Mainly people came to Serenity House not because of the books Joe McQuany
would write, or lectures he would give, or the programs he devised, but
because of Joe himself. To quote one of his co-workers and admirers - but I
repeat myself - his soft, unjudging brown eyes would connect with the souls
of others. Joe seemed to look past all the superficialities that separate us
one from another, and see the essential creature within, sinner man.
You may have met people like Joe on rare occasion - if you've been
fortunate. They've got something special about them, a kind of almost
palpable aura. And you never forget them. They're always there for you;
they're always there for everybody. The short word for them may be saints.
The man never tired, not even during his last, four-year struggle with
Parkinson's, and he never stopped dreaming. His last great dream was a
treatment center for women. When the ground was broken for that project two
years ago, and folks asked where the money was coming from to finish it, Joe
told the newspaper: "I had $300 when I started. People said, ŒHow are you
gonna do it?' I said, ŒI don't know,' and I stepped out. I've always stepped
out into things, and people have always helped me."
They did again. Construction was completed a few weeks ago, and Joe was
there to admire it. It was another of his dreams achieved. He didn't seem
surprised. Sitting on a patio overlooking the new building just days before
he went into the hospital for the last time, Joe McQuany kicked back and
observed, "It's gonna be OK."
Joe could have been talking about a lot more than a building; he could have
been summing up the message he'd brought to so many, whatever their station
in life, who were poor in spirit. Then they would read one of his books, or
leave one of his lectures renewed and resolved, or check out of Serenity
House rich in hope and determination. That might've been all they had, but
they knew it was going to be enough. It was gonna be OK. Joe had taught them
that much, or rather he would have quietly let them realize it. As one would
point out the light, or a beautiful fall day, or the grace all around us.
And he was his own best example.
At his death last week, condolences poured in from all over, including
nearly every state in the Union and ten foreign countries at last count.
His obituary noted that Joseph Daniel McQuany leaves
behind his wife of 48 years, Loubelle, numerous family (including 12
great-grandchildren), and "friends around the world." Many of those friends
have the best of reasons to be grateful for Joe: a life of their own rather
than one dictated by the current addiction. As for Joe, he always lived
simply. He was interested in a richer life: helping others.
Reading this today may be someone out there who is heavy-burdened, convinced
that if it weren't for the particular chemical cross he has to bear, he'd
live fully, do great things, amount to something. In 1962 Joe McQuany found
himself in that spot, desperate over his weakness, and proceeded to Š turn
it into strength. So can you, Troubled Reader. "If I hadn't been an
alcoholic I probably would have amounted to nothing."