Proud Fordham Alumnus – RIP Pat Francis

I have never gone to an official alumnae gathering of any of the schools I have attended, even for those few I have graduated from. All of them wonderful schools. It’s me.

To loosely quote Groucho Marx, I would never want to belong to any club that would have me as a member. https://quoteinvestigator.com/2011/04/18/groucho-resigns/

I Don’t Want to Belong to Any Club That Will Accept Me as a Member

I think that my reticence stems in equal parts from the deeply ingrained Irish, “don’t get above yourself” mentality, combined with a life-long, chronic, debilitating dose of “the imposter syndrome.”

So when the email from Fordham University Alumnae Association arrived in my in box, I wasn’t going to even consider it. I mean, after all, I left the Undergrad under a cloud in the Spring of 76.

Parts of Finding Jimmy Moran are (completely) fictionalized versions of completely contrived events that I completely made up in my deranged mind about a time at a college that was also based in the Bronx.

But I do have a long family history with Fordham.

I have a lot of friends who went to Fordham Prep, which sits on one of the bucolic acres of the University’s Rose Hill Campus in the Bronx.

My younger brothers went to the Prep. So did my oldest son, Luke. And a number of my nephews.

I did my part of student teaching requirements at the Prep (when I went back to college at Lehman and was minoring in Education), and when I boxed for the then start-up Fordham University Club, I trained with Mickey Maguire at the Prep.

Three of the four male McCaffrey siblings in my generation started at Fordham University, and one, the youngest, John (the nicest one of us) actually graduated from there.

Throughout the 70s and 80s, my mother worked for The Jesuits of Fordham on the Rose Hill Campus. She was very close to her Jesuits, and a number of them graced our family weekend table over the years (as guest, not meals). Father Charles Taylor was a regular. Loved him.

My mom’s claim to family fame at Fordham was that she had to make a copy of the actual Exorcism file that was the (greatly altered) basis for the story that made the novel and movie so damn terrifying, even today. Just watched it again last weekend.

And I did some of the best partying of my young life as a member of the Pre-Weekend Warm-Up Club (“PWWIC”) during my time as a Fordham student in the dorms of the Rose Hill Campus. We even did midnight forays into the labyrinthian tunnel system that runs beneath it. We also pied people.

PSA – Kids, do not drink in college and, if you accidently imbibe because some ne’er-do-well slipped you a mickey (look it up), never trespass in dangerous tunnels (or pie people). Also don’t join in with other drunk students and try to trigger the campus seismograph. But do go to Little Italy on Arthur Avenue for the best meals in the Bronx and White Castle’s Murder Burgers work wonders to prevent hangovers.

But even though I never graduated from the Undergrad, I had my wild card that allowed me access to FU Alumnae status. I had graduated from the illustrious Fordham University School of Law in 1984 (I know, you can’t make that shit up.)

So I typed in the coordinates and drove and hour plus South into downtown Denver.

The Welton Room is a very nice place. The interior is well appointed, and the staff and food are exceptional.

I was one of the early arrivals and was greeted by the Chapter President – Alicia Nieva-Woodgate, FCRH ’89 (and her extremely nice and congenial husband, who was Cal-Berkley Grad). Alicia was welcoming, energetic and charming, and shared some wonderful stories of her early life in NYC, which included a friendship with Michael Alig during the heyday of Manhattan club life.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michael_Alig

She was wonderful. You could not ask for a better representative of Fordham University. She loves FU with all of her being.

Two other young undergrad alums then arrived and two other young Law School grads also appeared. I apologize profusely for not remembering your names (I am old) but I will revise this blog to include them when Alicia sends me a copy of the group photo.

The eighth of our number was a 1974 graduate of Fordham Law (finally someone older than me) whose name I recall – Charles Goldberg – only because we have exchanged texts.

Charles is a converted Catholic, and has stepped up his game to put his money where his soul is – he is a Deacon in Mother Church. A truly good man.

I spent most of the evening in deep conversation with Charles about the meaning of God and the performance of ministry. It was amazing. Charles is one of the most humble and innately holy men I have ever met. Equal parts St. Augustine, St. Francis and St. Jude. And he was brilliant. He alone was worth the price of admission.

Charles has surely now joined the increasingly long line of devout Catholics – beginning with my mother and most recently Pete Sheridan – who will regularly pray for my soul until, like the Penitent Thief on that hill at Calvary, I perform a death bed conversion – Luke 23:39-43. While I refuse to rule out any possibility, I hope this doesn’t first require my crucifixion.

I then spent some time having a great conversation with a couple of young lawyers – one of whom also worked at Cahill Gordon, but in this century. If these younger folk are any barometer of the quality of the legal profession and the remains of humanity, there is still hope for this world.

Anyway, the two hours of delightful conversation passed quickly, and before I knew it I was back in my Toyota and hurtling north up I25, home to the mystical enclave of Casa Claire, but not before we snapped this group photo.

Before I had left for the Fordham soiree yesterday evening. I received a call from my dear friend (and #1 fan) Tina Piras (absolutely love Tina, and put up with her very funny husband, and equally dear friend, Franco – who after many decades in the US still maintains his thick Roman accent and sounds like Topo Gigio), informing me that her brother, Pat Francis, had crossed the veil after a long battle with cancer.

Pat was my dear friend who had kept my dreams of writing alive during my tenure as an attorney by staging and directing a one-act play I had won an award for in University, first at the Village Gate in 1993, and later in The Actors Theatre on the upper West Side of Manhattan. Those were magical times.

Pat loved the theatre above all else. It was infectious.

He held annual Oscar parties.

Pat was one of the first openly gay men I had ever met. He and his husband, Michael, were wonderful friends, great hosts of interesting costume parties (for flavor consider the the earlier Michael Alig reference) and just fun to be around.

They had this great huge dog, who loved to swim in their pool.

My condolences to Michael, Tina and the Francis & Piras families.

Pat kept me believing in myself as a writer by allowing me to watch the live audiences openly respond to my work, Revelations (a trans love story written in 1979 – talk about being ahead the social curve) in real time. That is the real juice. I had written the play in response to my sister coming out to me as a lesbian a few years earlier. I’m desperately trying to track down copies of the video recording of those performances.

Anyway, Pat and I had stayed in touch over the years, as recently as September. He was always promising to restage Revelations. He never grumbled about his health. He was a trooper to the end.

During last night’s gathering, Pat made his presence felt when, during a conversation with the young attorney from Cahill, he asked me out of the blue “what do you think about writing for theater?”

I then went on to tell him about my play and the feeling watching its performance gave me in real time.

I felt that passion all over again. Right there among my Fordham brethren.

That was Pat letting me know he was passing through. Loved a dramatic entrance.

Thanks Pat. Can’t wait to learn of the productions you put on in Heaven. But please deliver the news through visitations here, I’ve got miles to go before I sleep.

As I told you many times when you were still here, you have a perpetual license to stage and direct Revelations royalty free. Looking forward to rave reviews.

And now we get to test the true legal definition of perpetual.

Well, given that time on this plain is far more limited – until you start slipping like I did the other day – it is now time for me to start my real day.

But first, a kitty cuddle and my rounds.

You fine, five readers take solace in the fact that it is Friday.

A truly magical day. As soon as the bosses blink, start your weekends.

But whatever you do, make today a great one.