Page 50 - Gonzaga at 60
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GONZAGA AT SIXTY: A WORK IN PROGRESS
austere, shy and rather grand and I doubt that many boys felt at ease in his
presence. There was some sniggering and imitaion of his loty laughter,
his well-bred mannerisms and old fashioned turns of phrase – he said ‘By
Jove’ rather a lot. He may have lacked understanding of the wayward.
Some felt that he acted rather harshly in expelling a boy who was involved
in a joy-riding episode. Blackrock behaved more mercifully towards others
involved in the incident which ended up in the courts and was reported
in the newspapers. Father O’Conor’s signal contribuion to Gonzaga was
the vision he engendered of its future. We may have smiled at his many
references to the school passing milestones but what was important was
that he was determined on excellence, both in academic standards and in
the new buildings whose construcion by Sisks, to the plans of architect
Andrew Devane he had to arrange.
Charles Lysaght
at school Father Bill White, Wally to the boys, was prefect of studies. He complemented Fr O’Conor
ideally, for his strength was at the level of personal contact rather than organisaion or
insituional development. He had an uncanny knowledge of the home circumstances of various
boys. Few men I have ever met matched his ability to be all yours when you were with him. He
sustained his fellow masters by his understanding and encouragement. He was a trusted and wise
counsellor to generaions of his pupils and former pupils. It was his uncongenial task to dispense
corporal punishment, which was inlicted for academic failure as well as misconduct. I recall with
undiminished distaste the sound of ‘bifs’ resounding from his oice through the building. The
dread of being visited with such punishment added greatly to the anxiety of my schooldays.
Fr Jack Hutchinson, known as ‘Butch’, taught us Irish. He organised language holidays
in Ballinahowan in Connemara for a fortnight at the end of the school year that were greatly
enjoyed. The son of an English father and Irish mother, he was a proud northsider and a mighty
naionalist. He may have found the snobberies and pretensions of some of the boys trying but
he was as kind to them as to those who saw the world his way. He sufered from insomnia and
exhibited signs of the stress which may have accounted for his early death. As a teacher, he was
dedicated, sympatheic and unthreatening. It was always his fault, never yours. It was he who
made me love the Irish language. I am sure that he would be pleased, if also surprised, to know
that. I sill treasure a leter he wrote to me in his immaculate hand shortly before his death.
Fr Joe Kavanagh, known as ‘Frankie’ made me dislike French. My accent and pronunciaion
were awful and I felt he sneered at my eforts. He probably thought I was doing my best. A shy man,
he was poor at controlling his classes and there was oten disorder during them. This was a pity as
he was a considerable scholar in French and also a devotee of classical music, a love for which he
sought to inculcate in the boys. For some, it opened a world that enriched their later lives.
Fr Eddie Keane taught us Greek and Lain. He was easygoing and did not cajole the unwilling
or reluctant. But if a pupil were keen on his subjects, as I was in my closing years, he was a ine
teacher with an inspiring love of the anique world. He had a wonderful dry wit and was one
GONZAGA AT SIXTY: A WORK IN PROGRESS
austere, shy and rather grand and I doubt that many boys felt at ease in his
presence. There was some sniggering and imitaion of his loty laughter,
his well-bred mannerisms and old fashioned turns of phrase – he said ‘By
Jove’ rather a lot. He may have lacked understanding of the wayward.
Some felt that he acted rather harshly in expelling a boy who was involved
in a joy-riding episode. Blackrock behaved more mercifully towards others
involved in the incident which ended up in the courts and was reported
in the newspapers. Father O’Conor’s signal contribuion to Gonzaga was
the vision he engendered of its future. We may have smiled at his many
references to the school passing milestones but what was important was
that he was determined on excellence, both in academic standards and in
the new buildings whose construcion by Sisks, to the plans of architect
Andrew Devane he had to arrange.
Charles Lysaght
at school Father Bill White, Wally to the boys, was prefect of studies. He complemented Fr O’Conor
ideally, for his strength was at the level of personal contact rather than organisaion or
insituional development. He had an uncanny knowledge of the home circumstances of various
boys. Few men I have ever met matched his ability to be all yours when you were with him. He
sustained his fellow masters by his understanding and encouragement. He was a trusted and wise
counsellor to generaions of his pupils and former pupils. It was his uncongenial task to dispense
corporal punishment, which was inlicted for academic failure as well as misconduct. I recall with
undiminished distaste the sound of ‘bifs’ resounding from his oice through the building. The
dread of being visited with such punishment added greatly to the anxiety of my schooldays.
Fr Jack Hutchinson, known as ‘Butch’, taught us Irish. He organised language holidays
in Ballinahowan in Connemara for a fortnight at the end of the school year that were greatly
enjoyed. The son of an English father and Irish mother, he was a proud northsider and a mighty
naionalist. He may have found the snobberies and pretensions of some of the boys trying but
he was as kind to them as to those who saw the world his way. He sufered from insomnia and
exhibited signs of the stress which may have accounted for his early death. As a teacher, he was
dedicated, sympatheic and unthreatening. It was always his fault, never yours. It was he who
made me love the Irish language. I am sure that he would be pleased, if also surprised, to know
that. I sill treasure a leter he wrote to me in his immaculate hand shortly before his death.
Fr Joe Kavanagh, known as ‘Frankie’ made me dislike French. My accent and pronunciaion
were awful and I felt he sneered at my eforts. He probably thought I was doing my best. A shy man,
he was poor at controlling his classes and there was oten disorder during them. This was a pity as
he was a considerable scholar in French and also a devotee of classical music, a love for which he
sought to inculcate in the boys. For some, it opened a world that enriched their later lives.
Fr Eddie Keane taught us Greek and Lain. He was easygoing and did not cajole the unwilling
or reluctant. But if a pupil were keen on his subjects, as I was in my closing years, he was a ine
teacher with an inspiring love of the anique world. He had a wonderful dry wit and was one
