File 517 - Fr Gerard A McLaughlin SJ

Born: 29 August 1908, Omagh, County Tyrone
Entered: 15 September 1926, St Stanislaus College, Tullabeg, County Offaly
Ordained: 31 July 1940, Milltown Park, Dublin
Final Vows: 02 February 1943, Belvedere College SJ, Dublin
Died: 25 November 1992, St Vincent’s Hospital, Dublin

Part of the Milltown Park, Dublin community at the time of death.

Early education at Christian Brothers Grammar School, Omagh, County Tyrone

◆ Interfuse

Interfuse No 74 : Autumn 1993 & Interfuse No 82 : September 1995

Obituary
Fr Gerard McLaughlin (1908-1992)

29th August 1908: Born, Omagh, Co. Tyrone
Early Education: Christian Brothers' Schools
15th Sept. 1926; Entered the Novitiate, Tullabeg
1928 - 1931: Rathfarnham - studying Arts, UCD.
1931 - 1934: Tullabeg - studying Philosophy
1934 - 1937: Belvedere - Regency - Teacher and Rugby Trainer
1937 - 1941: Milltown Park - Studying Theology
31st July 1940: Ordained, Milltown Park
1941 - 1942: Tertianship, Rathfarnham
1942 - 1944: Belvedere - Teacher and Assistant Prefect of Studies
1944 - 1955: Crescent College, Limerick - Prefect of Studies
1955 - 1960: Belvedere - Prefect of Studies
1960 - 1969: Mungret College, Limerick - Teacher
1969 - 1973: Crescent College, Limerick - Teacher
1973 - 1976: Crescent College Comprehensive - Teacher
1976 - 1979: Crescent Church Limerick - Assistant Admin. Comprehensive College
1979 - 1991; Belvedere - Teacher, Chaplain at St. Joseph's Young Priests' Society
1991 - 1992: Milltown Park, Chaplain at St. Joseph's Young Priests' Society
25th Nov, 1992: Died, St. Vincent's Hospital

I remember two Gerry McLaughlins - the martinet who was Prefect of Studies in Belvedere from 1955 to 1960, the first five years I was in the Senior House, and the movingly gracious old man (though he was never really old) who shared the community with me there from 1979 until his slightly quixotic move a year before his death in 1991.

Belvederians of the 1950s had all heard of Fr Coyle, the Rupe as he had been known to generations. Those like me, who had not known him, were unsure how to interpret that nickname but thought we were probably glad not to have to test its precise connotations when we crossed the Yard from the Junior House in September 1955 and found a new man in occupation of the office.

He was small of stature (which seems almost de rigueur for Prefects of Studies and Headmasters in Belvederel). He had a characteristic way of turning at an angle of 45 degrees whenever he had to admonish the tall fellows and always avoided having to look up to them, delivering his comments past their noses and moving dismissively away as he did so. The features were sharp, the expression shrewd, the manner abrupt even at times waspish. He did not too readily let us see the other side of himself - the witty side, that enjoyed innocently vulgar jokes, the humane side that could make allowances and apply exceptions, the sensitive side that responded alertly to the needs and the feelings of the other person, the humble side that most rarely indulged in talk about himself and hardly ever referred to his own achievements.

In those early days, he ran what they call 'a tight ship' and we expected as much, having heard of his rather fearsome reputation in Limerick, whence he had come (bearing his nickname with him) and whose streets he was supposed to have patrolled on his bicycle in the evenings, to ensure the Crescent boys were all safely in doing their homework, a veritable one-man vigilante squad.

In the mornings, he was on the stairs to intercept the late arrival. (pupil and, I suspect, teacher alike!). Through the day- of so we thought - he patrolled corridors to encounter and 'deal with those who had not found favour inside their classrooms and been put outside. As he went, he carefully checked the exercises in the boxes, not just verifying that Mr So-and-So (or Fr So-and-So either - Gerry was no respecter of persons) had actually set homework the night before, as the schedule demanded, but also counting the copies and checking the total against the rolls for that day. Loose leaves stuck into the end of clapped out copy books were not allowed and the offending object would be marked with a large “x”, never to reappear under pain of awful retribution. (Then some genius got the bright idea of “x-ing” all the copies and Gerry and ourselves were back to square one...).

He wielded the biffer in the fashion of the time but he was not remotely a sadist and his Belvedere was not a place characterised by harsh physical punishment. The fear he inspired was caused more by the sense that the all-seeing eye would catch up with you wherever you were - creeping a minute late up the stairs, lurking in the angle of a doorway, dallying needlessly between classes in the Yard, somehow or other where you shouldn't be. Suddenly, he was sure to be there. The face was identified, the name entered in the notebook he always seem to have to hand and - after a brief moment when you thought he would make no more of it and were moving gratefully on the fatal word “detained” floated lightly on the air after you in its Northern intonation, like a verbal lasso, to stop you in your tracks.

We watched for the master-less classroom and would often take the class himself, invariably expounding what seemed his favourite subject, geography, if he could not do this but he had noted that an exercise was die to be set that day, he at least managed to send in something appropriate, picking it himself (even in Irish, which was risky for him as he did not speak the language).

As we got older, we saw a little more of his humanity and realised that he was actually shy. We saw for the first time that he saw the humour of things. There was a twinkle in his eye and an indulgent irony in the voice when he called out: “Practice today, Johnny O'Connor!” as the aforementioned passed him on the stairs, evidently having defaulted the time before. And then “Snitch” (never really a term of dislike on our lips) was gone, disappearing just as we were about to reach Rhetoric and thought we might get to know him for the first time.

The other Gerry McLaughlin was over 70 when I met him again in 1979. By then, I was a recently-ordained member of the staff, he was semi-retired. He never properly graduated beyond that status until he died. In time, classes got beyond him in the Senior School, then the groups he took in the Junior School dwindled to one to two. He knew his health was failing (emphysema and, as he said, with characteristic bluntness and, usually, his wry twinkle, “the waterworks”). He worried about this, didn't make too much of it but wanted you to know all the same!

He accepted his progressive relegation to the margins of the timetable with grace and good humour but never entirely resigned himself to being unemployed. Jim O'Connor, who was in charge of the Junior School in part of this period, remembered how touching it was to find Gerry McLaughlin constantly offering to take classes when another teacher was absent, although by then in his late seventies. He had not lost the quick bark we had known years before and the boys were still a little in awe of him. Perhaps he sensed this. Apples would appear from the gown pocket and be thrown in a sudden gesture to this boy and that, with some hurried comment they couldn't catch - and by the end of a term, one way or another every boy would have received his apple!

In community, he was touchingly anxious to be part of things. He faithfully carried his share of the early morning Mass supplies to Temple St Hospital and elsewhere. He rarely took to his bed. At table, he would try to “lead” conversation with snatches of what he had heard on the radio or the like, rather as we had all once done as novices, and, if one topic failed to take wing, he would gamely try another. He did his best to take an interest in what was going on. This came easily enough to him because he was naturally curious, but growing deafness (that scourge of the inquisitive!), to which of course he never admitted, did add a slight petulance in the very last years.

He never spoke much about himself or his childhood in Omagh, where he had been born in 1908 and educated by the Christian Brothers. Rumours of the family having been attacked in “pogroms” were current among us. They sometimes seemed to find an echo in an outburst of anti-British sentiment, but this was rare and we remained largely in the dark about his previous experiences and the make-up of his family.

In his very last year, he asked to be moved. This was almost certainly because he could no longer teach at all or see any remaining function for himself in the school and he did not wish to be merely on the shelf in the place where he had once been so active. He had spent some 52 years working in Jesuit schools. There had been three years in Belvedere as a scholastic (1934-7 - during this period, he trained a winning Junior Cup team one of the very few achievements of which he could be said to have boasted a little and of which he was clearly proud). He had come back again for two years after ordination, to teach and assist Fr Coyle, then – well and truly apprenticed! – he had gone to the Crescent as Prefect of Studies for eleven years (1844-55).

After performing a similar function in Belvedere for five years (and asking to be relieved of it, because of a policy difference with those in higher authority), he had gone back to Limerick, first to Mungret and then to the Crescent once more (both in the city and at the new site in Dooradoyle when the school became a Comprehensive), until 1979 and his final return to Dublin. Now his teaching years were over.

Gardiner St, which would have been near the scene of so many of his labours, had no rooms free so he went to the House of Studies at Milltown Park. (He was indignant at suggestions that he was living in Cherryfield Lodge, the Jesuit Province infirmary, which is beside, but not strictly part of, Milltown Park!) There, he continued the work he had taken on some years earlier in Belvedere (when no one else volunteered): chaplain to St Joseph's Young Priests' Society. He fulfilled other community functions too and took his turn on morning Mass-supplies. But the short-term spells in hospital, a feature of his later period in Belvedere, went on. He died peacefully on 25th November 1992, still “in harness” as he would have wished and truly “full of works and days”. May he rest in peace.
BB

◆ The Belvederian, Dublin, 1993
Obituary
Father Gerard McLaughlin SJ
I remember two Gerry McLaughlins - the martinet who was Prefect of Studies in Belvedere from 1955 to 1960, the first five years I was in the Senior House, and the movingly gracious old man (though he was never really old) who shared the community with me there from 1979 until his slightly quixotic move a year before his death in 1991.

Belvederians of the 1950s had all heard of Fr Coyle, “the Rupe” as he had been known to generations. Those like me, (who had not known him), were unsure how to interpret that nickname but thought we were probably glad not to have to test its precise connotations when we crossed the Yard from the Junior House in September 1955 and found a new man in occupation of the office.

He was small of stature (which seems almost de rigueur for Prefects of Studies and Headmasters in Belvedere!). He had a characteristic way of turning at an angle of 45 degrees whenever he had to admonish the tall fellows and always avoided having to look up to them, delivering his comments past their noses and moving dismissively away as he did so. The features were sharp, the expression shrewd, the manner abrupt, even at times waspish. He did not too readily let us see the other side of himself - the witty side that enjoyed innocently vulgar jokes, the humane side that could make allowances and apply exceptions, the sensitive side that responded alertly to the needs and the feelings of the other person, the humble side that rarely indulged in talk about him- ; self and hardly ever referred to his own achievements.

In those early days, he ran what they call “a tight ship” and we expected as much, having heard of his rather fearsome reputation in Limerick, whence he had come (bearing his nickname with him) and whose streets he was supposed to have patrolled on his bicycle in the evenings, to ensure the Crescent boys were all safely in doing their homework, a veri table one-man vigilante squad.

In the monings, he was on the stairs to intercept the late arrival (pupil and, I suspect, teacher alike!). Through the day - or so we thought - he patrolled corridors to encounter and deal with those who had not found favour inside their classrooms and been put outside. As he went, he carefully checked the exercises in the boxes, not just verifying that Mr So and So (or So-and-So either - Gerry was no respecter of persons) had actually set homework the night before, as the schedule demanded, but also counting the copies and checking the total against the rolls for that day. Loose leaves stuck into the end of clapped out copybooks were not allowed and the offending object would be marked with a large “x”, never to reappear under pain of awful retribution. (Then some genius got the bright idea of “x-ing” all the copies and Gerry and ourselves were back to square one...)

He wielded the biffer in the fashion of the time but he was not remotely a sadist and his Belvedere was not a place characterised by harsh physical punishment. The fear he inspired was caused more by the sense that the all-seeing eye would catch up with you wherever you were - creeping a minute late up the stairs, lurking in the angle of a doorway, dallying Deedlessly between classes in the Yard, somehow or other where you shouldn't be. Suddenly, he was sure to be there. The face was identified, the name entered in the notebook he always seemed to have to hand and - after a brief moment when you thought he would make no more of it and were moving gratefully on - the fatal word “detained” floated lightly on the air after you in its Northern intonation, like a verbal lassoo, to stop you in your tracks.

He watched for the master-less classroom and would often take the class himself, invariably expounding what seemed his favourite subject, geography. If he could not do this but he had noted that an exercise was due to be set that day, he at least managed to send in something appropriate, picking it himself (even in Irish, which was risky for him as he did not speak the language).

As we got older, we saw a little more of his humanity and realised that he was actually shy. We saw for the first time that he saw the humour of things. There was a twinkle in his eye and an indulgent irony in the voice when he called out: “Practice today, Johnny O'Connor!” as the aforementioned passed him on the stairs, evidently having defaulted the time before. And then “snitch” (never really a term of dislike on our lips) was gone, disappearing just as we were about to reach Rhetoric and thought we might get to know him for the first time.

The other Gerry McLaughlin was over 70 when I met him again in 1979. By then, I was a recently ordained member of the staff, he was semi-retired. He never properly graduated beyond that status until he died. In time, classes got beyond him in the Senior School, then the groups he took in the Junior School dwindled to one or two. He knew his health was failing (emphysema and, as he said with characteristic bluntness and, usually, his wry twinkle, 'the waterworks'). He worried about this, didn't make too much of it but wanted you to know all the same!

He accepted his progressive relegation to the mar gins of the timetable with grace and good humour but never entirely resigned himself to being unemployed. Jim O'Connor, who was in charge of the Junior School in part of this period, remembered how touching it was to find Gerry McLaughlin constantly offering to take classes when another teacher was absent, although by then in his late seventies. He had not lost the quick bark we had known years before and the boys were still a little in awe of him. Perhaps he sensed this. Apples would appear from the gown pocket and be thrown in a sudden gesture to this boy and that, with some hurried comment they couldn't catch - and by the end of a term, one way or another every boy would have received his apple!

In community, he was touchingly anxious to be part of things. He faithfully carried his share of the early morning Mass supplied to Temple Street Hospital and elsewhere. He rarely took to his bed. At table, he would try to “lead” conversation with snatches of what he had heard on the radio or the like, rather as we had all once done as novices, and, if one topic failed to take wing, he would gamely try another. He did his best to take an interest in what was going on. This came easily enough to him because he was naturally curious, but growing deaf ness (that scourge of the inquisitive!), to which of course he never admitted, did add a slight petulance in the very last years.

He never spoke much about himself or his childhood in Omagh, where he had been born in 1908 and educated by the Christian Brothers. Rumours of the family having been attacked in pogroms were current among us. They sometimes seemed to find an echo in an outburst of anti-British sentiment, but this was rare and we remained largely in the dark about his previous experiences and the make-up of his family.

In his very last year, he asked to be moved. This was almost certainly because he could no longer teach at all or see any remaining function for himself in the school and he did not wish to be merely on the shelf in the place where he had once been so active, He had spent some 52 years working in Jesuit schools. There had been three years in Belvedere as a scholastic (1934-37 - during this period, he trained a winning Junior Cup team, one of the very few achievements of which he could be said to have boasted a little and of which he was clearly proud). He had come back again for two years after ordination, to teach and assist Fr Coyle, then - well and truly apprenticed! - he had gone to the Crescent as Prefect of Studies for eleven years (1944-55).

After performing a similar function in Belvedere for five years (and asking to be relieved of it, because of a policy difference with those in higher authority), he had gone back to Limerick, first to Mungret and then to the Crescent once more (both in the city and at the new site in Dooradoyle when the school became a Comprehensive), until 1979 and his final return to Dublin. Now his teaching years were over.

Gardiner St, which would have been near the scene of so many of his labours, had no rooms free so he went to the House of Studies at Milltown Park. (He was indignant at suggestions that he was living in Cherryfield Lodge, the Jesuit Province Park!), There, he continued the work he had taken on some years earlier in Belvedere (when no one else volunteered): chaplain to St Joseph's Young Priests' Society. He fulfilled other community functions too and took his turn on morning Mass-supplies. But the short-term spells in hospital, a feature of his later period in Belvedere, went on. He died peacefully on 25th November, 1992, still 'in harness' as he would have wished and truly 'ful of works and days'. May he rest in peace.