nsw, Australia
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Eulogy for Br. Paul Anthony Leary cfc
“Hello, wall! Good morning, wall! Did you hear the response? Well, that’s the kind of response I get from some of you when I greet you as you enter the school grounds each morning. I may as well be speaking to the wall!” That was the start and finish of one of Paul’s school assemblies. He got the attention of the boys and they got the message.
By any measure, you would have to say that Paul Leary was an extraordinary human being. After meeting him for the first time, you could be excused for thinking that he was full of bluster. Bluster and bluff were a smokescreen. Deep down, Paul was as soft as butter and generous to a fault. However, what endeared him to all of us who got to know him was his total honesty. No matter whether you were a prince or a pauper, Paul said it to you as it was. He did not pussyfoot around anybody or anything. He gave you his considered opinion whether you wanted it or not, and the manner in which he delivered it left you in no doubt about the message he was conveying. What’s more, political correctness was not a hallmark of his utterances.
Paul grew up here in Strathfield, attended this College as a boy, learned his values from his parents and was proud of his bother John and sister Mary. When he received the habit of the Christian Brothers he took the religious name of Vincent, after his father. He spent 50 years as a Christian Brother, but refused to celebrate his jubilee. In his matter of fact way, he simply said: “Jubilees are just a consequence of living long enough.” Forty-three of those fifty years were spent in classrooms in QLD, briefly, but for the most part in NSW. Twenty-six of those forty-three were as school principal in Kempsey, Sutherland, Chatswood and Waverley. In the process, he endeared himself to generations of students and their parents. Staff, too, despite the way he challenged them, came to realise that he valued them and the contribution they made to the lives of the students.
Before he joined the Brothers, Paul worked for a short time as a bank clerk. Here he learned the rudiments of how to manage money. His father Vince was an accountant by profession. And Paul learned something about money management from him too. As a consequence, he came to be a very astute steward of the financial affairs of the schools he led. Whenever he moved on, he ensured that his successor would not have to deal with debts and overdrafts. He himself did not always inherit the kind of financial stability that he bequeathed to others. But he worked tirelessly to get the schools he led into the black.
He was an excellent classroom practitioner because he had an extraordinary understanding of how young people thought and acted. He realized that their attention span was fairly short, so talk was not a major part of his lessons and assemblies. He was very creative, an excellent actor and thorough in his preparation. What he taught, stayed taught. He was well-qualified with a Teacher’s Certificate, a Master’s in Educational leadership and another in Religious Education.
His greatest strength however was the manner in which he worked with students. He had an extraordinary capacity for remembering names. He made sure that he was at the school entrance every morning to greet students as they arrived and he could be found every afternoon on the bus lines talking with students as they set off home.
Two of Paul’s great gifts were candour and honesty. You did not have to spend time trying to guess what he was thinking. He told you exactly what was in his mind. This of course, did not always win the approval of those in authority. His novice master found Paul to be quite a challenge and it was not because Paul set out to be difficult. The novice master fancied himself as a counsellor. And Paul had no desire to be gratuitously counselled. Paul was asked if he had any problems. “No, Sir” , was the prompt and audible reply. “Are you sure, Br. Vincent? You know you can always discuss them with me.”, insisted the Novice Master. “None that I’m aware of, Sir. And if I did have any, I’d be discussing them with Fr. Bede, the chaplain. He told me that I could ring him any time I needed to.” End of conversation, but not the best way to get the novice master’s approval.. However, not the end of the story. When the first year of the novitiate was drawing to a close, Paul was summoned to Strathfield to meet with the Provincial, Br. Dominic Healy who had been told that Paul was difficult and insubordinate.
“Brother dear,” said Dominic, (Dominic called everyone “Brother dear” because he didn’t know their names) “the novice master tells me that you are insubordinate and cannot be recommended for vows. What do you have to say for yourself?” “All I did was tell him the truth, Sir. Just as I’m telling you the truth.” End of interview. I don’t think any brother, before or since had ever spoken so forthrightly to Dominic Healy. By contrast, Paul got along extremely well with his second year novice master, Paul Macrossan and they remained life-long friends.
One of Paul Leary’s other great characteristics was his simplicity. While in many respects he was a shrewd operator as a school leader, he was also, in other respects, without guile. You could pull his leg.
The St. Patrick’s College boys were not always the angels they are now. On one occasion after the HSC exams were over, some rowdy, intoxicated, recent ex-students gathered on the footpath outside the brothers residence and started up a chant “Leary is a ...” (I’ll leave you to complete to sentence) Paul slept through the commotion, but Br. Michael Walsh heard it all. And he relayed the incident with some degree of embellishment at breakfast the next morning. “What did you say to them?” demanded Paul. “Not a word”, said Mick, “after all, Paul, it was you they were talking about! And for all I know, they might have been right!”
Good school leader though he was, Paul loathed Board meetings. For him, attending a board meeting was akin to having a tooth extracted. Somehow, he came to the conclusion that school boards were there to add to the problems that were already inherent in running a school. He believed they interfered with management and were too inquisitive. For whatever reason, Boards threatened him and he was inclined to regard them as necessary evils, part of the trials that were the lot of a school principal.
Paul’s great strengths were his personal integrity, his candour and his honesty. One didn’t have to wait long for him to express his views in a meeting. He just couldn’t tolerate empty rhetoric or posturing in others. He was blessed with an in-built crap-detector and refused to sit idly by and listen to what he considered to be interminable waffle. Predictably, he would explode once his tolerance level was exceeded. His contribution would then be forceful, to the point, uncomplicated and rarely wide of the mark.
On one occasion during a meeting of school principals, there was a lengthy discussion about the distinguishing marks of a Catholic school in the Edmund Rice tradition. It got too much for Paul, and he exploded with a comment that amused all present and became a cause of subsequent ribbing: “For crying out loud, Edmund Rice and Jesus Christ have had their day.”
School Assemblies were certainly one of his strengths. Acting was in his DNA. He was a skillful ventriloquist in his earlier years and used puppets to great effect in primary and junior secondary classes. However, he knew that boys were not exactly partial to lengthy dissertations from the principal. So what he had to say was always brief and apposite.
On one occasion at Waverley College he presented his segment of the school assembly without uttering a word. He mimed his message, and did it so well that the 1100 boys in front of him gave him a resounding ovation. On another occasion in Sutherland, he was just commencing an outdoor assembly, when some yobbos in the units overlooking the school grounds began to heckle him. He merely said; “Just ignore those fools behind you, and listen to the one up here.”
While he loathed Board meetings, he was always faithful in attending Parents and Friends meetings. Though these too, sometimes got a little too much for him. At Chatswood, there was a move by some parents for changes to the boys’ summer uniform. The exchanges among the parents went on for some time. Some of the mothers present had daughters at Monte Saint Angelo College in North Sydney. So with increasing frequency, Paul heard: “At Monte they do this and at Monte they do that.” Paul finally exploded with: “If I hear Monte once more, I’ll give you all the full bloody monty.” While that defused the tension, the P&F might have been wiser to persist. They would have raised thousands from the admission fees.
He was never one for lengthy phone conversations. Fellow principals knew that they were always welcome to call him for advice or to discuss issues. As in every other situation, what he had to say was brief and to the point. On one occasion at the morning tea break during a Christian Brothers Principals meeting, he was joined by the Principal of St. Edmund’s College Canberra. Only the day before that particular Principal had been on the front page of the Canberra Times for suspending the whole of the Year 12 class from school because some few of them had trashed their common room. Paul’s greeting to his morning tea companion was: “Col, did you have a brain explosion, yesterday?”
On his very first day as Principal of Waverley College, Paul addressed the staff. When he had finished, they all broke for morning tea. Paul headed for the quadrangle where he could have a cigarette. (The College had yet to be declared a smoke-free zone.) One of the teachers followed him out to put a request: “Brother”, he said, “See these soft-drink dispensers around the quadrangle? These were the last things Br. Wallace installed before he finished. In my experience, when boys get soft drink into them, they become hyper-active and difficult in the classroom. Do you think these drink-machines could be removed before the boys get here tomorrow?” Paul took a deep draw on his cigarette and replied: “See these pavers we’re standing on? They’re pink. And I hate pink! Do you think I’m going to have the bloody things ripped up?” “No, Brother”, the teacher replied meekly. “Well, there’s your answer.” As the poor man headed for the safety of the staff-room, Paul called to him: “By the way, do you have a death wish?”
Yet this was the man who could say to a distraught staff member whose young daughter was gravely ill: “Well, you qualify for three months leave to look after her. And here’s $10,000 dollars to pay the bills. Pay it back when you can. Now go home and look after your family.”
During his time at Sutherland, he certainly endeared himself to the student body, so it was with a little apprehension that I went across to see if he might be open to a transfer to Chatswood to take on the principalship there. “Paul”, I said, “What would you think if I were to ask you to go to Chatswood as boss of the school next year?” “I’ll go wherever you want me to go”, was his immediate response. When I said that the staff and students would miss him he simply said: “The staff will probably be relieved and all the kids will say is: “Who’s coming?”
Incidentally, he admired kids who had what he referred to as “spunk”. At Chatswood, he had a confrontation with a fired-up student. Something the boy said particularly riled Paul whose response was to take a step closer: “You touch me”, said the boy, “and I’ll have you up for assault.” “No you won’t, it’ll be homicide!” And simultaneously they realized the futility of the exchange and got the giggles. That was the start of a firm friendship.
On another occasion in Kempsey, two of the year ten girls approached him and asked to be excused from participating in the swimming carnival later the same day. “Why” asked Paul? “What’s the difficulty?” “Well, you see, Brother. It’s that time of the month.” “I understand” said Paul. “You’re excused from swimming but you’re still expected to be there.” A week or two later, they approached him again. “Brother, can we be excused from swimming today?” “Why, what’s the problem? “Well, you know, Brother. It’s that time of the month.” Paul retrieved his diary from his pocket, opened it, flicked back a few pages and said: “Well, I think we have a miracle. You gave me this excuse just 11 days ago. Look I recorded your names and the date. Don’t try that one on me again.”
Paul, by nature, was a braces and belt man. Everything was thoroughly organized. He had typed up lists of what to pack for a Principals Conference, what to take on retreat and what to take on holidays. His bag was packed several days in advance, and he set out precisely at the agreed time. In both his office and bedroom, everything was kept in meticulous order. There was a place for everything, and everything was in its place. Once, when he was going with the Waverley band to China, departure time was fixed for 3.00 a.m. Paul set three alarm clocks, woke up before they rang and left them to wake the rest of us. If he were driving, he would set the departure time and drive off leaving late-comers to fend for themselves. One Saturday afternoon he bumped into the PP of Sutherland, Fr Laurie Cruickshank: “What time is 6.00 p.m. mass tonight, Laurie?” “Well that’s a stupid question, Paul, if ever I’ve heard one?” “No it isn’t, Laurie. I’ve been here 5 years and you haven’t been on time once yet!” “Put up the ducks and I’ll shoot them” was one of his favourite sayings.
Sometimes, when Paul got excited in community, one or other of us would say: “Gee, Paul, you’ll be difficult when you’re eighty.” “I can give you a guarantee that I won’t get to eighty. But if I do, do me a favour and hit me on the head with a mallet. No, I aim to go out like a light.” “Well, at least you can tell us what hymns you’d like.” “Hymns won’t worry me in the least. Have whatever you like, I won’t be there to put up with them.”
Well, Paul. You were right on many things, but wrong on this last. You did go out like a light but far too early from our perspective. But you are here, present in all of us on whom you have left your indelible mark. We come to thank God for you and for the gift God has given us in you. May you be at peace in the embrace of that God whom you served so generously and so well. Welcome home, Paul. Be at peace in the arms of your God.
