It was 1997 and my brother's first Christmas home after the fall
of his freshmen year at Notre Dame. Our family was in church,
although it was not our parish but one that we went to sometimes
because the priest is an old friend of ours. At the end of Mass
we began the slow shuffle out of the church when my brother noticed
an older gentleman with a weathered blue coat bearing a tiny N,
overlapped by an equally tiny D, too small for the hurried passerby
to notice, yet just large enough for a Domer.
"Excuse me, did you go to Notre Dame?" Don asked the gentleman.
"Actually I did, I was part of the Leahy era and lived in Dillon
Hall."
"I'm sorry to hear that. I live in Alumni." Don replied.
Though the conversation consisted of little more than an exchange
of names and quick-witted shots at the rivals' residence, a bond
had been formed. Thinking little of the encounter, Don returned
to Notre Dame in the spring and continued to enjoy his experience
there. Some weeks later he received a letter in the mail; it was
addressed simply to Don Pierce, Alumni Hall. The letter from Mitch
Pieronek '48 revealed that he lived only three blocks from our
home in Grosse Point, Michigan. Mitch told Don he visiting South
Bend in a few weeks and asked him to join him for dinner. Don
accepted, and thus began a long stretch of dinners and desserts,
even a beer or two, between the two men either at home in Michigan
or in South Bend.
The following fall, when I was applying to Notre Dame, Mitch
offered to let me use his typewriter. He felt that the Admissions
Office always preferred students who took a little extra care.
Over the course of a few weeks, Mitch and I put down on the application
all of the qualities we thought might make me attractive to Notre
Dame. Although I was unsettled about my chances, Mitch was always
encouraging, always confident that I "had what it takes" or "fit
the description of a Notre Dame man." Thanks to Mitch and his
typewriter, I made it.
In similar crossroads in my life or whenever I had to make a
difficult decision, I sought Mitch's guidance. I often joked with
him about having some pull "up there" because whenever I asked
him to pray for me about something, it always turned out all right.
In other situations in which I wonder what I should do, I think
of Mitch, the most venerable person I have ever known, and ask
myself, "What would Mitch do in this situation?" The relationship
my brother and I had with Mitch Pieronek was irreplaceable. We
had no remaining grandparents, and he filled the void more plentifully
than what I would expect from four.
One day in the fall of 2001, I had "a moment" with Mitch that
will stick with me for the rest of my life. During a dinner with
Mitch, who was a walking collection of aphorisms, he would often
unearth one or more pearls of wisdom that I worked hard to remember
so I could copy them down later. This encounter with Mitch was
different though; it was not what he said, but what he did not
say.
It was a Thursday evening of a home football game, and our beloved
band was practicing in the distance as Mitch and I were walking
across the stadium lots to his car. Suddenly, the alma mater,
"Notre Dame, Our Mother," came on. Mitch, this man whom I respected
so much and who had seen so much turbulence in the way of wars
and losses of loved ones and such, broke down and began to cry.
It was not the tears of physical discomfort or of horrible news;
it was a kind of respectful crying, one that symbolized in one
moment Mitch's lifelong love and union with this university, and
his gratitude for it. As any member of The Greatest Generation
would, Mitch quickly composed himself and said simply, "I'm sorry.
It gets me every time."
Sadly, Mitch passed away on Christmas morning 2002. He died
one semester before I graduated, though his thoughtfulness did
not prevent him from commemorating the achievement. The beautiful
bronze plaque on display in my house bearing the University's
crest and my name had been ordered by Mitch almost two years prior
to my graduation.
To me, Mitch is Notre Dame. He was everything great that this
university encompasses, and he was everything that Domers would
want their university to represent: faith, optimism, morality,
fairness, honor in both victory and defeat. He truly appreciated
all that he was given by coming here. Notre Dame had shaped his
life, a life of family, friendships, generosity and dignity. I
only hope that we do not take this gift for granted.
Tom Pierce can be reached at tpierce@forimpact.org or
tpierce@alumni.nd.edu.
(July 2005)
