Portland Magazine
September 20, 2019
Fr. Claude Pomerleau, CSC, a longtime political science professor at University of Portland, died on July 21. A fellow Holy Cross priest and a former student offer remembrances.
From a Brother
by Fr. Patrick Hannon, CSC '82
A Holy Cross priest and a man of prayer, our brother Claude encountered God everywhere: a Bach sonata, a grieving student, a hauntingly beautiful sip of Oregon pinot, a sunset over Lake Champlain, his own physical decline. He knew what belonged to God: all of this world—its joys and sorrows, its pain and glory. Every inch and atom of it. Claude studied aeronautical engineering and then philosophy at Notre Dame and then theology in Rome before being ordained a Holy Cross priest. Whether it was rockets, Rousseau, or the Book of Revelation, Claude, it seems, was fascinated by systems—of human beings and communities and tribes and nations and stories and beliefs. Or the melodies he played so beautifully on his clarinet. After heading off to Denver to get his PhD in international relations, he started teaching and having amazing conversations with young people, mostly, but really with just about anyone he met—in South Bend; Portland; Santiago, Chile; and Kampala, Uganda, where he helped establish the Department of Diplomacy and International Studies at Ugandan Martyrs University. He was in the classroom until (nearly) the very end, his eyes always drawn to the intricacies of Love and God. One image of Fr. Claude remains with me. I had joined him and his cousins on a boat trip one dusky night a few years ago across Lake Champlain. Both of Claude’s arms were extended upward, like the arms of a distance runner who has crossed the finish line. His eyes were closed, his smile wide. The lake wind washed over him happily, like the sweet breath of God. It seems to me that for Claude the border between heaven and earth, between grace and humanity, was negligible. A skip and jump and you’re there.
From a Former Student
by Hank Smith '03
I have never believed that our dreams possess secret meanings, but when Fr. Claude Pomerleau appeared in one of my dreams to let me know he had passed on, I honestly didn’t know what to think. I knew he was ill and that his recent chemo had resulted in, as he put it, a “bad reaction.” But I had just corresponded with him, and I thought he might live on for many more weeks, or even months. His spirits seemed so high in the emails he wrote.
He had told me years before that he knew the cancer would take his life. It was not the kind that went away, but it was the kind that could stay subdued for a long time. One could only hope. When I spoke to him then, he was happy to be feeling better after finishing up with a recent round of chemo. My wife, daughter, and I went with him to an Italian dinner in St. Johns. He loved all the food (as usual) and his thoughts traversed diverse terrain (as usual). He had a lot to say about politics, music, art, food, religion, new jokes…it was classic Fr. Claude.
I loved talking to Fr. Claude. As his student, I always looked forward to his lectures. Of course, it was almost impossible to take notes while he was lecturing. His lessons had a tendency to roam. But I found that if I put the pencil down and just listened, I would leave class with a head full of new insights and plenty to mull over.
He once came to class ten minutes late. The students were restless. He bounded in, apologized, and let us know that it was such a beautiful spring day that he had decided to sit outside and have a glass of wine. Out there in the sun, he had completely lost track of time. He was sorry for being late, but not too sorry. After all, one had to appreciate a beautiful day.
Some years later he showed up ten minutes late for my wedding rehearsal. He arrived with a big smile on his face. Things were a wee bit stressful for the bride and me, as I had barely made it back from one of those always-gettingextended military deployments. We were scrambling to get ready. Fr. Claude smiled and told us the secret to staying stress free during a wedding: you just have to remember that whatever happens is supposed to happen. The wedding turned out great, and his advice has worked wonders even beyond the wedding ceremony.
I was his student, but he was more than a professor to me. We kept in touch over the years. He was a superb advice-giver, even if he never suggested I take any particular course of action. He could be a spiritual mentor without speaking explicitly of faith. I wanted him to know about the big developments in my life, so I’d reach out at key moments. I left the military and joined the Department of State. I specialized in Latin America, just like him. My wife and I had a daughter. I was going to Iraq right when things with ISIS seemed to be getting a lot worse. Finally, one day, I told him I was coming back to the Northwest. I was tired of being away. Away from my wife and daughter (half of our marriage and half of my daughter’s life) and away from the only place I ever felt at home.
I saw Fr. Claude a few times after I returned. I regret it wasn’t more. I wanted to ask him more about his time in Chile under a dictatorship and how he processed the things he saw and experienced. I wanted to talk to him about our current state of politics. About faith. I had been through a lot since I left UP, and I hadn’t really processed it all. I had a hunger for wisdom, and, to me, Fr. Claude was as wise as they come.
I can vividly recall one of Fr. Claude’s homilies shortly before I graduated from UP. It was a student Mass. Fr. Claude spoke about the power of words. He likened them to little birds or butterflies we send to each other. If you say a kind word, you don’t know exactly how or when it will really register with somebody, but it will be there, fluttering away. And one day it will land.
A few days before Fr. Claude appeared in my dream, I had written him a letter. I wanted him to know that I considered him one of the truly great individuals I had met in my life. I thanked him for all he had taught me. I don’t know if he ever read those words. I do know that he had not, in fact, passed away the night he appeared in my dream. He would live for two more days. My letter might have arrived just in time, but he was receiving many letters, and feeling ill, and, well, who knows?
I still don’t believe that Fr. Claude’s appearance in my dream had a higher significance. He was on my mind; that’s all. I do, however, have some other beliefs, and many of these I can trace back to my interactions with Fr. Claude. I believe that learning comes from listening. I believe we are happiest when we stop trying to control everything. I believe that ambition should not come at the expense of family. I believe the ideal of service compels us to go where the challenges are greatest. And I believe in the power of words. So I say these words of gratitude with the belief they will take flight and find their way home:
Thank you for everything, Fr. Claude. You will be missed.
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