On September 3, I took the plane to Newark after a series of annoying run-ins with airport officials. Maybe the early hour (5 AM) was responsible, but polite old Minnesota didn’t seem quite as warm and tender as Garrison Keillor represented his state on “Prairie Home Companion.” The TSA people were especially rude, as I went through a surprising delay while they checked out a Kindle in my carry-on bag.
My two-week furlough began on August 31 when I left for Minneapolis. The seven hours to Honolulu was painless, but then again I was seated next to Bernie Helstrom and so had a companion. When she exited, I was left on my own to negotiate the Honolulu airport—ie, picking up baggage and going through customs before traveling the length of the terminal to go through customs again along with the screening (not required in most places) and then the long journey to our departure gate. As I hobbled along, a couple of other passengers muttered that the Honolulu system made no sense at all. I had to agree completely.
Many years ago I was invited to a party at the home of an acquaintance who lived out a ways on the southern shore of Long Island. It wasn’t just another party, but something special in a home that was more than just a house. Let’s call it a mansion. The locale was not just any old suburban town, but it was like one of the Hamptons—a plush community that could have been the setting for “The Great Gatsby.” I didn’t know the hosts too well, but I was looking forward to the party for other reasons, as you might suspect.
Mawar was the fifth typhoon I’ve been through here in the Pacific–the first one on Guam; with all four previous typhoons occurring in Chuuk. This was the strongest and the longest of the lot, according to the weather reports.
It was sloooow in reaching Guam. Mawar was plotted to show up on Monday–so schools were shut down and government measures took effect. Nothing happened on Monday–sun shining and dry enough for basketball that afternoon. So it must be showing up on Tuesday, I thought. Nothing that day either. On Wednesday morning, the weather was overcast, but no strong winds yet. When will this hyped typhoon show up? Let’s get it over and done with! For me the thrill of an impending storm had vanished many years ago. Now they were more a nuisance than anything scary.
Finally, in mid-afternoon the winds strengthened and the typhoon began. Government shelters around the island were occupied, stores shut down–by a stroke of luck I finished shopping ten minutes before Payless closed–and we all waited it out. Exciting? Well, the sound made by those 150 mph wind gusts were shrill and admittedly chilling, but the typhoon was just an endurance contest for most of us. I thought the worst would be over in four or five hours, but by eight in the evening, six hours after the storm winds began, Mawar was still blowing strong. I didn’t go to bed until 1 AM, slipping and sliding on the soggy floor of my room while I mopped for a couple of hours. At 6 AM the next morning, the winds were still blowing. I tried the light switch, but the power was still off.
I peeked out the window to see branches lying everywhere, small trees uprooted, and fences smashed. Lots of decorative features were lost, but not much structural damage to buildings. By this time Guamanians know better than to put up homes with tin roofs. Cement is the building material of choice on this island, and for good reason.
When I drove down to the center of the island the following morning, power lines were down, wooden poles were bent if not broken, and none of the traffic lights were working. Everything considered, minor damage compared to the loss of life and property that follows a typhoon of this magnitude in the Philippines (which is usually the next destination for these storms). I don’t know what the news networks reported on the storm–we lost all power and internet and had no way of tuning into any of this for a couple of days, despite my best efforts to do so. How do charge our phones when island-wide power is out?
For me and so many others, though, the typhoon was less a disaster than a long nuisance.
Local damage from Typhoon Mawar outside of our rectory in Guam.
Dan and I first met in 1955 at Canisius High School where I was a senior and he a newly assigned Jesuit scholastic starting his teaching stint before ordination. We were surprised to find out that he was a veteran—who had lost one of his lungs in service, for that matter. None of us ever imagined Dan in military uniform. To us he was an unimposing, kindly figure who seemed temperamentally well-suited to be moderator of the poster club and the prefect of the school’s book store. We liked his friendly smile and wished him well, but no one regarded him as a contender for the faculty Wall of Fame. Dan just wasn’t the kind of heroic figure that we Crusaders took to heart as our champions.
On April 12, very early in the morning, I left Guam to attend the funeral of of Elsa Veloso, the “co-founder of MicSem” and a dear friend over the thirty years of her work with us. After seven hours at the airport in Manila, I caught a flight to Cagayan de Oro in Mindanao. There I was met by my old friends Danny and Arlene Dumantay, along with Elsa’s niece Melba. It was dinner time and we all had so much catching up to do that we decided to spend the night in the city and make the three-hour drive to Kinoguitan, Elsa’s hometown, the next day.
She arrived at Micronesian Seminar in 1977 while in her mid-thirties—a country girl from Mindanao who had spent the last several years as a classroom teacher. Elsa had never traveled abroad before. She was demure, even shy—a “church-mouse” is what some of us called her. By the end of her 30 years at MicSem, however, no one would have described her as that any longer.
During the last full week of February (20-24), Palau held a national health summit attended by guests from throughout the region and beyond. Jimmy Arriola from Saipan and I were among those asked to speak at the summit. Jimmy talked about various behavioral issues, while I spoke on suicide and social change. It’s an old theme, but still relevant to Palau these days as its suicide rate continues to climb. But that was not the only problem troubling Palau, as I learned from the old friends I ran into. Many pointed to the population decline in recent years: more locals leaving for the US and Filipino workers having a difficult time re-entering after the Covid years. Then, too, the number of deaths now surpasses the number of births each year, we were told.
