PART I

 

 

3. DANGEROUS MOMENTS IN MY LIFE

 

As I look back through the years of my life, I realize there are many moments when I have gone through dangerous experiences which have helped me realize the finiteness of life in this world, as well as helping me also to have thoughts of what comes after this life. I'm also aware that we probably all have moments of grave danger in our lives, and that we all have many different sufferings to deal with, be they physical, psychological, or spiritual. All these we should as believers tie to the sufferings and death of Jesus who leads us to cope with them in a Christian way. I share here a list of many dangerous moments in life as I grew more and more enlightened with the mystery of Christ's death and Resurrection in the light of Scriptures, especially St Paul’s.

 

1948: When I was a baby of about six months, my parents, Kit and Lake, decided to take a vacation during the summer, to the Chilean coast. As we were in the north of Argentina, living in Calilegua, Province of Jujuy, we had to cross the Andes by train, from the city of Salta, in the province of Salta, just south of Jujuy. This meant crossing the Andes as high as 12,000 ft. At the border with Chile, which is at the highest point, we had to change trains. My parents couldn't carry me, my older sister and luggage at the same time. As I was asleep, my parents did not want to wake me up. I hadn't started crawling yet, but was close to starting, so my parents put pillows on the edge of the bed, just in case I did wake up and decided to start crawling for the first time. In the little time they needed to take the luggage and my sister Penny to the other train, there was enough time for disaster to take place. When my father got back to pick me up, I had in fact decided to wake up and try out my first crawl! Oops! Rude awakening! I had pushed the pillows aside and landed on the floor. My head would turn purple, and I haven't been the same since! lol. Luckily babies are "made out of rubber", so to say, and must have several guardian angels to take care of them!

 

1950: Back home in Calilegua, where my father was working, overseeing the plantations for an agricultural company of the Leach's, mostly dealing with sugarcane, I was walking toward a bush in our garden, attracted by a bird's nest. As I reached for it, my nanny, who was behind me, screamed. I turned round luckily, because I was about to risk being bitten by a very poisonous snake, known as a 'yarará', (open the link to see which had obviously gotten into the nest, to eat the birds' eggs and remained curled up in it. So it seems that I have managed to invite dangerous situations from very early in life!

 

1952: This was the year that we migrated as a family, from Argentina to USA. We first traveled north by boat. While my father, Kit, finalized things down in Columbus, Georgia, after we arrived, we kids (Penny, Pamela and myself), with my mother, Lake, stayed in Ottawa, Canada, at my Aunty Zoë's house. When the time was ready for us to meet up with my father, my mother and us kids traveled first to New York so as to get the connecting flight down to Georgia. This must have been what is today known as Kennedy International Airport. The plane that we were to take went up in flames as it landed! Had we been on that plane, we may have died. We were then told to go to another airport, possibly La Guardia. When we got there, the plane we were to take had technical problems, so we had to go back to the previous airport again. My mother was in a nervous crisis by now, and had no money left to travel back to the other airport. Luckily, someone came to our rescue and got us safely back to the other airport. Meanwhile, my poor father was very concerned, as he had no news of what was going on. Anyway, we finally got to Georgia, much to the relief of my parents.

 

1953: A friend of my parents was visiting us. She was very tall and camera shy. As I was walking very close behind her, one of her arms swung backward, and the tip of the cigarette that she was smoking went into one of my eyes. That was painful of course. I got patched up by a doctor but was lucky not lose my sight in that eye. Being only 5 years old must have helped me gain total recovery. Not sure what an expert would say to that opinion! This event and the following one were not dangerous but very painful experiences that could have led to serious damage to my body.

 

1954: During this year, I was living with my family at the Oglethorpe Apartments, in Brookhaven, near Atlanta, Georgia, USA. On one occasion, I was searching for buried marbles in the ground with some friends, who were finding them one after another, but I was so unlucky, that I couldn't find any. I was so angry and frustrated, that I stood up suddenly with force, gashing my head on the corner of a metal framed window I was under. Luckily it wasn't that serious. Yes, I lost a lot of blood and needed two stitches and still have the dent in my head to remind me that anger like this does not pay off! Looking back, I realize that kids can be very clever in finding ways to get what they want, like finding those marbles that may have been buried there over many years. To take another example, on another occasion at school, later on in St. Petersburg, Florida, with other kids, we would look under the swing-set for coins that had dropped out of other kids' pockets! We always found them! With these we could get stuff out of the slot machines!

 

1956: During this time, I was living with my family in Redington Beach, on the Keys just out of St Petersburg, Florida. This place brings back several anxious moments.

 

Once, when I swam out to the sand bar, to collect sand dollars off the sea bed, which I did sometimes, I noticed my parents frantically signaling to me, to come ashore. When I got out of the water, my parents said that they spotted the fin of a shark encircling around me.

 

On another occasion, I was at the house of a kid I had come to know, who lived right by the seashore. As we swam in the sea, he almost drowned me by holding me down underwater. Afterward, inside his garage, he tied me up, made me choke by putting smoke near my nose and put a lizard down my neck between my shirt and chest. He finally untied me. I felt more sorry for the lizard though, which I found dead afterward. Needless to say, I kept away from him in the future on that first and only visit I made to his house.

 

On several occasions, I would go with some friends, living on the bay, to search for dinosaur fossils. There was an area where new land was being created with machinery that would dredge the bottom of the bay, in order to build new homes on it after it had dried out. (see the area on the map and what it looks like today). This area where the new land was drying out for a couple of years was dangerous to walk on. [1] It offered possibilities though, of finding chunks of blackened dinosaur fossils, which were enticing to search for, despite the danger. I had seen samples at my friend's house. So we set out one day to try out our luck. At one stage, I was really getting tired of sliding in the mud, so I approached what looked like a bunch of stones to stand on. Wrong move! It was a sink hole, similar to quick sand! I went up to my waist with one leg. Luckily, the other kids were able to pull me out; in the process, my ked was sucked off my foot.

 

As a kid, I loved climbing trees. On one occasion, I climbed a casuarina tree, right next to our house, with other kids. Well, one day I fell from high up. Luckily the branches slowed down my fall, and I landed on the ground, winded, on my back. I went into the house, laid down on my bed for a while and thought: I better not let my parents know; they may not allow me to climb trees in the future! However I learned a lesson for the future, to place my feet near the beginning of the branches rather than further out, where they can easily snap. Years later, back in Argentina at age 14, I made a platform high up in a tree, which was a great place to take a nap on, when the days were hot.

 

Once I was trying to rescue a kitten at a friend's house. I was crawling between the ceiling and roof, when my foot went through the ceiling, and I was lucky not to fall to the floor below. I startled my friend's father though, who jumped out of his bed. He was a policeman, who slept during the day!

 

On another occasion, I was with another kid, who lived a couple of blocks away, just over a thin strip of land with a road on it, that crossed over to a man-made island in the bay, close to my home, an extension of the dredged land I was talking about earlier. I don't remember the reason why this kid turned on me with such fury, lifting up a toy gun, with the intent of hitting me with the butt, on my head. He was livid and I panicked, running as fast as I could towards home. I chose to run on the beach alongside the road, to remain, hopefully, out of sight. Halfway down, I was faced with small pieces of broken up clay pipes strewn across the beach, with no alternative than to run across them. As I was barefoot at the time, I cut up my feet in a bad way, but my fear carried me all the way home. I lost a lot of blood, which looked like pieces of cotton wool soaked in blood as it came out. I remembered having my feet washed in water by my parents. What most weighed on me though was the shame of having been such a coward, allowing myself to be frightened by a kid several years younger than myself. I came to realize that this is part of my personality that I have needed to struggle to overcome, at least, when it concerns human relationships. It's hard for me to be unjustly attacked and humiliated, especially when it is done in public. However, with regard to other things, I can be very daring, even foolishly so at times, as will be evident later on in my narrative.

 

Looking back at this area we lived in, I came to realize that there were some very mentally disturbed kids around: two of the ones I encountered and another teenager who lived next door. My mother had discovered one day that her inner clothing and bathing suit were being slashed with a knife while on the clothesline. My mother called the police.  They discovered that the son of a nurse who lived next door had been the culprit. In fact, they discovered under his mattress many items of women's underwear. Thank God that nothing violent ever happened to my mother.

 

1957: This is the year, as a family, we returned from the U.S.A. back to Argentina. My parents were interested in knowing New Orleans before traveling back, and as it was also the place we were to get the boat back to Argentina, we went a couple of months ahead of time while my father got a temporary job as an architect for the construction of a large, city water tank. My parents considered one possible ship to travel on, but then changed their mind for another ship called the "Nepal Trader". It was a good thing that they did change their minds, as the other ship sank at sea! Another possible death for the family!

 

1959-1961: There were two occasions at school in the hills of Cruz Grande, near La Cumbre, in the Province of Cordoba, Argentina, where I could have lost my life, because of risky, foolish behavior on my part. For instance, once, climbing the red rocky face of a mountain with other kids, called the "Terrón Colorado" (literally translated as the 'chunk of red soil', visible behind me in the photo), [2] I decided not to climb the left side of the face, as the other kids did, and which was the correct way of doing it. Well, I learned a hard lesson, because I decided to go straight up the middle of the face, out of defiance. When I had advanced quite a way up, the increasing steepness and crumbly rock caused my feet to start sliding backward. Luckily, I was able to stop myself by clinging for dear life, and gradually got myself over to the left side of the face, where the climb wasn't as steep, and where the other kids were climbing. I was lucky not to fall to my death.

 

On another occasion, I was camping with the rest of the school, at a place called Ongamida, [3] about an hour's drive from the school, but still in the lower range of mountains in the Province of Córdoba, where my school was located, and therefore called the "Sierra Chica" (Small Range). On one of our excursions, I did another foolish thing, when walking on a narrow path, on a very steep slope of a mountain. The other kids who were with me were taking a longer and safer way around the mountain, to get to a cave we wanted to explore. However, one of the kids, whom we nicknamed the 'Mountain Goat' because of his incredible ability to move around with such ease and swiftness in the mountains, decided to climb up above the path, which was dangerous, but closer to the cave. I said to myself, "If he can do it, why not me?" Big mistake! As I started climbing up behind him, I fell off. The next moment, I found myself hanging onto a small bush, on the cliff below, ,luckily not too far from the path, so that the other kids could pull me up. I realized afterwards, what the power of instinct for survival is capable of doing. Reaching out, to grab onto that bush was pure instinct, as I fell so fast and didn't do it consciously Check out Google images of the place by clicking on the following link: Ongamida

 

On another occasion, I was walking with other kids in the hills, close to our school. As I was on my way back, but still far from school, I jumped into an empty channel full of dried leaves. What I didn't see was the broken bottom of a Coca Cola bottle under the leaves, with a triangular part of it sticking up. It went through one of my worn out running shoes, and into my foot, just below my big toe and the next one. As I pulled the glass out, which was still stuck in my running shoe and foot, lots of blood gushed out. One of the kids carried me piggy back toward our school, while the other kid was walking in front of us, playing with my running shoe in his hands, sloshing the blood in it, back and forth. I did lose a lot of blood, which looked much like the time I described before, when I cut myself with the pieces of clay pipes. I felt faint because of the loss of blood, but luckily I didn't bleed to death. It was a very deep wound, but only needed two stitches.

 

1963: On one occasion, we were traveling as a family to Buenos Aires, from the ranch my father worked on, for the Liebig company, 30 miles south from the city of Mercedes, Province of Corrientes. My father was driving us kids to our respective schools on the outskirts of the city of Buenos Aires: me to St. George's college, in Quilmes, and my sisters, at Michael Ham Memorial College, in Vicente Lopez, run by the Passionist Sisters. It was a long journey. We traveled all night and arrived in the afternoon of the next day. As we had gone past half way, a truck in front of us suddenly made a left turn, blocking the whole road in front of us, just as we were on the left side, ready to pass it. My father, who was an excellent driver, swung over to the right side of the road and  passed the truck on two wheels, to avoid a collision, just enough, so as not to tip over. Once clear of the truck, he gently allowed the vehicle to rest once more on all four wheels. We were very fortunate not to collide with the truck or to roll over. We thanked St. Christopher for guiding my father's moves. We always carried his image on the dashboard of our 'estanciera', (an Argentine car equivalent to a land rover).

 

1966: During my 3^rd year in the Passionist St. Gabriel’s Postulancy, in La Reja, Province of Buenos Aires, we had a director, who was a terrible driver. He was rough on the pedals and had caused several dents in the pickup he drove.

 

One day, I had to travel with him to the city of Buenos Aires. As we were both standing in the garage on the same side of the pickup, with the door open on the driver’s side, the director, with only his right foot in the pickup, turned on the ignition with the gear in reverse. The pickup shot backwards, and luckily the door jammed against an obstacle that stopped the vehicle, or else, it would have smashed me against the wall at the entrance to the garage. The door was able to close though, despite the bad dent in it. Shaken by what could have happened, we took off in the pickup. Along the way, we were halfway through a red light, and when realizing his error with the oncoming traffic, he shot backward, almost knocking over a couple that were crossing the road behind us. On our way back, we went through a military zone, known as “Campo de Mayo”. There was a heavy fog. It was also night time by then. My director carried on driving for awhile with no visibility in front of us. I got the impression that we were leaving the road, and I mentioned something to that effect. My director stopped the vehicle just in time, as there, a few feet ahead of us, was a huge, thick concrete pole! Hitting that could have been fatal, especially because back then, no seat belts were used.

 

On another occasion during one of the three years when I was a postulant, I was mowing the lawn with an electrical lawnmower. As I was connecting two cables, I accidentally placed a finger on the positive and negative points of the plug. 220 volts gave me a tremendous shock! I managed to pull the plug away from my finger. It left two burnt marks there. Had I not pulled the plug away, I could have been electrocuted.

 

1967: Years later, duing my summer vacation, before starting my novitiate, I was staying with my family, who lived back then in Argüello, Province of Cordoba. I decided to go camping with other young people. We were actually from two families. I was accompanied by my sister Pamela. Our goal was to camp near a huge waterfall in a canyon in the higher ranges of the province, known as "Sierra Grande" (Large Range). Because of the presence of condors in the canyon, it was called the "Quebrada de Condorito" (Condor's Canyon).

 

During one of those days while camping, two of the guys from the other family and I, headed down the steep slope of the canyon to reach the top of a waterfall. One of those guys had entered the Passionists through me. He would later become a 'real thorn in the flesh' in the seminary and novitiate and would ultimately leave after his temporary profession. As we reached a flat rock half way up beside the fall, the roar and the movement of the water kind of hypnotized us, and made us drowsy. Bear in mind that during this time of the year, the fall was impressive, with a lot of water coming down. We laid down on the rock and fell asleep for about 15 minutes. Also, before the brief nap, as I drew close to the edge of the rock, I think the movement of the fall which I was gazing at, kind of caused me to tilt forward, and I had to retreat so as not to go over the cliff.

 

We then made it up on the side of the river, to the top of the fall some 300 ft high. There, I got into a calm pool of water, just to the side of the fall. There was a thin 'wall' of rock going straight down, one holding the water of the ‘pool’ adjacent to the fall, and a cliff on the other side. The water of the fall went over at the end of the 'wall'. (See the exact spot on from the air on YouTube at: Quebrada del Condorito drone (Note: the fall is visible half way through the video but with much less water than when I was there). It was a delight, as I rested there for a while, having my body deep in water against the 'wall', with my head peering over the cliff, with my arms spread out on top, bent at the elbows. What a sight, looking over the cliff with the waterfall to the left! Suddenly, it occurred to me to be daring and edge closer to the waterfall. After all, the water was very calm on the surface. Foolish move! Under the surface of the water, the situation was different. All of a sudden my feet were pulled up with force toward the fall. Next, I found myself lying on my stomach, on top of the 'wall', just barely keeping balance as, had I lost my balance, I would have gone over, first hitting the rocks on the first part of the fall about 150 feet down and then down to the bottom another 150 feet down, surely dead already. Wow! What a scare! If I hadn't learned a lesson to respect nature previously, this experience taught me a lesson for good!

 

1975: In January, during my summer vacation, during the period that I was studying Theology, I decided to travel down to the southwest of Argentina to explore some of the most beautiful spots in the country, equivalent in comparison to the Canadian Rockies or the Swiss Alps.  I took a train down towards Bariloche, the most popular tourist area, which I was already familiar with. It took several days of travel. I wanted to explore, however, to the south of Bariloche, which was less

 

 

known. So, I got off at a train stop before Bariloche at Jacobacci and took another narrow-gage train. See YouTube at Argentina, travelling on the Patagonian express for a visual.

 

It had a steam engine and had wooden stoves in the coaches to keep us warm! Quite an adventure! This train got me to Esquel. In that area I visited a beautiful lake called Futalaufquen and the beautiful valley of Trevelin, where some Welsh had settled in 1865. It was also the place that inspired the author, Richard Llewellyn to write "How Green was my Valley", which afterward was made into a film. As the weather had been unusually pleasant for the last three months, I decided to risk traveling north, partly on foot toward Bariloche, visiting any interesting lakes and places along the way. I didn't have a tent with me, so it was a risk I was taking. First, I visited the National Park of'Alerces', where huge trees are found, like the sequoias in the U.S., one that dates back 2600 years, called 'Lahuán',  57 meters high (187 feet) and with a diameter 2.8 meters at the base (just over 9 feet). I also went on a tour, on the very colorful 'arrayán' river in the same Park. (Click on link to appreciate the colors) This river has arrayán trees growing not only on the banks of the river but also under the water! The bark of these trees is like the back of a deer with their white spots. No wonder these trees were used as a background by Walt Disney for his film 'Bambi'. The color of the bark combined with the green leaves, made a spectacular sight under the water as we traveled on the river.

 

On my way back to a campsite in the park, the bad and cold weather moved in! Luckily, a couple of young men kindly allowed me to stay that night in their tent.

 

The next morning, I decided to defy the bad weather and follow through with my original plan, which I admit was a foolish thing to do, but I didn't want to be disappointed by giving up at this point. So I set out on foot very early in the morning, on a road under construction, calculating that I could reach population by night fall. I saw many beautiful, crystal clear lakes along the way, each one different from the other; some were green, others deep blue, while others a light blue with streaks of purple in them; others sparkled more, etc.

 

I saw nobody along the way. It may have been a weekend, when the workers were off. As nightfall came, it got bitterly cold and no settlement was yet in sight. I had, though, reached the end of the construction part of the road. I decided to look for a place under a bush to rest for the night. As I was inspecting a possible bush, I noticed a pickup driving on the road in the direction I was traveling. I ran back to the road, and the young man who was driving not only picked me up, but allowed me to stay that night in his house. He told me that had I stayed outside during the night, I could have frozen to death. Once in his house and after he had shared with me a nice hot meal, he told me to get up when I wished to the next morning and leave when I wanted, as he had to get to work very early. I was surprised by his trust in me and I expressed it. He said, around here everyone was trustworthy and no one ever locked up.

 

And so I headed out the next morning, waiting for quite awhile for a vehicle to give me a ride. Finally a gypsy and his son picked me up in a brand new pickup. The son was driving and his father kept bugging him to be careful, due to the fact that the pickup was new! Well, lo and behold, as we were going around a curve in a mountainous area and on a pebble road, a car came tearing around the bend in the opposite direction, then braked so as not to smash into us. His car, however, skidded and smashed right into us! We were luckily okay, but the face of the driver of the other car, who obviously was to blame, was bloody, but for the most part seemed to be alright with superficial wounds. Needless to say, the old gypsy was cursing away at the damage done to his new car with no concern for the wounded driver of the other car. While the shouting and cursing went on, and with nothing I could do to help, and noticing help showing up, I thought it best to get on my way, thumbing down another vehicle.

 

I arrived at a place called El Bolsón, at the foot of the snow-capped mountain range of Piltriquitrón, which I set out to climb the next day. Half way up, I spent the night in a lodge with other climbers. However the others must have been on their way down, as none of them were to be seen as I climbed up next day. The temperature was brutal at the summit and the wind was very strong. It was like being in the Antarctic, which was not too far away and way above sea level! My hands were so cold that I found it hard to press the button of my camera to take pictures. I had no gloves with me and was not dressed to deal with such low temperatures. I was surprised to see a hare leaping up one of the slopes, at such a height and frigid temperatures. I must have met someone to take the picture but I don't remember that fact. Before freezing to death, I descended promptly after taking a few photos and taking in briefly with admiration such beauty.

 

And so my trip carried on until I reached Bariloche, where I stayed with the Salesians. From there I took the train back to Buenos Aires. Except for the night in the tent at the campground of Alerce National Park, I always stayed at a church or religious community during my trip, which was general practice back then in Argentina. No one would think it appropriate for a religious person to stay at a hotel. Whatever the case, a senior Passionist, Fr. Federico Richards CP, teased me afterwards when I got home, saying that I had traveled the country on 2 cans of sardines! We both had a good laugh! I certainly didn't spend much! I guess I was honoring my Scottish ancestral blood!

1980: During a convocation of the Passionists from the "Cono Sur" (Southern Cone) of South America, i.e.: Argentina, Brazil, Bolivia, Chile and Uruguay, we met together at a Passionist retreat in Curitiba, State of Paraná, Brazil. On one of the days, we took a break in our meetings, to visit the State Park of Vila Velha. This place had many interesting rock formations. Originally, this area had been under the sea. One of the rock formations was called 'The Chalice', (open the link to see) because of its shape. I decided to climb up to about halfway, in order to get my picture taken by one of the Passionists. When I reached halfway up, I reached up to grab a rock sticking out, to pull myself up higher. All of a sudden, I was attacked by hundreds of black wasps (open the link to see). They were huge: about 2 inches in length, though not wider than other wasps half their length. I had actually placed my hand into a wasp nest on the other side of the rock. I was stung instantly by five of them. Luckily I had experience from working with bees, so I knew that swatting at the wasps would lead to many more stings and possible death, due to the shock caused by the poison. Furthermore, desperately waving an arm around could have caused me to fall to my death, as I was a good 15 feet up the rock chalice. I stayed still, until all of the wasps on my body and clothing flew off. Only then did I come down from the rock, obviously, without a photo taken, as I had planned! I did feel quite dizzy afterward. The stings left noticeable holes in my body and I still have white visible scars to remind me of the incident!

 

1982-1993: During this period, I was in India. There were a number of times I could have lost my life. Whenever I drove around on the motorbike in India, which I did a lot, when living in Kochi, in the State of Kerala, I always traveled with my "heart in my mouth". I had many close encounters when driving. The only laws on the road seemed to be at that time, "me first, and get in where you can", either to the left or the right.

 

Here are examples of a life threatening moments:

 

Ø Once I was driving at night and a truck coming the other way blinded me with his headlights on high beam. I slowed down on this narrow road and almost came to a stop. As the truck passed, I noticed just in front of me a pile of metal stone, half on the road and half off. Had I not slowed down, I would have hit into the pile of stones and been sent under the truck as it passed. This happened in Kochi…

 

Ø On another occasion, when I was on the motorbike, an auto-rickshaw, on the side of the road, suddenly lurched forward, making a U-turn right in front of me. We very nearly collided. This was the exact spot, where on another day, I saw a woman get hit by a bus, as she walked out onto the road just as it was going by…

 

Ø On still another occasion, I was traveling quite fast on a motorbike, heading to the mountains to the east on a highway. All of a sudden, I hit a very high, unmarked speed bump that nearly threw me off the bike… On that same trip, I came down from the higher Idukki area of the Ghats via another route. I wasn't aware at the time, that this was a provincial or national park and therefore there were no villages or houses around. I was with a man who had asked for a lift. It was evening and raining when we got a puncture. We waited for quite awhile, when luckily, a pickup appeared, and we were able to get into the back with the motorbike. We were dropped off in a town at the bottom of the mountain range. We were lucky, as I didn't realize that this area we were in was inhabited by wild elephants which come out at night and can be very destructive, like pulling up telephone poles, etc. They are also a danger to people. One of my candidates, now a Passionist priest, and who is one of the founders of the Passionists in Vietnam, Fr Thomas Anamattathil, CP, when he was a child, lived in an area back then similar to the one I was stranded in. As a family they lived in a tree house, in order not to be killed by elephants at night, which would often trample down their crops below. I admire the courage of these pioneers of this area.

 

Ø There was another incident that happened years later in Bangalore. I was driving in our jeep at night, with my low lights on, out of respect for other drivers. As it was very dark outside, I decided to put on my high beams temporarily. There, just ahead of me, on the road, was a herd of black cows! I had to slam on the breaks to avoid hitting them. Had I not put on the high beams, I would have gone right into them.  These were some of the instances on the road, where I was lucky not to have lost my life.

 

In 1983, the Passionists built a new chapel, with bedrooms on the second floor. At one of the corners on the roof of the building, a water tank was being built out of bricks. This was adjacent to my bedroom at the corner of the main building, just a few feet from the other corner. While I was away in the neighboring state of Tamil Nadu, doing vocational work, the tank was being filled up with water before it was completely dry. As a consequence, it exploded. Bricks broke through the roof over my bedroom and piled up on my bed below. This happened in the middle of the night. Had I been sleeping in my bed, it could have killed me.

 

Once I got poisoned from eating crab that had gone bad. We had bought frozen crab, but with the frequent light cuts in the area, it obviously went bad while in storage. In the middle of the night that I ate the crab, I was in agony. I was white as a sheet and didn't seem to have a pulse. I called the superior. I didn't want to bother the doctor at that hour of the night until it was absolutely necessary. I put into practice a yoga exercise, which is supposed to counteract poison that has been ingested. I thought possibly that digging one's elbows into the abdomen would help the pancreas and liver release their digestive fluids; that's my unprofessional opinion. Whatever the case, I felt relief after I did this exercise. No doubt, I have had many very bad 'stomach' upsets in life, but none I felt that could have killed me.

 

There were three moments when I could have been lynched by a wild mob in India:

 

a. Just going out on a motorbike was a dangerous endeavor, as I mentioned before. I had 4 accidents during this period, though none serious, mostly involving pedestrians. Once I got badly cut up on my right leg, as I tried to avoid a pedestrian on Vypin Island, north of Kochi. I swerved to the right as he walked into me, but ended up hitting him with my left shoulder and went down on the right side. He disappeared from the scene, but I quickly got up and rode away. The reason being, that I had been informed of the logic that people had at that time: "it is always the fault of the one who is bigger!" So if it is a collision of a pedestrian and a bicycle, it is the bike's fault; if it is a collision of bicycle and motorbike, then it is the motorbike's fault, etc. Those at fault could easily be lynched, unless the police appeared on the scene. I was not willing to stay around to test my fate! Roads for the most part were very crowded at around 4 pm. in the region, especially on Vypin Island, which is known to be the most thickly populated place in the country.

 

b. The day the Prime Minister of India, Indira Gandhi was shot and killed by a Sikh, on October, 31^st, 1984, I had to take a visiting Passionist, Fr. Luis Dolan, CP, to re-confirm his plane ticket in downtown, Ernakulam, the main city in the Kochi area, on the mainland. Kochi is actually on a peninsula. Back then, we could not get our plane ticket re-confirmation by phone and as Luis was leaving the next morning, it had to be done that same day. I was on my way to pick Luis up that morning, at the airport, on the motorbike, when I got the news that Indira had been shot. When I took Luis over in the afternoon to get his ticket re-confirmed, at a time when Indira was already dead, we approached the first of two bridges to get onto an island and then onto the mainland of Ernakulam. A crowd of men stopped us. They talked apart among themselves for a while, while others kept us from going forward. Finally they let us go. I found out afterward, that many Sikhs had been killed and those riding a motorbike were also lynched, and their motorbikes set on fire. According to our bishop, if we would have had a black flag on the bike, it would have been a sign of mourning, instead of celebrating! I’m grateful that the men who stopped us let us go, as they had enough common sense to know that we foreigners didn’t understand their cultural practices. Actually, when we explained what we were up to, they must have realized that we were certainly not out celebrating the death of Indira!

 

c. In 1992, I was Novice Master in a temporary novitiate house, which was one of the wings of a Claretian novitiate house in Carmelaram, near Bangalore, in the State of Karnataka, as our own building was under construction. One day a wild mob from the nearby village, with clubs and other weapons, was on a rampage, destroying everything in their path. What had happened was the following: some of the Salvatorian students next door had found some youngsters from the village stealing fruit from their property. One of the students hit one of them on the head with something, after they refused to leave the property. The youngsters went back to the village; the head of the one who was hit by the student was bleeding. That was enough for the village to react in the way they did. They smashed the jeep of the Salvatorians and did a lot of other damage. As they came into the property of the Claretians, and passed by the window of my room, with bulging furious eyes on their faces, I counted my blessings that they didn’t break into my room. No doubt, I kept out of their sight. As I was a foreigner, the Claretians suggested shortly afterward, that I leave the property, while they called and spoke with the police about the incident, as this could jeopardize our presence in India. As I was driving out of our property, I passed the police, as they were arriving. I stayed that night at the Franciscans in Bangalore and went back to our place the next day.

 

1991: On the last days of December, our Indian Passionist students in Arusha, Tanzania, had pressured me to take them to climb Mt Kilimanjaro, the highest mountain in Africa. They knew that I had mountain climbing experience. I was reluctant because of my age but gave in to their request. I didn't want to crush their adventurous spirit. Unfortunately, I could not take them all, as we had permission only for a certain number of people. We had to draw lots to see who would go. Unfortunately, this upset those who couldn't go. It was a powerful and exhausting experience. I had a few discipline problems when some of the students would shoot off ahead on their own, which can be very dangerous, like getting lost in the mist with the danger of freezing to death if still lost after dark. We traveled from the Franciscans place in Moshi which saved us a day of travel.[4] As it was, it took us four days to the top and back.

 

This had been a suggestion of one of our Passionist Tanzanian students. What we didn't know, or calculate, was how this quicker and more exhausting climb would affect us physically. Our first day was really too much, as we started off very early in the morning and reached the first resort by 10 pm, having walked in constant ascent. The main problem awaited us. Two of the guys couldn't make it up the last part which was steeper than the rest, which was a constant climb, as they had severe headaches. They remained behind as the rest of us headed toward the top, leaving at 3 am.

We should have left at 2 am, but the guide didn't show up then. Because of this, we couldn't reach

the summit due to a time factor which we had to abide by. This was a disappointment. At least we reached up to Gilman's point which was the next best level. Due to the lack of oxygen at that height, at every step, we had to stop a bit before taking the next step. We arrived at the top as the sun was coming out. It wasn't difficult to reach the top other than the lack of oxygen. However, as

I was coming down, which was difficult because of slipping on a lot of loose rock, I noticed that my hands and face swelled up. I could hardly see out of my eyes. I had got a touch of altitude sickness that can be fatal. I only found out what this was afterward. Unfortunately, I had not cut my toenails before traveling, which was needed, and as a consequence, it was painful coming down in climbing boots. All my toenails would turn purple due to the pressure on them over several days. I had no scissors with me to cut my nails.

 

2017. In December, I had a another close encounter with death. I had been to a hospital in Chicago for a second time due to a bad infection in my left foot. The infections were diagnosed as Sepsis and MRSA.[5]  But after a few days in the hospital, I got congestive heart failure. My lungs filled up with fluid and I felt myself suffocating. The worst part of it was that nobody initially came to my rescue when I tried several times pressing the buzzer, warning them what was happening to me. They said that they were coming, but then they didn't right away. When finally they did come to rescue me, another nurse came in, to extract routine blood from my arm, independently of my crisis. I asked her to do this afterwards, but my petition fell on deaf ears. It was a horrible experience of feeling that I was dying, with a lack of empathy or concern all around me.

 

The more I think of dangers in my past life, the more I remember things. There have been a number of times, for instance, that I have had close calls in the car, not only in India as was mentioned earlier, but also in Argentina, US, Canada and Jamaica, from almost crashing into large objects on the road at night, to sleet freezing on the windshield on an expressway and not knowing how to deal with it, from almost colliding with oncoming traffic because of accidentally being in the wrong lane, from almost colliding with someone in one's blind spot, etc. I'm sure all drivers have had these kinds of experiences in life.

 

Finally, there are traumatic experiences that unlike other kinds of sharing in the Cross of Christ, are long lasting and take years sometimes to heal, if at all. There is a saying, though, that 'time heals many wounds' but I have found that to be relative. It's more how one can deal with it over time.

 

One of my long lasting traumas was with experiences I went through together with others, during the dirty war back in Argentina. After many years, I have finally lost my fear of soldiers and police due to those experiences. And I will share a few of them. Seeing the brutality, though, of some police in the U.S. towards those of "color" as they say, only makes me relive my past experiences in Argentina.

 

When I was studying in the ICAM in 1972 as mentioned before, after my philosophy, I was on my way back from a period of research to the institute in Reconquista, Province of Santa Fe with one of my companions. We thumbed a ride from a pickup just outside of Resistencia, province of Chaco. As we were getting into the back, we were pulled out by some 5 individuals dressed in civvies with machine guns pointing at us. One looked so frightened that I thought he might get trigger happy. They were policemen. They took us in a van for prisoners. My companion was as white as a sheet. I told him jokingly, in order to help him relax, to keep calm, that it was not every day we had the chance to travel in a police van. When we were brought into the police station, we were held for 5 hours. As they were going through my things in the only small bag I had, a bunch of curious policemen looked on through the window from the outside. I couldn't help feeling amused as they pulled clothing out of my bag, mostly underpants.

 

They took our picture with a number over our heads, and then let us go. We found out afterward, that two officers of the army had defected from their unit further south of the country and were known to be at present in this area of the country. We were told that we were lucky, because had we been detained by the army, we could have been held captive for two weeks before being released. We also found out that if we were registered in that way twice, we could spend the rest of our days in prison, as one is put under the authority of the Executive power! Serious criminals could be out of jail long before us.

 

This happened during the dirty war in Argentina. Already some of my ex companions of the seminary had been imprisoned, and one killed by the death squad called AAA (Argentine Anti Communist Alliance). You can imagine then how the acronym AAA makes me feel uneasy, even if it has another meaning in the U.S.

 

After I headed north of the country from our seminary in San Miguel, Buenos Aires, to join the ICAM institute in 1972, I heard years later, that there were military asking neighbors near our seminary, where I was. Luckily they didn't know! Yes, anyone working with the poor and with the youth outside the parish building was considered a Communist!!! Of course, I was doing both! Any book in Argentina that had the word "Liberation" and any book in Paraguay with the word "Community" were considered Communist and were not allowed to be imported!

 

On the 8th December, 1977, 12 mothers and spouses of those family members who had disappeared met in our parish of Holy Cross (Santa Cruz) in the city Buenos Aires to gather funds to publish in one of the main national newspapers an article requesting the government to provide information on their missing relatives. As they were coming out onto the sidewalk, they were whisked off into cars, and they themselves were "disappeared", including two French sisters. 5 bodies later were recovered, including one of the sisters. They are buried in front of our church along with tomb stones represented the other 7. The bodies had washed ashore from the River Plate where they had been dumped. They had been identified by their finger prints. A film came out in 2003 called "Imagining Argentina", portraying this event within the context of the Dirty War under the military dictatorship.[6]

 

On another occasion, a bomb went off, blowing out the front door of our retreat center on the same block as the parish and shattering the windows of neighbors. Then, on another occasion, an object looking like a bomb was placed at the entrance of our student house close by to our parish. I was the acting director at the time. I called the explosive brigade and they removed it. I apologized to them, but they said, I shouldn't, because while most are fake bombs, a real one will eventually appear. 

 

Then there were the bomb threats at our parochial school said to go off 1/2-hour after the kids arrived at the school where I was chaplain. We sent the kids home even though nothing was found. We had to take it seriously, as in a neighboring school there was a real bomb planted to go off half and hour after the kids had arrived. The threat at our school happened three days in a row. This was a time when all religious orders had something happen to them, and parents were being warned by the government, to take their kids out of private schools.

 

One of the most tragic occasions for the Church, was on 4^th of July, 1976, when 3 Pallottine priests and 2 seminarians were brutally murdered in their rectory at St Patrick Church (San Patricio) by soldiers dressed up like police. They were asked to lie face down, and their heads were filled with multiple bullets. One of the priests was actually a brother of a bishop. I was present at the funeral. One of the versions that circulated was that there had been a mistake of identification. Both Passionists and Palatines, which sound similar to the unknown, ran parishes and both had most of their members from Irish descent. Our parish was more outspoken though in regards to denouncing the abuse of power being committed by the armed forces in the country. It's possible that there was a mistake in targeting the parish they did, in which case I wouldn't be here today, as I was assistant pastor of our church.

 

Days later in the Province of La Rioja, two diocesan priests were assassinated on 18th July, and the bishop Enrique Angelelli was "accidented" (assassinated under the guise of an accident) days later on 4th of August, on his way back carrying the documented proof of the assassination of these priests by federal police…

 

Yes, those were traumatic times, a frightening cross to bear.

 

Conclusion:

 

As I look back on the many close calls in my life, I have certainly been made aware of the end times on earth converging on my personal life. I have also learned some important lessons; to be careful, and not be foolish when dealing with nature. At the same time, I have learned to go about things that can be dangerous, but which are worth it, if it means being at the service of God's Reign. I am prepared for the year, month, day and time that the Lord finally says it is time for me to go. I am ready to move on to eternity, whenever He wants me to go. Meanwhile, I will carry on serving Him and others to the best of my abilities. In fact, as I was writing my first addition of this book, we are living in the uncertainty of the COVID-19 Coronavirus pandemic. My ministry carries on though, through writing, and through the Internet! Even, though the pandemic as such is no longer in effect, as mobility in my body becomes more limited, ministering sitting down has wide possibilities, either writing a book, uploading spiritual aids to the Internet and composing religious songs.

 

 

PART II

 

INDEX

 

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