Notre Dame Magazine invites personal essays of no more than 250 words on subjects of nostalgic interest to alumni of all ages. Selected submissions will be published in a future print edition or online at magazine.nd.edu. Please send fun, meaningful or evocative stories from your student days on the topics listed below to associate editor Michelle Cuneo at mmcdani2@nd.edu. New topics to come each issue.
INTERHALL SPORTS: Deadline November 3, 2024
THE LAKES: Deadline February 2, 2025
De-vice intervention
Stanford Hall’s Sunday night Mass was the greatest blessing I never knew I needed.
When I arrived on campus in 2004, I was laser-focused on partying, Irish football, chasing girls and drinking enough Natty Light to kill a horse. Despite all this pleasure chasing, however, one good habit (miraculously) never fell by the wayside: Sunday Mass.
Attending 10:30 Mass at the Stanford Hall chapel was a staple of my week. After a weekend of questionable decisions, I felt it was my duty to attend. Not only would it make my parents happy (and, I hoped, atone for my poor behavior), it was far too convenient to miss.
At 10:27, I’d make my way downstairs in a hoodie, pajama pants and flip-flops to a chapel filled with friends, classmates and cute girls from neighboring dorms. Father Tom Gaughan, CSC, ’80, ’85M.Div., would give his topical homily, we’d share in the Eucharist, sing the crowd-favorite “Anthem” and slam our hymnals shut before heading downstairs for pizza. Despite being underdressed and underinformed, I felt how special these nights were — virtuous endings to my often-vice-filled weekends.
Two decades later, I am a daily communicant who works for a prominent Catholic apostolate, a future that 18-year-old me never would have imagined. My Catholic faith has transformed from something I did into the core of my identity and foundation of my life. This metamorphosis is largely due to Notre Dame’s longstanding tradition of offering dorm Masses to its students.
What a blessing.
— Rich Loesing ’08
My confession
Sunday evening Mass in Grace Hall was a special time of the week and very popular with students from many dorms. Our tiny chapel could never accommodate the crowd, so the spacious yet cozy lobby became our spiritual refuge from a night of intense studying. Chilling out in our socks with friends and God gave us all some peace, solace and camaraderie.
I had the pleasure of playing a beautiful baby grand piano at these dorm Masses, and therein lies the seed of my confession. My most important role was to play mellow music during the contemplative prayer after Communion, usually for several minutes. Music serving the Lord.
However, much of the post-Communion music I played was not a spiritual hymn or classic piece of religious music but a disguised version of Bruce Springsteen’s “Racing in the Street.” Given how popular Springsteen was on campus in those days, I couldn’t simply play the chord progression to one of his best songs. Instead, my ruse was to slip in an occasional C chord as a sonic mask to throw off the scent of the E Street Band. No one knew, and I never told anyone until this day. My secret has stayed between me, God and Bruce for all these years, and now I confess it to you.
“Tonight my baby and me, we’re gonna ride to the sea / And wash these sins off our hands.”
— Kevin Quinlan ’82
A sense of deep belonging
Where did the most consequential, life-altering moments of my time at Notre Dame happen? Despite some wonderful memories, it’s not the football stadium. Despite rigorous academics, it’s not any classroom. Despite the beauty, it’s not the Grotto or the Basilica. Instead, it’s the dark and crowded chapel in Zahm Hall.
It was there, during my first weekend on campus, that seemingly every occupant of our dorm crowded in and our rector asked us to consider how countless people around the world would trade places with us. At that moment, I was convinced the admissions office had made some sort of mistake in accepting me, and graduation seemed an impossibility.
It was there I felt a relationship igniting with the woman who is now my wife, as our clasped hands stayed entwined long after the singing of the Our Father had ended.
It was there, as graduation approached, that a student from a difficult socioeconomic background, who had always felt a bit misaligned in his college experience, found a sense of deep and lifelong belonging with his school and incredible pride in accomplishing what had seemed impossible.
The mystique of Notre Dame is different things for different people. For me, it was the coming together of a community in a dark and crowded chapel.
— Chris Wallace ’99
A prayer for JFK
It was Friday, November 22, 1963, and Breen-Phillips was a freshman dorm. When my new friends and I, huddled around a radio, heard that President Kennedy was dead, someone said, “Let’s hit the chapel,” and we did.
Later that weekend, Father Ted Hesburgh, CSC, celebrated a memorial Mass for the whole campus at Stepan Center, and it was impressive. But the small Mass in BP’s chapel on Sunday was the first time I shared grief personally with anyone, and the intimacy we all felt together was one part of the large task of growing up.
— Andre Papantonio ’67
Lightheartedness and unity
As of 2024, a quarter of the residence halls’ Sunday Masses start at 10 p.m. Only four celebrate weekday Masses before 8:30 p.m.
Two years post-graduation, I cannot recall the last time I voluntarily left my house after sunset. Yet I remember Breen-Phillips’ 9 p.m. weekday Masses feeling like mere study breaks, after which I’d wander back to the air-conditioned library for more reading or prep for a 10:30 p.m. project meeting.
Pope Francis speaks about meeting people where they are. Considering our packed schedules and love of sleep, those late Mass times were practically divine intervention.
Dorm Masses were also a hotbed of microtraditions, far beyond Milkshake Mass and Sundaes-on-Sunday. We had the repertoire of closing hymns we’d sing at the top of our lungs, ceremoniously slamming the missals shut after the final notes. Resident assistants lined the front pew in matching dorm T-shirts and scrunchied low ballerina buns, setting an unspoken standard I followed as an RA, too, for posterity. Our brilliant priests’ 90-second homilies were captivating. We’d snack on the leftover, unconsecrated hosts, because they were homemade, perishable and indisputably delicious.
The very picture of kinship.
In a world where daily liturgies start at 7 a.m. and forming new traditions demands months of planning and cross-country flights, the proliferation of these microtraditions is remarkable. They blend lightheartedness and unity, a microcosm of Notre Dame itself. To attend dorm Mass, you didn’t even have to leave home — you just had to go downstairs.
— Elizabeth Maxwell ’22
Comforting Sunday (and Monday) rituals
I never missed Sunday Mass at Farley Hall and was delighted to help plan liturgies. We prayed, sang and laughed together. We changed the look and feel of the chapel during Lent, moving the altar and the candles so folks were literally in a different place as we prepared for Easter.
In the run-up to our premier SYR, Pop Farley, we prepared for Father Hesburgh to celebrate our dorm Mass. However, as the dance often fell on Super Bowl Sunday, it was the only Mass of the year that took place at 4 p.m., rather than at 9 p.m.
Monday night Mass with Father Pat Neary, CSC, ’85 held special importance. Our group was smaller and more intimate. We gathered in a quiet corner that I helped prepare as a sacristan. Those nights sustained me, especially when I lost my beloved grandmother senior year.
After graduation, Father Neary and I stayed close. He performed our nuptial Mass. He emailed to ask about my family, even while doing missionary work in Africa. In December 2022, Pope Francis named him bishop of St. Cloud, Minnesota.
Those Masses shaped my faith. I continue to serve in our parish as a lector and Eucharistic minister and proudly watched our two sons become lectors and altar servers. Dorm Mass is a singular part of Notre Dame and one of my fondest memories of my time there.
— Christina (Lindemann) Sikorski ’03
Presidents presiding
Try as we might, graduate students did not have the same Notre Dame experience as the undergraduates. Sure, we tailgated on football Saturdays and fielded a team at Late Night Olympics, but the connective link and core identity of the undergrads — the residence halls — wasn’t available to us.
We did our best to replicate the traditions we could, including the dorm Mass. Without a dorm, the MBA students hosted the Graduate Business Mass on Sunday evenings in Mendoza. It was a singular way to step aside from books and projects for one hour a week and celebrate our faith.
The recent leadership change at the University reminds me of a coup we pulled off in 2004. We were able to arrange as guest priests for our Sunday night Masses the past (Father Ted Hesburgh, CSC), present (Father Edward “Monk” Malloy, CSC, ’63, ’67M.A., ’69M.A.) and future (Father John Jenkins, CSC, ’76, ’78M.A.) presidents of the University. Not many MBA students knew who Jenkins was at the time, but I was pleased to have him say a Mass and complete the trifecta.
Father Ted was the headliner, of course. We moved that Mass to the basement to have a larger space and still had to bring in extra chairs at the last minute. Helping him with the Mass and driving him back that evening to “my library,” as he called it, remains one of my most cherished Notre Dame memories.
— Michael Ferreter ’05MBA