By Fr Niall O’Brien MSSC

When I came first to the island of Negros, nearly forty years ago now, Candoni was one of the remotest towns in Negros. It was a grueling two-hour journey into the mountains from Kabankalan. You had a choice: to go via Salong and Tapi or via Dancalan and Tabo. Either way it was a long journey and a hard road which reminded one in parts of pictures of the surface of the moon. The young priests have it a lot easier nowadays. I recall going there by bus and frequently deciding to travel on the roof, seated on sacks of rice or fertilizer rather than the cramped quarters inside. The only problem was that when we passed under trees we sometimes had to lie out flat lest we be swept off the roof by a low lying branch. As we approached a townlet we had to climb in through the windows while the bus was still moving because it was illegal to be traveling on the roof. My short stay in Candoni was caused by the fact that Fr. Eugene McGeough, the parish priest, was away on holidays in Ireland and I was to take his place.

I remember making a journey by horse (I, an untrained townie) to the place called Sawmill somewhere in the mountains. I had some trouble in getting that horse to cross the river. I was bringing the last sacrament to a woman who was dying. I recall her happiness that I had made the journey and my own peace of mind that I had been able to help her if even a little on her journey. But sadly, the trees are all gone now and indeed much of the soil too and many of the inhabitants had to go off to Palawan.

But I am wandering. Because what I really want to talk about is the then parish priest of Candoni, Eugene McGeough, and I am finding it difficult because he was so extraordinary and so different that I don’t know where to begin. Once Bishop Fortich after visiting the parish said that Gene was the most loved priest who ever lived in that difficult parish. I can vouch for this, but the question is why? He was not an organizer, a church builder, an initiator… though he did all these. What was he? He was a dear, dear friend to anyone who was willing to accept his friendship. He would spend hours talking to old lolas and lolos and he would regard them as his lola or lolo. The convento was packed with all sorts of people and if there were not enough blankets at night he would take down the curtains which his sister Mary, visiting from Ireland, had put up and use them as blankets for the people. He was a man with a tender heart and that was a difficult thing to be during the atrocities of the Marcos years. And I hope I hurt no one’s feelings when I say that a great number of people in the lowlands just did not believe us when we told them what was going on.

I think Gene was one of the first priests after Vatican II to gather a core group around him and listen to them and let them make the decisions for the parish. In this way, indirectly he was an initiator of many things. Power is a great temptation for any priest especially for a priest in a remote rural parish. Eugene never fell for that temptation. He listened carefully to everyone and usually let the group make the decision, treating everyone as equal and with a special ear for the poor…though he himself came from a privileged background.

On one occasion during the Marcos years, two Criminal Investigation Service (CIS) agents called to the convento. Presumably they had heard from local officials of Fr. Eugene’s complaints about how the army were behaving. “Have you any complaints, Father? Why don’t you just report them to us rather than to the public?” Eugene proceeded to tell them many stories, including one about how his sacristan’s mother had been raped and murdered by a group of cowboys, employees of a wealthy man in the lowlands. He couldn’t control his tears, which sort of threw the CIS agents who didn’t really take all of this too seriously. They were more interested in public relations than in helping, as was evidenced by the fact that they took down the details ‘on the back of an envelope’.

Fr. Eugene died on Saturday, 3rd of November last year, after a long battle with cancer. For the last few years he had been serving in the parish of Iona Road, Dublin. Just like Candoni the people fell in love with him, though he never promoted himself in anyway. Once again it was his ability to be present to people, to listen to them and to take care of them. The church was packed and after the Mass we spotted what for Ireland was an unusual sight…the altar girls huddled in the sacristy all in floods of tears trying to console each other.

The next day we had our own Mass for him in St. Columban’s Missionary College with Fr. Mark Kavanagh giving the sermon. Mark was parish priest of Kabankalan for many years and his sermon was really beautiful. I was so happy to be asked to say the Mass for my old and dear friend.

Fr. Eugene was buried here in St. Columban’s Missionary College in our special graveyard with missionaries from all over the world. His grave is beside of Fr. Eamonn Gill and Fr. Brendan O’Connell, both of whom worked with him in the mountains of Negros. If the young priests of Negros have the same heart for the poor as these three men then the future of the Church will be one of grace and peace.

Only the people of Candoni could tell you the real story of Eugene and I hope someday they will find a way to do it. I am not surprised that the present mayor and some of the councilors and government officials are his potégés and I would imagine some of his spirit has rubbed off on them. I do hope they put up some memorial to one of the most loved priest their town has ever had and I am sure that tears were shed in Candoni when they heard the news.