Rest in Peace, Pere Rice

Pere Rice was the best teacher I've ever had. And I don't just say that because he spent our entire first day of French class freshman year teaching us to swear. Or because he made us learn the lyrics to the songs of his lady love of music, Edith Piaf, and his favorite poet, Jacques Prevert. No, more importantly Pere Rice was everything I love about old-school Jesuit education: he was tough, ridiculously smart (to the point where odd bits of information would fall out if you got him going in the right direction), witty, irreverant, and supremely dedicated to the idea that with hard work the boys at the University of Detroit Jesuit High School and Academy could become good men. Men for others, to be exact.

Pere Rice must have been in his eighties by the time he was teaching me. He was renowned as the midwest's oldest teaching jesuit, and I attended school with guys whose fathers and grandfathers had been taught by "le Pere."

Something that very few people know is how Pere Rice helped me through the hardest time in my days at The High. My best friend in junior year was also a student of Pere Rice's, and he had a nervous breakdown that led into a prolonged catatonic state, followed up with a terrifying bout of mania. This became a cycle of extremes. Things got especially tough for me when my friend's mother asked me what I thought she should do. Who was I to know? I couldn't understand what was happening to my friend, and I couldn't do anything about it. I went to Pere Rice for help. He told me everything he knew about my friend's condition, which was a great deal, and what I could do. The thing was, though, he said what he did with such a kind sadness in his voice, and I won't ever forget that. It was as though in his tone he was saying he was sorry my friend was going through what he was and sorry I had to deal with it and sorry we couldn't thereafter be the same way boys at that age at the High are supposed to be, just worried about girls and science tests and homework. But he laid it all out for me, didn't pull any punches, and showed me he had faith that I could handle the situation before me.

He knows I thought the world of him, and, I won't ever forget his faith in me. Rest in Peace, Pere.

"Rappelle-toi Barbara
Il pleuvait sans cesse sur Brest ce jour-la...
Quelle connerie la guerre..."