Inside
NCR
Tributes unpaid at lifes sudden end
On Aug. 18, one of the biggest hearts I have ever
known stopped for good.
For years Harry James Cargas phoned me regularly. Always on
NCRs dime, the cheapskate. The conversation would be heavily
larded with mutual insults. Male putdown humor, somebody here called it. Now
there will be no more insults. I will miss them.
He sent me his resume, as it turned out just in time for his
death. He wanted the record straight because I kept threatening to write
something about him. What I had in mind was to use him as a subject for our
occasional feature Illuminations. You would search far to find a
more suitable subject. I didnt tell him that, though. I was waiting, as
usual, to have the last word.
Let me know if and when, his letter said. As usual, in
jest, he signed it Anonymous. But I put the visit off as spring passed into
summer. Carpe diem is a fine idea that often remains only that, leaving
regret in its wake. I never seized the day.
Harrys was not an average life. He was born in Michigan, I
would have written, but most of his life was lived in St. Louis where, among
other things, he taught at Webster University for 25 years. He wrote 32 books
and countless articles, many for NCR. I rejected some of his stuff, did
him no special favors. He would complain of course, give me hell. His writing
was all over the place. He had opinions on everything. NCR couldnt
keep up with all of them.
At the heart of his lifes work was the Holocaust and what it
did to the world, the Jews, the Catholic church. Most of his books were about
this. He took on his big shoulders the Catholic burden borne too cautiously, he
believed, during the evil Hitler years. Much of Christianitys soul
died at Auschwitz, he once said. His Shadows of Auschwitz: A Christian
Response to the Holocaust is a searing account of that tragedy and the too
discreet response of the church.
He wrote in the introduction: The reasons for my own
personal conversion from one Christian church to Roman Catholicism at age 19
are not important. The act of commitment is decisive, however. I wished to
share then, as I do now, in the many and great glories of that institution. I
think it proper to say that I was obsessed with becoming as good a Christian as
I could. Then he stumbled on the enigma caused by the Holocaust. A
post-Auschwitz Catholic, he called himself.
Other Cargas books ranged from Exploring Your Inner Self to
Religious Experience and Process Theology to English as a Second
Language. And more.
I feel him looking over my shoulder, ready with ridicule. Harry
saying, Youd better get it right. He was only 66 when he died
of a brain hemorrhage, that seems safe to say. He is survived by his wife,
Millie, six children and several grandchildren. His life was a gift. I
couldnt bring myself to say that to him when he was alive, even when he
grew more ill.
Tell them about my 25 years on the radio, I can hear
him agitate. One can only imagine the dust he stirred up. For a long time, he
did sports on the radio, too. Worse yet, he was athletic director at Webster
University for years. If he were here, Id remind him how pathetic the
Webster program must have been. He once sent me a profile done with a local
columnist, very witty, in which, as I recall, he confessed that the highlight
of Webster games was the meal shared afterward with opposing -- and usually
winning -- teams.
An Illuminations column might have mentioned how he
traveled the world as a speaker. He visited 38 nations -- he put that in his
résumé -- for every reason under the sun, no doubt. He just
wanted to fix the world and set every head straight. And laugh. Harry and I
would laugh like fools on the phone even though the world wasnt yet fully
fixed.
Id tell, too, about the 5,000 trees planted near Jerusalem
in the Harry James Cargas Parkland. Id tell about the 16-part TV series
he produced about the Holocaust. Id tell how he was always working on
half- a-dozen projects. One always felt it would be indecent of God to take him
before the work was done. And until now God obliged.
I met Harry Cargas only once. For an hour at lunch. We talked
about serious stuff, laughed less than on the phone.
When you get settled, Harry, call me.
-- Michael Farrell
National Catholic Reporter, September 4,
1998
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