Uncle Arnie

Shortly after his ordination as a priest in 1957, my Uncle Arnie set off for New Guinea, where he has lived ever since.  Now 85, some of us had gently tried to suggest he retire in the States, but he does not want to.  And when he comes back in the summertime every few years for a medical check-up, he is invariably wearing a sweater, even if it’s over 80 degrees in Iowa.  He has really gotten used to the tropical heat.

So, while I see Arnie every few years, I thought it was time to visit him in his natural habitat.  And he does have some good stories – like being the first white man to go into some remote villages in the western part of the country, or contracting malaria multiple times, or walking out in the highlands and seeing the ground literally ripple around him during an earthquake.  Given PNG’s reputation, I asked if he ever felt like he was in harm’s way.  He has one story – it involves waking up in a remote village several decades ago and seeing a man with a machete standing over him.  In his re-telling of this story, he’s remarkably blasé about it.  He simply explains that everyone knew the guy was harmless, if deranged.  Doesn’t sound harmless to me, but hey, I wasn’t there.

I’m not sure what I was expecting in the coastal town of Madang, where he retired to a few years ago, but let me be clear – this is not a place of creature comforts.  One unexpected bonus – I could legitimately claim to (usually) be out of reach of my work e-mails.  And while the town fathers have labeled it “The Prettiest Town in the South Pacific,” frankly, this is the Third World.  If you’re a Catholic worried that your donations are being wasted on palatial living, I can guarantee that’s not happening in Madang, because I lived with Arnie and his fellow priests for a few days.  It’s a very simple life, but he is well cared for by his young brethren and the staff – and they clearly look up to him. 

But whether it was when we were out around town and locals would come up and talk to him, or when we went to a parish and he was mobbed by nuns (it was like travelling with a rock star, if nuns mobbed a rock star), or when, on 2 occasions, someone told me privately how much he had done, then I felt very proud.

My being here also gave Arnie the chance to do some sightseeing that he hadn’t done before.  Thus, when we “chartered” a simple boat from a fellow in the town harbor to take us out around the area, it was the first time he had done it here.  In the same way, I only go up in the John Hancock Building in Chicago when I have out-of-town visitors.  His last visitor was my dad, approximately 50 years ago.  Dad was in the Far East on a trade mission (what may now be considered a “junket”) and popped over to PNG on his own dime.  Back then, Arnie was in the Highlands, and he took Dad out driving on some bush trails.  He offered to let Dad drive, but Dad declined.  Like most sons do of their fathers, I always thought of Dad as a fairly intrepid fellow, particularly in all matters automotive, so I can only imagine just how rough it was back then.

Today, poverty and corruption are endemic in PNG, but the local population is educated like never before and Arnie’s order operates a university with several thousand students here in Madang.  There is development – I saw 2 tuna canneries, a coconut oil facility, a meat packing plant, and the aforementioned nickel mining company in Madang (a town of about 30,000), as well as a couple of resorts taking advantage of the beaches, but as in all such countries, the trick is to make sure the nation’s wealth is fairly distributed.  Everywhere you looked, there were individuals operating little stands – either in the formal markets, or in parks or in front of their homes, so this is clearly an entrepreneurial culture.  There is a free press, and political issues were discussed openly, at least as far as I could tell.  I did not note any disruptions in the electricity, though the priests have a back-up generator for when that happens, and most people have running water – though it was sadly common to see dilapidated tin shacks and outhouses.  Hunger did not appear to be an issue, but adequate shelter clearly is.

Unlike Port Moresby, there is no reputation here for violence, though burglary could be an issue.  The priests have a gate to their home and nice homes had tall fences.  I never felt unsafe, but I also was only out and about in the daytime.  And I was a bit of a celebrity – I saw someone taking my picture, so perhaps game show re-runs air 20 years late in PNG! 

To sum up my 3.5 days in Madang, really all I can say is that, on the one hand, you can look at a place like this with its obvious problems, and think of how far it has to go.  Or, you can look at it and think of how far it has come.

Arnie & me, a few miles north of Madang.