Exerpts from Conversations with Richard Purcell:

The Adventures and Reflections of a San Francisco Renegade Priest 

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Richard Purcell was an openly gay Franciscan priest who died in 2011 of Lou Gehrig ’s disease. Although he had irreverent view of the Catholic Church, Purcell was widely known for his spiritual insights and his service to the poor. He lived as a true Franciscan, and he also garnered much of his spirituality from his two decades of work with the Tohono O'odham and the Akimel O'odham Indians in Arizona. Richard’s final years were spent in San Francisco where he ran a homeless shelter for men with AIDS.

 

Although Richard eventually became completely paralyzed, the peace and joy he exhibited throughout his illness were highly contagious. People constantly wanted to be near him, and Casslan hopes that through this book and other stories, the legacy of this remarkable man will continue to endure.
 

Richard  Purcell
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Introduction to Book

 

Marty’s Place, a homeless shelter for men with AIDS, was an aging, three-story Victorian located in San Francisco’s inner Mission District. Over the course of several years, I frequently visited this building, and it was a place where I eventually felt very much at home. It had certainly been a home to many who had come before me. It had especially been home to the collection of faces that decorated its living room mantel – the photographs of men who had died there from AIDS, well before their time.

 

The house was named after Marty Purcell, whose picture also sat on the mantel. Marty was the brother of the shelter’s founder, Father Richard Purcell, a Franciscan priest. With the help of volunteers, Father Richard had personally cared for Marty and all these men until they passed away.

 

In 2006, Richard discovered that he too was dying. He was diagnosed that year amyotrophic lateral sclerosis or ALS. Also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease, ALS is a devastating and fatal illness. Its victims gradually lose the use of all their muscles until they are entirely paralyzed. The last muscles to go are often respiratory. As these muscles deteriorate, the patient either suffocates or gets hooked up to a ventilator. Richard had ruled out the ventilator option. He insisted that he didn’t want to be kept alive on a machine, and by early 2009, he asked to be put on home hospice.

 

For as long as possible, Richard preferred to remain at Marty’s Place with the kind of people who he had lived with for over two decades – mostly gay men with AIDS. And in an ironic turn of events, these men began to care for him.

 

After Richard’s diagnosis, Aurora Dawn, the foundation which helped finance the shelter, put its work on hold. The men with HIV who lived in the Victorian, gradually moved out and found other homes. But many of these men continued to stay connected with Marty’s Place.

 

The house became a center of sorts – a place for people to gather for fellowship and support. Those of us who physically cared for Richard called ourselves "The Circle of Care." We consisted of former Marty’s Place residents, and other people whose lives Richard had touched.

 

In addition to his caregivers, an endless number of individuals came to visit Richard. People constantly wanted to spend time with him, and friends were frequently phoning from various parts of the globe. Richard reveled in this steady stream of callers. He enjoyed talking to people, and it was something he did very well. In fact, he may have survived longer and more comfortably than other ALS victims because he was able to continue his life’s vocation years after he lost his ability to do other things. His special talent was to counsel others, and so as long as he could speak and listen, he was still highly functional.

 

Richard was a man of contradictions. He had been a friar his entire adult life, and he requested that he be dressed in his Franciscan robe at his wake. At the same time, he had distanced himself from the Catholic Church. This was because he felt that its hierarchal structure had strayed too far from the teachings of Jesus and from Richard's own spiritual values.

 

In further opposition to the Church, Richard stated openly that he was gay. And he felt that for anyone – gay, straight or even priests – sex was a healthy thing. However, Richard also extolled the virtues of celibacy, which he claimed could free a person for other purposes in life, including service to others.

 

Richard was a kind and caring person who was able to see beyond people’s faults and love them unconditionally. But he was also adept at a kind of gossipy humor that took cutting swipes at others behind their backs. For instance, I heard him describe some individuals as creeps, idiots, and additional unprintable epitaphs. He usually reserved these insults for those who abused power, and at times, such persons were other clerics or members of the upper echelons of the Catholic Church.

 

Richard remained until his death, a rather good looking man. He had white hair, a goatee, an Irish grin and rascally eyes that were often on the lookout for some good natured mischief. Well into his disease, he had a muscular physique, and his right bicep revealed a faded and indecipherable tattoo. I initially wondered how a priest had ended up with a tat, and I surmised that behind the tattoo was a fascinating and probably amusing story.

 

Richard was full of stories, and I eventually decided that I wanted to write down as many of these tales as possible before he passed away. I asked him if I could record some of his thoughts as well as his biography, and much to my delight, he agreed. He also gave me his journals, which he had begun to tape after he was diagnosed with ALS. I was pleased to be part of these interviews, as they gave me an excuse to spend more time with Richard. In fact, I told him that just being at Marty’s Place lifted my spirits.

 

"Everybody says that," he replied, as if he were agreeing that it was raining outside or that it was Thursday. Richard had no doubts that the home he had created after his brother Marty’s death meant so much to so many people. That was why he created it, and he hadn’t done it alone. His energy ignited a whole community of people who were committed to the shelter’s vision.

 

Knowing Richard and being part of this community touched my life in a unique and remarkable manner. This experience gave me something that is difficult to define, but it had much to do with inner peace, hope and healing.

 

In fact, most of us who cared for Richard in his final years weren’t there for selfless reasons. We had each come to receive an incredible gift.

　

　

Praise for Conversations with Richard Purcell:

 

"Casslan’s book is a wonderful way to get to know not only Richard Purcell, but so many of the other interesting individuals who surrounded his life and passing. I first met Richard years ago, and he always impressed me as someone who lived his spirituality in a radical and cut-to-the bone manner. This is a beautifully-crafted work about a man who had much to share in the way of love, humor and inspiration." Richard Rohr, OFM, author of The Naked Now, Radical Grace, Everything Belongs and Falling Upward.

 

"Glenn Burke was a famous baseball player who died of AIDS and lived at Marty’s Place, the AIDS homeless shelter, with Richard Purcell. I met Richard while working on a film about Burke. Purcell’s charisma and character were powerful. His illness was no match for his personality. The time with Richard wasn't just helpful to the film, it was personally enlightening. I am happy to know that Richard’s legacy, especially his humor and words of wisdom, will live on in this book." Sean Madison, co-producer of Out. The Glenn Burke Story

 

"Casslan's excellent book tells the story of a fascinating and inspiring man. Purcell was a man of contradictions: Catholic, gay, charismatic Franciscan, unorthodox priest, radical, maverick, Irish American, care-giver, spiritual guide, and so much more. In these pages, I enjoyed getting to know someone who was at times exasperating, yet saintly. Richard was a true follower of St. Francis, patron of San Francisco, and friend of the poor." Donal Godfrey, SJ, author of The Gays and the Grays

Exerpt from Richard's transcribed journal.  April 1, 2010

 

 

Four times a year at the San Damiano retreat house in Danville, they host gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender folks and their family and friends.  It’s just a Talking Circle at it’s a lot of fun.  About a week ago was our most recent meeting and I was the facilitator.  We drove up the mountain and they plugged the breathing machine into the cigarette lighter in the van.

 


After they brought me into the room with a wheelchair, Rogelio wanted to put me into an easy chair. Rogelio picked me up, and he must’ve been distracted, because he forgot to hold onto my pantalones.  All the people were sitting in the circle watching this performance.  And the pants fell down.  So there I was, he was holding me, and the pants were down around my ankles.  My bare butt was hanging out and my legs, and oh what a sight!  I don’t wear underwear anymore because it’s too much trouble.  Rogelio panicked and he twisted me to throw me into the chair, and then the front end was exposed.  I laughed so hard.  If I had had pants on, I would have peed them.  Poor Rogelio.  He was so embarrassed.  The rest of us got a kick out of it, at least I did.  I guess the rest of them did – poor things, having to watch that performance.

 


On these Days of Dialogue, I always read from the book How the Wild Things Pray by William Cleary.  It’s a great book with all kinds of creatures – four leggeds and two leggeds and some with fins or wings.  And some have no legs at all like eels or snakes.  The book has a prayer and an action step for each animal. Last week we read about the fox.

 


The main emphasis of the reading was about how human types sometimes think they’re better than others.  Sometimes they elevate themselves to higher positions.  The main victims in this diatribe were the clergy and the Vatican.  The writer was talking about these high Roman collars, and silk and gold and riding around in your pope mobile and looking out over the crowd and blessing people while they cheered and screamed, “Here he is!  Here he comes!”

 

But then the character riding in the pope mobile spots in the crowd; Martin Luther King, Dorothy Day, Mother Teresa and Mahatma Gandhi... a whole line of humble, little, godlike people that nobody paid attention to.

 

The little fox tried to teach us that the lower you are on the totem pole, the more blessed you are, and the more worthy you are of admiration.  It got me thinking about the Old Testament and that famous prophet, Amos.  He started this thing about putting the priests down.  “Woe two you characters, you high priests who hang around the temple.  You think you’re such big shots, but you’re loading burdens on people’s backs that you don’t keep yourself.” I used to love the Book of Amos.

 

The New Testament is also filled with stuff like that.  Like where it says that in the Kingdom or in the Reign of God, everything is level.  It’s a level playing field.  No more big shots, no more haves and have nots.  It even says no more Jews and Gentiles, no more divisions between women and men.  No titles.  No professor, doctor, father, reverend, pastor, bishop, no registered nurse.  Maybe even no sister or brother.  We’re getting that far in our evolution.  Forget about this division of sexes.  If we really believe in the scriptures, how can we be such fanatics on some things and just completely ignore others? 

 

 

This one has been entirely ignored.  Little people use titles and those types of tactics.  Big people don’t.  I’m sure Mahatma Gandhi or Mother Teresa never said “I’m so and so or so and so...”

 

I’ve been running around with several titles.  First of all man – as opposed to woman.  Second; schooled – as opposed to unschooled.  Another is Reverend Father.  It gets me in the door of a lot of places.

 

But the best part of that Sunday meditation with foxy, was when my pants fell down.  What a wonderful example that the emperor has no clothes.  I was the emperor, because I was facilitating.  I was the facilitator.  That brought me down a peg or two.  It was a great day.

Death  (A chapter from book).


Despite what he said about St. Francis, I felt that there was still much about the saint that was very appealing to Richard.  Richard had after all spent his life living and working with the poor, although he told me that his vow of poverty didn't mean living in destitution.  "It means not clinging," he said.  "Non-attachment.  Not holding on."  This philosophy didn't just apply to material things.  It could apply to anything – principles, people, places, grudges, disappointments, and eventually, even life itself.

 


Richard had decided that his death was not going to be a mournful thing.  He joked about it and celebrated it.  He had ordered a cardboard box from a crematorium; the kind that they use to haul bodies away in.  This box would become his coffin.  When his hands were working better, he had painted it with colorful stripes and had written little phrases on it such as "I told you I was sick," "All’s well that ends well,"  "Less is more”, “When the going gets tough, the tough get gone!" and “I love happy endings.”  Across the top of the box were the footprints of a coyote, an animal that represents “folly” or “the trickster” in Native American symbolism. 

 

 

 "Death is good," he would tell me.  "Of course, I'm not talking about some terrible, tragic deaths, especially with the very young, but in the end, we're all dying you know.  When are you going to start working on your cardboard box?"

 

When I asked him how he was enduring with his slow, but steady decline – his inability to walk or to do so many of the things he'd been previously able to do; he said, "I'm as happy as a pig in shit."

 

 "You're joking Richard." 

 

 "No, really. As far as walking... I've walked enough.  I've been walking for 70 years.  I'm not in pain.  I have a nice place to live and people to care for me.  And I’m not old.  I won't live to be a really old man, so in many ways, I'm quite blessed.  Also, I get to prepare for my death.  Many people don’t have that luxury."

 

Richard said that if you check out the obituaries you will read things like "So and so finally succumbed after a valiant struggle against cancer or some other disease.”  Nobody writes something like “So and so died after befriending leukemia, which encouraged her to do something different.” 

 

“Me,” said Richard.  “I've decided to look on ALS as my friend."

 

 "Your friend?"  

 

 "Yes, it is my friend, because it's encouraging me to go further.  It's helping me experience people, places and things that I wouldn't have encountered if it hadn't been in my life."

 

 "A friend that kills you?"

 

 "That's one way of looking at it, but maybe the killing leads to something different.  Life is full of change.  And wouldn't it be boring if it wasn't?"  Richard liked to paraphrase a quote from John Henry Newman, who said that life is change and to have changed often is to have lived well.
 

 

"Change is the one thing we can count on," Richard explained, "so why not look on all these surprises in life as a blessing.  We don't know where they'll lead us.  But if we live in fear about every change that comes our way, we're really going to suffer."  Richard also said that people in the United States would be less fearful of death if they didn't have the insane funeral industry to deal with.  That's why he was going to be cremated in a cardboard box.  And he lauded these new natural park-like cemeteries that didn't use headstones or coffins, where people were just wrapped in blankets and put in the ground where they could easily return to the elements.

 

 "Look at Plumita," said Richard, referring to his little dog.  "When she dies, she's just going to crawl in a corner and go to sleep.  She's not going to worry about it."

 

Richard's brother-in-law Jim had his own theory about Richard's continuous bright spirits and calm, uncomplaining manner.  "He has a strong mind," said Jim, pointing at his own head and frowning.  "Richard has a strong mind."

 

 But from Richard's perspective, there seemed to be no strength or even effort to what he was doing.  "It's no big deal," Richard assured me.  Dying was no big deal.