Today March 3

Today is the feast of St. Katharine Drexel. She is special to me because I once lived in Philadelphia and she was a Philadelphia deb and heiress. But she always gave money to charity and was taught to practice compassion and discretion. That brings up one of my favorite pet peeves. While I like Bill Gates and I love today's classy saint, I DON'T believe in huge masses of wealth in only a few hands, even though those hands are full of charity. Private donations = private power, and not all charities are the same. One or two people with awesome wealth can drastically change things . . . and not necessarily for the better. What if those powerful philanthropists believed the main "problem" was overpopulation and decided generously -- over-generously -- to give to "reproductive health" and overwhelmingly fund contraception and abortion? They could skew the social landscape, not only in that example, but in many, many others. It's better to have charity in the hands of a religion -- or religious order -- or the republic -- or many individual small donors than one or two oligarchs. I'm just saying.

I used to think Drexel was heiress to a furniture fortune. But it was really a banking empire, run by Francis Drexel and split among Elizabeth, Katharine and Louisa Drexel, his three daughters. Katharine and Elizabeth were welcomed by their stepmother Emma as real children, which, of course, they were, but you know what I mean. While of course I praise Francis for the loving job of parenting he did, my sources give the credit all to the woman, Emma. Katharine's mom died when the child was two years old (and Elizabeth not much older) and the new family was formed in love and with a strong sense of duty. Emma even had the two older daughters teach CCD to the farm workers' children out on their second home in Torresdale.

Katharine grew up smart and beautiful, a millionaire's daughter, educated in Europe, brilliantly turned out into society, well-protected. (When she went on vacation to the seashore, her dad said: "I hope you are careful not to get into deep water either with the beaux or the surf.") She always had a social conscience, however. After touring the reservations of South Dakota, she became concerned with the fate of the native Americans. And she could certainly see with her own eyes the plight of the black man, even right there in Philadelphia. She and her two sisters tried to give a substantial amount of their combined fortune to aid both the blacks and the Indians. During her many trips to Europe she begged priests and nuns to come to America to man (and woman) the missions. Her spiritual adviser (Bishop James O'Connor of Omaha) suggested she go herself . . . and found a whole new order for the education and spiritual welfare of the Indians and blacks. He knew, of course, of her leaning towards the religious life -- he just encouraged her to go the extra mile. And she did, amid headlines screaming, "Miss Drexel Enters a Catholic Convent -- Gives Up 7 Million!" She looked like an angel bride in a gorgeous white gown and veil adorned with diamonds and jewels and followed by eight little girls similarly made up. After the Mass, she emerged in a black habit and veil, with white wimple and cape. Still lovely.

Heights near Philadelphia, but still lived to survive and pray. My mother used to say it was all part of God's plan: she only got her inheritance as long as she was alive, so God She founded and supported countless missions over the years. In 1912 she contracted typhoid fever and got worse and worse. When it looked as though the end were near, she smiled and said, "As this is certainly not according to my plans, it must be God's Will!" She didn't die, however. She lived on and on. In 1935 she suffered a heart attack and "retired" to Cornwellsarranged that she might live to be 97! The blacks and Indians are grateful. So are all the students, past and present, of Xavier University in New Orleans. By 1951 the Drexel girls had given away $11 million! Katharine died in 1955, at age 97, having given much more than her fortune . . . she had given her life! And what she said at the last really speaks to my heart: "He abides in my house -- the house of His publican ('Have mercy on me, O Lord, a sinner'). It is as if all glory were nothing to Him, and I alone were all His care. We speak together, I listen -- and thus a lifetime passes."

As someone who, in my mom's words, "can talk the ears off a brass monkey," I love, love, love those words, especially the last line!