Tributes

John G.

I first met Fr. Lloyd when I joined his NY Courage group weekly meeting in 2010. I quickly came to admire him and see him as someone I wanted to get to know better and hopefully learn a lot from; but I thought to myself how unfortunate that I’m meeting him so late in life (his - he was already 89) and that I wouldn’t have much time with him. So I rarely missed a meeting and hung on to every word he spoke. I became more and more impressed with him as a priest and human being. I knew I had come across a very holy man and a brilliant thinker, and I tried to take in as much of his wisdom as possible. We had some built-in social gatherings that I also took advantage of and especially enjoyed Fr. Lloyd’s friendly and positive disposition. He simply enjoyed everything - whether it was sharing a meal or discussing matters of the Church or current affairs in US politics. He was always joyful and optimistic. I hoped to absorb some of his enthusiasm for life - something I felt lacking in myself. But mostly he was easy to get close to - warm and kind, and generally a pleasure to be around. Eventually I came to see him not only as a spiritual father but a loving father in many ways, a presence I had been missing in my life.

He was a trained psychologist as well as a gifted spiritual counselor, and after a few years I asked if I could see him in his rectory office for a short talk. This turned into almost weekly visits usually for an hour or so on a Sunday afternoon when the Sisters who worked at his rectory and prepared their meals generally had the afternoon off, so we got in the habit of going to dinner at the Flame diner around the corner. I’m sure he had many others he could have spent this time with, but to my amazement he seemed to also enjoy our talks (whether in his office or at the diner). He was a great conversationalist - I think the greatest I’ve known! This was such a rich time in my life with a brilliant spiritual counselor who seemed to know me as well as, or better than I did. And then a dinner companion who had so many interesting things to talk about including the old New York of his youth - a subject I’d become very interested in myself. (I’d been kicking myself for never really asking my parents much about their youths in old NY - they were both born around the time Fr. Lloyd was, and grew up in 1920s-1930s NY like he did - when NY was teeming with people and life, and seemed to be at the center of the world. Well, now I had Fr. Lloyd who was perfectly willing and happy to answer any questions or talk about interesting aspects of life back then. And I couldn’t have asked for a better or more natural storyteller - he made his 1930s neighborhood come alive in living color!

I can see I’m going way off track and not keeping to the object of this exercise which was intended to be a ‘short‘ piece with few of my memories of Fr. Lloyd. This is the first time I’ve tried to write anything about Father since his death a year ago - it always seemed too monumental a task..
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I think I’ll pick something Fr. Lloyd said to me on many occasions throughout the 14 years I knew him. First a little background… As New Yorkers our mobility is especially important to us since we walk everywhere. I learned from Fr. Lloyd how much there is to be thankful for even after that mobility becomes limited.

When he was able to walk as far as Central Park, he would tell me how he used to walk all the way to the East Side to visit a relative and sometimes eat with her at famous Neary’s - a classy institution of Irish cuisine (I was once denied entry there for wearing shorts on a hot summer day, but when they saw Fr. Lloyd they offered me the chef’s pants to put on over my shorts - which I happily did because Father had wanted to eat there and therefore so did I).

But to continue the point, when he could no longer go farther he appreciated the fact that his beloved Central Park was only a long NY city block and a half away. We would sit on a park bench and he'd say, ‘It’s good to get out!’

Later, when he was only comfortable going as far as the campus of Fordham/Lincoln Center at 9th Ave & 60th (a couple of short blocks away). We would take the elevator up to a surprisingly serene and park-like setting one level above the street and he would appreciate the trees and greenery. The first time we were sitting there talking, he announced ‘this is just about where I grew up - this is where 61st St used to be’ and this was the approximate spot between Columbus (8th) and Amsterdam (9th) where his family’s humble tenement had stood. It, along with the several adjourning blocks, had been bulldozed in the 50s to make way for Lincoln Center and Fordham’s new Manhattan campus, and his parents relocated to a fairly nice, working/middle-class modern brick apartment building a couple blocks away. He was already a priest at that time with many assignments ranging from a several year mission in Apartheid South Africa to leading a seminary in Maryland and later a psychology department at a Westchester (NY) Catholic college. There was much, much more, including a weekly TV interview show, but...getting back to the point, he appreciated and was grateful for *everything* - in this case, for being able to relax in the pleasant surroundings of that park-like setting which happened to be located exactly one level above his former street where he played stickball as a kid.

When he was no longer up to going as far as Fordham, we would just walk to the diner (he with his walker with a short stop or sometimes two to rest a minute along the way) but still he would say at some point, ‘It feels good to get out!’ Our conversations at the diner were always interesting and engaging. Sometimes one or two others from the group would join us and that was great too.

It was around that time that we started thinking about a scooter for Father. It was our hope that it might bring back the days when he could feel comfortable going as far as Central Park again. Well, he got the scooter but he did not feel secure enough on it to go too far. We were able to get back to Lincoln Center (because that was a nice smooth uncrowded trip), but not farther than that. But he was happy and grateful for any outing, even if only to the diner.

Occasionally he would host a dinner for 4 or 5 of us at the fine Italian restaurant that moved into the spot next to the diner. He loved that - being surrounded by his ‘disciples‘ (my word), entertaining us with stories and just enjoying a great meal while always expressing gratitude to God for our bounty in this life. Wherever he was, he was joyful and grateful to be there, and because of him we were too.

In the final year or so he would only make it as far as the sidewalk in front of the parish office on 59th St (next to the rectory) on his scooter where he would park and read, listen to the radio or a podcast, or just relax and watch the world go by. He would engage with people he knew from the neighborhood or priests coming to and from the rectory. I would often join him there and have great conversations with him at 101 and 102, and sometimes I’d get sandwiches from the diner to eat, he on his scooter and I on a ledge of concrete next to the parish office. From that spot he would look up at a single tree across the street - the only one in his line of sight from that spot - and he would reflect on its beauty and observe it as it changed with the seasons. And he was grateful he could see it from that vantage point. 

From a couple of decades earlier walking all over Manhattan and swimming laps regularly at a pool, to getting a block or less into Central Park, to now - just the pavement outside the parish center on 59th St with a view of a single tree - he was *always* grateful. He would say the same line with the same enthusiasm, ‘It’s good to get out!’ He lived his teaching of joyful gratitude to God. It stood him well ..all the way to 103 (despite a bad heart and diabetes).

As he would say, ‘Not bad!’