ON THE DEATH OF HEROIC FATHER MICHAEL CARCERANO
"I'm not afraid of dying, actually I can't wait," said Fr. Michael, the last time we met. He looked so indescribably peaceful and in a place beyond joy. But this was hard to fathom... He could barely stand, he looked like a skeleton, and was about to be put on oxygen full-time. Inflamed lungs surrounding a heart of solid gold. Father Michael was in his mid-70s. Despite the ravages of old age, the closely cropped white bristles of hair and the sunken posture, he still retained that look of celebrity. In his youth, he could have become an A-Lister. Tall, great bearing yet never imposing. He looked like Paul Newman, lustrous blue eyes of cornflower, and that habit in photos of making less of them by way of turning his head down or making his eyes hooded. But his commitment to his vows was absolute. No woman who crossed the faintest line was scolded or then put at total distance. For close to 10 years he guided me, first when I was on an extended trip to L.A., and then...
