Jean
Lenz, OSF, '67 M.Th., '98 Ph.D.
(Ed note: What follows is an excerpt from Loyal
Sons and Daughters: A Notre Dame Memoir, published this fall
by Rowman & Littlefield Publishers Inc.)
“Don’t get me wrong, we’re happy to have women
on campus and living in Farley Hall,” Father Jerry Wilson,
CSC, vice president for business affairs, assured me, “but
of course everyone has their fingers crossed as to how it will
all turn out.” I had no comeback. I was too new to know
when to cross my fingers about anything. I had all I could do
to listen carefully as he took me on my first official tour of
Farley Hall.
Father Jerry came across as a very competent and delightful
man, but I could tell he was a bit unnerved with the thought of
parents arriving on the scene within hours. He had concerns they
might be upset with the rather meager furnishings added to this
former male residence hall, including large, awkward, plywood
wardrobes designed and constructed in the Notre Dame carpentry
shop; white cottage curtains for the bottom half of windows; and
new plumbing fixtures to replace the urinals. Hallways were not
repainted, nor was new carpeting laid for this historic occasion.
University finances would not allow it. “Best you stay close
to the parents and let them know you’re here for their daughters,”
he strongly hinted at every turn in the hallways, as though I
could make all the difference for whatever else was missing or
proved to be an obstacle. I felt the weight of his expectations
down to my toes.
Once women arrived on campus, Father Jim Shilts, CSC, the previous
Farley rector, came by the hall almost every evening that first
week of classes, “just to see how things were progressing.”
He taught me the layout of the hall: the basement space, tunnel
area, closets, route to the roof, fire alarm, chapel area, sacristy
and all I needed to know about supplies. There was no end. There
were hiding places everywhere, which to his surprise were still
filled with traces of a man’s world, including oversized
winter auto tires, a few big bikes, heavy grills and a collection
of electrical tools, enough to build a home.
One evening, as Father Jim entered by the south entrance, he
noticed what looked like a long “rip” in the carpeting.
I immediately assured him that the carpet was not torn but just
“pressed down.” I explained that the trail led to
room 133, where I discovered two residents who had become the
proud owners of a very large upright piano purchased that day
from “Piano Pete.” It took eight of their male friends
to accomplish the move-in. After a nervous pause, I inquired of
Father Jim if students were permitted to have pianos in their
rooms. He patted my arm and said, “Just be glad it was a
piano; I came home one evening to find Farley men trying to get
a horse in the elevator. You can handle a piano, Jean.”
From my earliest days at Notre Dame, I began to court a deep
hunch in my heart that someone had laid a great inheritance of
ministry at my feet. It seemed to get handed on in great part
by much storytelling from one generation of graduates to the next:
from fathers to sons and grandsons and great grandsons. Now daughters
would begin to add their heritage.
During a Morris Inn reception for new women faculty and staff,
Provost James T. Burtchaell, CSC, took me aside for special instruction.
He told me he was sure that I would make it at Notre Dame if I
did two things. He asked if I knew how to change fuses. I didn’t.
He proceeded to distinguish between circuit breakers and screw-type
fuses and then commissioned me to track down all the fuse boxes
in the basement, on all the floors, and in all wings of Farley,
immediately. His second directive was short and to the point.
“Never miss a meal; you will need all the energy you can
muster.” I was a bit puzzled and probably frowned, but as
time went on, his wisdom won out as I learned to translate his
directives into their deeper meanings:Stay practical and use your
common sense. I passed his words on to every staff I trained.
Through my first weeks of rectoring, Farley turned into “home”
in spite of me and my newness as I slowly grew more realistically
aware that hall ministry was definitely going to be a 24-hour
way of life — with all the trimmings.
Farley Hall was never in want of drama. From the moment students
settled in each fall with their “stuff,” including
all their gifts and talents, stories unfolded. Before homesickness
became a memory, something remarkable happened to the freshmen.
In high school most had been known for their brains, but here
everyone was smart. And all of a sudden they encountered new acquaintances
wanting to know them for who they were, with no grades showing.
New worlds appeared on their horizons, and the freshmen started
discovering brand new pieces of themselves — and recognizing
the wonders in others. As one coed put it, “I felt as though
I was being turned inside out.”
Without a doubt, it is in the area of relationships that Notre
Dame students grow up and deep at dizzying rates. Eighty-five
percent of my rectoring time was spent talking to students about
roommate problems, romances and friendship. I also gave great
doses of conversational energy to stressful relationships involving
parents, professors, and on occasion, an administrator or two.
While there were times when I felt “pickled” in such
late adolescent struggles, most of the time I viewed it as having
a front-row seat at an award-winning Broadway drama.
I certainly refereed my share of shouting matches between roommates
who, having left their private rooms behind at home, had to learn
to talk over such things as whose turn it was to clean up the
daily mess in the room. Everyday life had a way of getting terribly
tangled — with, of all people, their peers. After hours
or even days of not speaking to each other, they would finally
take time to reflect on some basic approaches to successful roommate
relations. Best of all, these struggles were often the beginning
of lasting friendships. I’ve watched a parade of Farley
women walk into each other’s lives for a lifetime.
