried. I've learned over time this means that things about children and then broadly about the undefended affect me greatly. Like this article. After many jobs, I had one in a hospital emergency room. Occasionally, someone from Missarecordia would come in. My job was to find inpatient mental health care. Some people from Missarecorda were not children were adults with traumatic brain injuries, another group there. So to read your article shook me and produced copious tears. Thank you Neal, in these horrid days of hate and attack to read of someone who made it possible (a tiny description off what she did) for people to live actual lives
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing Sister Rosemary Connelly’s life with us. She’s such an example for us all of someone who has a sense of purpose and is unstoppable in living that purpose, as are you in sharing your insights and values with us every GD day with your keen intellect and compelling writing skills. You are such an inspiration for caring about more than just ourselves. I love Pema Chodron’s message in Living Beautifully on page 98: “We become more fully engaged in our lives when we become less self-absorbed.”
ReplyDeleteSomehow, the image of Sister Rosemary having the bus stop at Lincoln Park Zoo made my eyes tear up, thinking of all the children's joy (and some wrinkled noses at the smell of the monkey house and the elephant bwaa, just like the rest of us!)
ReplyDeleteI have just returned from Portillos where my daughter chose to celebrate her 53rd birthday with her housemates from her group home, located in a lovely Sauganash neighborhood,
ReplyDeleteand is run by Misericordia. The ladies , three of whom were in walkers, were transported to the restaurant by a house staff member who has worked at the house for 10 years. She is typical of the staff they hire. She could make more money elsewhere, but working with this kind of population is like a calling for her. She loves these ladies and they love her. In a field where staff turnover is endemic, Misericordia excels in keeping staff for long periods of time. It has been an absolute pleasure to have these people in our lives. And yes, at lunch we all offered a toast to Sister who has enriched all of our lives beyond measure. Thank you for your beautiful obituary.
A wonderful tribute to a remarkable woman. Though you've written lots of fine obituaries, it's clear this one meant a lot to you, NS.
ReplyDelete"To be a saint, you need three documented miracles. She has a thousand more." I'm guessing that once Carol Marin said that, you could stop pondering how to wrap up this piece in a fashion worthy of its subject!
It seems like I've 'always' known how wonderful Misericordia is, and how wonderful Sister Rosemary is (was). But in all this time, I never knew the history. Never knew that Sister Rosemary Connelly single-handedly built Misericordia into what it is today. I wish I had known sooner. This was a well-written obituary, and one I will remember. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteRIP Sister Rosemary. I hope the Pope canonizes her.
ReplyDeleteMy late Mom worked as a Part-Time Receptionist at the South Home on 47th Street.
ReplyDeleteWe knew it was once a home for unwed Mothers, but nothing more until my Mom worked there.
Sister Rosemary was an amazing woman and, as everyone says, built an amazing community at its North Side campus.
My Mom, as an Employee, would say, the coffee machine was sometimes broken, but that's because all the money went for the care of its residents.
May she RIP...