Dear Hearts,
December 6th is the anniversary of the birth of Robert Mitchel Sullivan: son of Lefty and Anna; brother of James Patrick, Sr. (Big Sully), Anna Rita and Margaret (Sister Joanne Marie and Sister James Timothy); husband of Darlene; father of John, Jim, Bobby, Paul, Mike, Tim, Sr. John Mary, Margaret, Ella and Peter; grandfather of 50; spiritual grandfather, godfather, uncle, cousin, nephew, friend and mentor to hundreds more.
Uncle Bob was born in Chicago in 1928. He was ordained a Dominican priest and took the name Father Timothy Sullivan, O.P. Father Tim, after his great-grandfather. When he went to see Pope Paul VI, who released him from his vows and blessed his entry into the laity, we didn't know a thing about it, until much later. His vocation as a husband and father was strong and fruitful having been married to Aunt Darlene for 39 years and raising ten children. Indeed, they have shown the world, their children, nieces and nephews, grandchildren, friends and neighbors, the very model of married life, and social justice, love and decency.
He taught Philosophy at Phoenix College for 38 years and spoke English, Spanish, Latin and Greek. He would get such a kick out of so many of his grandkids going to the same grade school he and Aunt Darlene sent their children, St. Gregory Catholic School in Phoenix.
Several years ago, my family and I visited Phoenix. We all had dinner at Margaret's house and I fondly recall sitting at the table after dinner with Uncle Bob, listening as he went down the line, updating us on his children. When he finished, I asked, "Okay, Uncle Bob, how do Andy and I do that?" referring to the beautiful success, spiritually and otherwise, of each his nine living adult children. "The kitchen table," he answered, tapping his finger on the table between us. He explained this is where we eat, we talk, we argue, we laugh, we plan, we pray, we cry--as a family. In other words, we're in this together, in all things in life.
He was full of love, brimming with affection, a joyous man, an emotional and passionate man. He was good to everybody. Years ago, at Lefty's wake Jim recalls that Uncle Bob taught him that we never die, because we love each other and love never, never, never dies. A truly profound idea that he could make so many understand.
Uncle Bob passed away at age 79 in Phoenix, just as his grandson, another John Jeremiah (Peter and Melody's son) was entering the world. We were blessed to have him for those 79 years, and we all miss him immensely.
Happy Birthday, Uncle Bob. Please watch over us, with all the Ancestors. God bless us and save us and keep us from harm.
Love,
Patty
P.S. As the oldest of Big Sully's children, Jim had the most number of years on earth with the generation above us and has beautiful memories of time spent together and stories told to family:
When I was little, I got to spend two weeks at the Dominican retreat camp with Uncle Bob, in Menominee, Michigan. Every day we would walk from the retreat house to the mess hall, a half-mile through the woods. He would tell me we were in the Bear's House, and it was the scariest, the funnest and the wildest event of my life up to that date. That Bear was always right around the corner. Bob would stop, real dramatic, hold up his hand and say, "Shh! What was that? I think it was The Bear! Then there would be a pause and he'd say, "Nah. No Bear." I'd go "Whew" and thank my stars. It was unbelievably fun. Then we'd run like hell the rest of the way.
When he went down to Bolivia to serve as chaplain to the Catholic underground fighting the Communists in the University at Cochabamba, we didn't know how much danger he was in. He fought several pitched battles in the Plaza mayor. He originally went into battle ( and this was old school infantry combat, with a few scattered fire arms, but mostly knives and sticks, rocks and bottles, fists and teeth) to lend spiritual support, holding the crucifix, tending the wounded, giving the last rites. But more than once they were over-run and he had to engage, so he pitched in with the troops.
As the Dominican priest in charge of the Newman cell, he taught all the time, and was leading a walk in the outskirts of the town, when his group witnessed a brief and fierce firefight between a group of foreign, Spanish speakers who sided with the Communist forces, and some men who looked and spoke Spanish, but smelled like American tooth paste and shaving cream, and arrived in a helicopter. These Norteamericanos killed the Communists and took their bodies out on choppers. Years later, we found out that the bodies were the Cubans, and among them was Guevara.
Big Sully got a cryptic note from a messenger who came to our house, from Bob, asking for 400 dollars to be given to the messenger. Big Sully did so at once. Again, years later, we found that Bob had been driving the Archbishops truck with supplies, had been ambushed and the truck destroyed. That was it for the Catholics' transport. So the $400 got them new transportation capability to wage the war. They ultimately won and freedom of religion was established in the university.
Uncle Bob was born in Chicago in 1928. He was ordained a Dominican priest and took the name Father Timothy Sullivan, O.P. Father Tim, after his great-grandfather. When he went to see Pope Paul VI, who released him from his vows and blessed his entry into the laity, we didn't know a thing about it, until much later. His vocation as a husband and father was strong and fruitful having been married to Aunt Darlene for 39 years and raising ten children. Indeed, they have shown the world, their children, nieces and nephews, grandchildren, friends and neighbors, the very model of married life, and social justice, love and decency.
He taught Philosophy at Phoenix College for 38 years and spoke English, Spanish, Latin and Greek. He would get such a kick out of so many of his grandkids going to the same grade school he and Aunt Darlene sent their children, St. Gregory Catholic School in Phoenix.
Several years ago, my family and I visited Phoenix. We all had dinner at Margaret's house and I fondly recall sitting at the table after dinner with Uncle Bob, listening as he went down the line, updating us on his children. When he finished, I asked, "Okay, Uncle Bob, how do Andy and I do that?" referring to the beautiful success, spiritually and otherwise, of each his nine living adult children. "The kitchen table," he answered, tapping his finger on the table between us. He explained this is where we eat, we talk, we argue, we laugh, we plan, we pray, we cry--as a family. In other words, we're in this together, in all things in life.
He was full of love, brimming with affection, a joyous man, an emotional and passionate man. He was good to everybody. Years ago, at Lefty's wake Jim recalls that Uncle Bob taught him that we never die, because we love each other and love never, never, never dies. A truly profound idea that he could make so many understand.
Uncle Bob passed away at age 79 in Phoenix, just as his grandson, another John Jeremiah (Peter and Melody's son) was entering the world. We were blessed to have him for those 79 years, and we all miss him immensely.
Happy Birthday, Uncle Bob. Please watch over us, with all the Ancestors. God bless us and save us and keep us from harm.
Love,
Patty
P.S. As the oldest of Big Sully's children, Jim had the most number of years on earth with the generation above us and has beautiful memories of time spent together and stories told to family:
When I was little, I got to spend two weeks at the Dominican retreat camp with Uncle Bob, in Menominee, Michigan. Every day we would walk from the retreat house to the mess hall, a half-mile through the woods. He would tell me we were in the Bear's House, and it was the scariest, the funnest and the wildest event of my life up to that date. That Bear was always right around the corner. Bob would stop, real dramatic, hold up his hand and say, "Shh! What was that? I think it was The Bear! Then there would be a pause and he'd say, "Nah. No Bear." I'd go "Whew" and thank my stars. It was unbelievably fun. Then we'd run like hell the rest of the way.
When he went down to Bolivia to serve as chaplain to the Catholic underground fighting the Communists in the University at Cochabamba, we didn't know how much danger he was in. He fought several pitched battles in the Plaza mayor. He originally went into battle ( and this was old school infantry combat, with a few scattered fire arms, but mostly knives and sticks, rocks and bottles, fists and teeth) to lend spiritual support, holding the crucifix, tending the wounded, giving the last rites. But more than once they were over-run and he had to engage, so he pitched in with the troops.
As the Dominican priest in charge of the Newman cell, he taught all the time, and was leading a walk in the outskirts of the town, when his group witnessed a brief and fierce firefight between a group of foreign, Spanish speakers who sided with the Communist forces, and some men who looked and spoke Spanish, but smelled like American tooth paste and shaving cream, and arrived in a helicopter. These Norteamericanos killed the Communists and took their bodies out on choppers. Years later, we found out that the bodies were the Cubans, and among them was Guevara.
Big Sully got a cryptic note from a messenger who came to our house, from Bob, asking for 400 dollars to be given to the messenger. Big Sully did so at once. Again, years later, we found that Bob had been driving the Archbishops truck with supplies, had been ambushed and the truck destroyed. That was it for the Catholics' transport. So the $400 got them new transportation capability to wage the war. They ultimately won and freedom of religion was established in the university.
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