From Trappist Monk to Street Doctor: The Memories Of:

By John O'Handley M.D.

Dr. John (Jack) O’Handley looks back at growing up as a Navy brat who spent six years in a Trappist monastery before deciding to embark on a career as a doctor.

As the oldest son of a career naval officer and his wife, Marie, the author grew up in many parts of the world. His father was one of five children born to a former Catholic priest and his wife in Brooklyn.

While he grew up in a loving family, the author’s father never did understand his decision to drop out of college to enter monastic life.

In this memoir, he looks back at his life as a Trappist monk as well as what eventually led him to pursue a career in medicine—as well as how he fell in love with a nursing student named Hannah. The two eventually married and started a family.

Join the author as he offers fascinating glimpses into a life along the road less traveled, including his time as a monk, family physician, and tending to the homeless of Columbus, Ohio, for more than twenty-five years as a street doctor.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Sep 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9781665728287

John O'Handley M.D.

Dr. John (Jack) O’Handley entered the Trappist Monastery of Our Lady of Gethsemani in Kentucky at age eighteen, leaving to enter the medical profession. He spent fourteen years in private practice as a family physician before becoming a faculty member at the Bethesda Family Medicine residency program in Cincinnati. In 1995, he accepted the directorship of Mount Carmel’s Family Residency program in Columbus and began his work with the homeless as medical director of the Street Medicine program. He retired in 2021.

Book preview

FROM

TRAPPIST MONK

TO

STREET DOCTOR

THE MEMORIES OF:

John (Jack) O’Handley, M.D.

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Copyright © 2022 John (Jack) O’Handley, M.D.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Archway Publishing

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-6657-2827-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-2828-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022914412

Archway Publishing rev. date: 9/1/2022

CONTENTS

Acknowledgement

Dedication

Foreword

Introduction

Part One

Early Years

Part Two

English Adventures

Part Three

Return to the States

Part Four

Entryway to Gethsemani

Part Five

Enter Sean

Part Six

Monastery Life

Part Seven

A Change of Heart

Part Eight

Return to the World

Part Nine

Medical School

Part Ten

Residency

Part Eleven

The Gentleman Farmer

Part Twelve

City Life

Part Thirteen

Mount Carmel

Part Fourteen

Vocation Realized

Part Fifteen

Reflection

About the Author

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

I am most grateful to those who read my story’s early draft and suggested changes and additions to the manuscript. Miriam Bowers Abbott, Martha Trydahl and Katie Kilcullen, authors in their own right, were able to guide my work into a more acceptable form. Their efforts helped me expand and clarify episodes of my journey.

Miriam, with her skill in modern technology, was most helpful in many of the technological requests made by the publisher. These included picture placement in the text which I was unable to navigate. I was relieved to have her expertise in this phase of the publication.

The front cover illustration was designed by a good friend, Leiya Smith. Her previous training and experience with this kind of work is evident in the intricate design she was able to draw. It illustrated so well the title and the contents of the book.

DEDICATION

I am dedicating this book to my wife, Hannah. She has encouraged me and inspired me to put my life journey into print, Her motive was to pass on to our children and grandchildren the story of my early life as well as the 48 years we have been together. Although we had known each other off and on for six years prior to marrying, our three week engagement and small wedding have stood the test of time.

We have been blessed with four wonderful children, Katie, Jack, Brendan and Amy to whom I am also dedicating this book.

Life does not always follow the path we set for ourselves. But we have found out together when looking back that our steps have been guided by a hand that loves and sustains us daily. My story reveals that truth.

FOREWORD

It’s about time you wrote a book! we all said after Dr. O’Handley announced his memoir. He was the senior attending for the residents’ outpatient medical clinic when I first met him, almost 10 years ago, during my medical training in Columbus Ohio. He was known amongst the residents for his sly and joking demeanor, a rarity among the attending physicians. You would know you missed something when you saw the grin start to break out; with a chuckle would come the adroit insight that would bring everything into focus, and finally the case would make sense. Always there was the question you forgot to ask, or the physical exam finding you overlooked. The grin would get bigger, and then he would explain. And, can I say, we residents loved him for this!

Among his many endeavors during the time I knew him, just to name a very few; he was medical director of the Asian Health Initiative, a Free Clinic at The Ohio State College of Medicine catering to the Asian immigrant community, he pioneered the Street Medicine Program that roved the streets of Columbus in a decked-out (medically-speaking) RV attending to the indigent population, and he arranged an annual medical mission trip that delved into the wilds of Chiapas, Mexico, to reach those without access to medical care in the most rural areas. He was tireless in his efforts to serve others, especially those who were most vulnerable. Many of us residents would tag along, absorbing knowledge, as well as an understanding of what it really means to care for the communities in which we live; for those truly in need, it became clear this often occurred outside of the clinic and the hospital.

Only after I had worked with him for years did I learn about his former life as a Navy-brat turned Trappist monk turned physician; Ah, I got it now! I thought. His unique combination of contemplative temperament, drive to serve, and persistent wanderlust now made sense. His unusual life path set him up to be one of the most remarkable doctors I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. I think you will greatly benefit from, and enjoy, reading about the journey that ultimately gave us all the Dr O we know and love!

Cassandra Heller, D.O.

INTRODUCTION

Jack English had his teeth knocked out by the boot of a Nazi soldier while in a German concentration camp during World War II. Yet, he spoke clearly and softly: The trauma did not prevent him from giving one of the most inspiring talks during my six years as a Trappist monk at the Abbey of Gethsemani in Nelson County, Kentucky.

On the day before his talk, English (Fr. Charles) traveled from his home monastery, Our Lady of the Holy Spirit in Conyers, Georgia, to our abbey in the knob hill country of Nelson County, Kentucky.

Jack had made notes on a small scrap of paper during his journey. From those notes, he spoke about the importance of small acts that impart significant meaning and the importance of showing respect for others in our speech and actions, especially those less likely to inspire our respect. He gave specific examples of how to do this with the people he met daily in his everyday life. Cletus Brown, a name I remember hearing today, was one of the hired hands at Our Lady of the Holy Spirit monastery. While everyone called him Cletus, Jack made it a point to call him Mr. Brown out of respect. Mr. Brown deserved this small gesture: It acknowledged that the nature of his relationship with this thoughtful monk hinged on equality.

It was only a tiny thing, but as Kitty Kallen sang, Little things mean a lot.

After World War II, Jack began working as a reporter for the Daily Worker, Dorothy Day’s newspaper in New York. After a week-long retreat at the Georgia monastery, he gave up the reporting gig: Jack became a Trappist monk.

So how did I find myself, in the summer of 1959, at age 18, after a year at St. John’s University, entering the Trappist monastery of Our lady of Gethsemani in Nelson County, Kentucky?

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PART ONE

Early Years

A s the oldest son of a career naval officer and his wife, Marie, I grew up in many parts of the world. My father was one of five children born to a former Catholic priest and his wife in Brooklyn. The family later moved to Ridgewood, New Jersey, where my father went to Ridgewood High School and played basketball on the school team. After graduating, he received an appointment to the Naval Academy in Annapolis, where he excelled in his studies and played on the academy’s baseball and soccer teams. After four years, he was commissioned as an Ensign in the United States Navy and assigned as a purser aboard the Lexington and Saratoga aircraft carriers during World War II.

Dad met my mom, Marie Schermerhorn, while he was in the Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland. They had been dating other people but fell in love after meeting at a friend’s party. Marie grew up in Bywood, Pennsylvania, the daughter of Frederick and Marie Schermerhorn. Her Dad was vice president of the Michell Seed Company and had five children, three sons and two daughters. Two of her brothers earned law degrees, one of whom worked for the FBI and the other in private practice. My mom was a gifted artist and took courses in art after high school but never developed a career other than raising a family of four in multiple parts of the world. That in itself was a full-time job. My brother, Bob, in 1942, and I, in 1940, were born in Seattle while dad was stationed at Bremerton, Washington.

Newport, Rhode Island, in 1945 was a very early memory for me. Dad was studying at the Naval War College at the time. My lone memory of Newport was centered on a new cap gun and holster set that my mother had given me. While I was playing in the neighborhood, a boy I had never seen before came to me and asked if he could borrow my new gift to show his mother. With complete trust in his word, I loaned him the cap gun and holster, and off he went. I waited faithfully for hours in the same spot for his return. Ultimately, my mother came to rescue me; she understood that the boy and the cap gun were not coming back. It was a harsh lesson to learn.

Our next city was Philadelphia in 1946. Our neighbors were the Streander family. Phillip Streander was an engineer who contributed to the design and development of mushroom-shaped water towers. He and his wife had two teenage daughters at the time. The family had a giant dog, a Weimaraner, with whom we children liked to play. Again, a single memory defines that time in my life. Climbing a tree in our backyard, I was able to see Sally, one of the daughters, sunbathing. Sally later went into the music business and worked with Frankie Laine, a famous singer at the time.

From Philadelphia, we moved to Samar in the Philippine Islands in 1947 for a six-month tour of duty to which Dad was assigned. Samar is one of the islands bounding Leyte Gulf, where one of the fiercest battles occurred during World War II. We had traveled to the Islands on a Naval cruiser and quickly made friends with the crew. Each of us four children had a good-man who showed us around the ship and got us treats from the bakery. It was an exciting time for us. En route, we encountered a storm at sea, and I remember being in the galley where we ate with the trays sliding off the tables as the ship got battered by the waves. We all survived and made it safely to Samar.

Although it was a struggle for our mother, we children found it exciting and enjoyed living in two Quonset huts connected by a walkway on the edge of the jungle. Long-tailed macaques were abundant and would pick the salt off our arms and legs. Water buffalo were familiar sights in the fields cultivated by the Filipinos adjacent to our Quonset hut. They were slow animals and never appeared to be threatening. The weather was warm and tropical. At times, rain showers rattled on our metal roof and made it difficult to communicate with one another.

We employed four Filipina housemaids who helped with the chores and who would tell us stories at bedtime, some of them scary. They involved animals they had encountered and details of their living situations, which were rather primitive. But they were all good people and left an indelible mark on my memory.

I learned how to swim in the ocean despite the common jellyfish. To protect us from them, the Navy had built a pool in the sea that swimmers could access by a rubber raft that would ferry people from the shore to the ocean pool about 100 yards from the beach. (We later purchased one of those rafts in the States and used it as a swimming pool in our backyard in Bethesda, Maryland.) One unlucky swimmer we encountered on the beach got stung by a jellyfish and required medical attention. The pain he experienced was severe, as expressed by his face and cries.

We learned how to break open coconuts and drink the milk inside. I remember watching outdoor movies at the Naval base close by. The troops stationed there and our family watched the films. There was no TV or other entertainment to enjoy. We also were allowed to go with one of our Filipina maids to see where she lived in the nearby jungle. The thatched roof house was on stilts which I later learned was to lessen the damage from the tropical storms which periodically devastated the islands.

There was a school that my older sister, Betty,