saying the Rosary ‘during Lent after dinner,’ or ‘after supper every day.’ [Stanley also] noted at times about his daily meditation, sometimes how sleepy he was, and occasionally, how he thought he had a good meditation.”
As his journal entries indicate, Stanley inserted his concerns over family situations into his regular prayer routines: such as saying the Rosary for one of the relatives or praying a novena for two uncles and an aunt who married into the family and were not Catholic. But Sister Marita also noticed how often he seemed to get sick or have health problems during those first years in the seminary, perhaps caused by the stress of the unfamiliar and demanding situation.
Toward the end of his second year, Stanley wrote, “Am thinking about another vocation.” But his director, he later added, “set me straight on another vocation and asked me to get my eyes checked,” which he did. Hoping that glasses would improve not only his eyesight but also his ability to understand what was on the chalkboard, Stanley got glasses, even though he seems to have never made a regular practice of wearing them.
Glasses or no glasses, Stanley had a dreadful third year in the seminary. His seminary group of students had now progressed to Assumption Seminary for the next stage of their studies. Stanley’s third year in the seminary was supposed to be a two-year course in philosophy, known as Philosophy I and Philosophy II. This was followed by four years in theology. At the time that Stanley attended the seminary, the classes were taught in English, but all the main textbooks were in Latin. “Stan always found philosophy difficult,” remembered one of his classmates, adding that it didn’t help matters that the philosophy textbooks were in Latin. In 1956, at the end of his third year, the faculty informed 21-year-old Stanley that his grades were so poor that he had to repeat the academic year of Philosophy I.
Where Do You Find God?
If Stanley had been asked directly a theological question such as “Where is God?” it is fairly certain that he would have answered, “I find God in serving people, and in the work of my hands.” As it was, Stanley responded to this statement of faith not with his words, but with his actions.
While he struggled academically to stay afloat, Stanley was at the same time working in many activities, especially outdoor or manual work. He worked in the seminary’s bindery, almost daily. He spent four days building a shrine to the Blessed Virgin on campus. He leveled dirt on the front lawn, cleaned rooms, printed cards, repaired equipment, and picked pecans. If it needed doing, he did it. If it was broken, he fixed it. Looking back at Stanley’s actions during those years, his fellow seminarians noted, “His work was a way of meditation” and “I have a feeling, when he was riding on that mower he spent a lot of time praying.”
During the spring semester that he turned 22 years old, Stanley continued his battle to keep up with classes. His journal entries recorded small victories — “Gave sermon this morning” and “Had nice Latin class” — as well as disappointments with himself when he failed to fulfill his duties: “Late again for Mass.” It is also worth mentioning that he recorded, almost as if keeping a mental daily list of successes, the manual work he was able to accomplish: “Did dishes duty,” “Fixed laundry after lunch,” “Worked in bindery 2½hrs.,” “Cleaned up auditorium,” “Drained water in Barrmobile and tractor,” “Raked leaves.” In a persistently frustrating academic setting, it’s not difficult to understand Stanley’s need to get something “right” by doing service work and helping others. Those journal entries often concluded in words similar to the ones for November 30, 1957: “Tired and happy.”
Stanley “was always working around the yard and fixing things,” remarked his fellow seminarian and close friend Father Armando Escobedo, a native of the Texas Rio Grande Valley. “It was very rare during ‘recreation time’ that he would take recreation!” In his trademark generosity of service, Stanley bound a Bible in the seminary bindery for Armando as a gift, and years later sent him a stole from Guatemala.
“Stan and I were farm boys,” noted Father Escobedo. “Maybe our difficulties brought us together. He made up for his scholastic problems in many other ways … he made up for that in his kindness. His arms were always open to other people.” Armando remembered telling Stanley that the seminary was taking advantage of him and his “free labor.” But Stanley answered back, “Oh, no. Don’t worry about it.”
When Armando Escobedo was ordained on June 6, 1964, Stanley showed up at the cathedral in Corpus Christi, saying simply, “Did you think I was going to miss this?” The two friends stayed in touch over the years through letters and phone calls. On one of his drives south to Guatemala, Stanley and Father Marvin Leven spent two nights visiting with Father Escobedo at his parish. That was probably the last time the two friends saw each other in person.
In addition to manual labor, Stanley’s other outlet for enjoyment and relaxation was music. At Assumption Seminary, he was a member of the choir, the Schola Cantorum. He also took piano lessons, noting in his journal the times he was able to set aside an opportunity to practice.
“The Okies at Assumption were very close. It was us against the Texans,” joked fellow classmate Father James Stafford, explaining that Oklahomans were the largest single diocesan group attending Assumption Seminary in those days, not counting the Archdiocese of San Antonio. Father Stafford remembered Stanley as “very reliable, very steady, very consistent, with his feet on the ground. He was a genuinely good person. I have a rosary that Stan repaired for me.” Stanley was even the seminarian’s barber, added Father Stafford — for the payment of 50 cents, a rate set “by fiat of the seminary authorities.”
Although Stanley repeated Philosophy I successfully, things continued to get more difficult the following year. In the academic year 1957-58, Stanley barely passed the second year in philosophy. The course work had become more demanding, and his falling grades reflected his academic struggle. At this point in the seminary program, there were no classes like “Music” or “Religion,” which Stanley usually did well enough in to bring up his grade-point average. Nevertheless, although he was asked to retake several exams, he was not forced to repeat the academic year of Philosophy II.
Then came the academic disaster that was his first year of theology. After five and a half years, nothing could save his inadequate grades and his inability to conquer the textbooks in Latin.
In 1959, five days into the second semester of Theology I, Stanley was told he had failed the fall semester — and the 23-year-old was sent home. The seminary rector told Stanley that the faculty, as a group, had decided that he could no longer continue at Assumption Seminary. In his journal entry, Stanley succinctly noted, “Voluntas Dei [‘the will of God’]. It’s hard but no emotions yet.”
In retrospect, his Oklahoma classmate Father James Stafford and some of his other classmates remarked in their interviews that the Vincentians took advantage of Stanley, his skills, and his willingness to do manual work. They described him as “innocent, not overly pious, but a good example of a man of prayer.”
Decades later, when interviewed about him, Father Thomas Kavanaugh, one of Stanley’s professors at Assumption, recalled, “Stanley was probably one of the finest students we ever had, but he had a devil of a time with the books.” Father Kavanaugh then added, “His hardship with the books did not in any way sour him. He had a sense of his own dignity and his own worth when he had a chance to do something. Stanley was always neat and clean, a model in every way … a peaceful individual.”
Interestingly enough, although he failed his academic studies at Assumption, the seminary still claimed Stanley as part of its distinguished history. In published public records by the Texas State Historical Association regarding the seminary’s history, the archives documented: When Assumption-St. John’s concluded 75 years of service to higher education in Texas in 1990, “it has produced one martyr, ten bishops, and about 650 priests from its staff and alumni.”
When Stanley’s fifth-grade teacher, Sister Clarissa Tenbrink, heard the news that he had flunked out of seminary, she wrote Stanley a letter to encourage him. “He wanted to be a priest so badly. He was very discouraged. So I reminded him of the Curé of Ars,” making a reference to French