Br. Gilmary (John) Manning of St. Therese of the Infant Jesus was born on July 13, 1926, in Milton, Massachusetts to parents John and Mary (nee Von Enden) Manning. 

Funeral Homily, below, given by Fr. Larry Daniels, O.C.D.

Prior to his entrance into the Discalced Carmelite order, Br. Gilmary was a brother-novice with the Fathers of the Sacred Heart in Sainte Marie, Illinois. However, he chose to join the Carmelites and took the name Br. Gilmary of St. Therese when we entered the novitiate with our clothing in the habit at Brookline, Massachusetts on August 14, 1957. ‘Gilmary’ means ‘Servant of Mary’ in the Celtic language, and he had an undying devotion to Mary, especially the rosary.

Gil was stationed in almost all our houses: novitiate, retreat house, parish, Philippine Islands. But he stayed the longest in our Prayer House in Hinton, West Virginia. Here, with his dedicated prayer life, he honed a deep social sense for the poor and disadvantaged.

Br. Gilmary requested and received permission from our Provincial to spend a year in Mobile, Alabama, working in a L’Arche House of John Venier for mentally and physically handicapped adults. Each house had two supervisors who lived there and three or four residents. They created small normal communities for God’s special creations.

While there, he was given a red baseball cap with Crimson Tide Alabama on it. He ALWAYS wore it, and with honor. After he left them, he still faxed birthday greetings to them, even from Nairobi.

When our Province asked for volunteers for our African mission, Gil signed the slip and handed it in, never thinking he would be chosen because of his age (67), his health (underwent open heart surgery), and hearing (he wore two hearing aids with almost no help). But he was asked, and he came. And he wore his red cap on the international flight.

In Nairobi, it didn’t take long for folks to know the red cap covered a soft heart. The poor came to the door and would ask for the one with “The Red Cap”, or “The one with these” and they would raise their hands and put fingers in each ear and make a squealing sound, like the tuning sound of hearing aids. However, the more interesting called him “Brother Hail Mary”!

They also soon learned that his soft heart got softer for the poor with children. Mothers came with babies in their arms, on their backs, hanging in the front, and sometimes one in each hand. They came and Gil gave. 

Gil took the sick poor to the Benedictine Dispensary, St. Odillia’s. There he met a sister who treated the poor with dignity and compassion, Sr. Bernadette. He liked going there, and so was a regular with the sick poor.

One time he lost his cap. He asked me several times if I had seen it. He checked the truck, the car, my office, my room, his office, his room and everywhere else. For several days he couldn’t find his red cap and he never stopped looking. After a few days, it was returned to our door. He had left it at St. Odillia’s while taking someone there and Sr. Bernadette had WASHED it before returning it! He showed it to me, a grin wrapping his face, and slapped it on his head, where it belonged.

As Postulant Director, he was easy to find. Just look for the red cap. I could see him walking home across the field from Dimesse after taking classes with the Postulants. There are lots of Peugeot trucks here, but I just looked for the red cap on the driver. For me, it identified Gil.

And the only time it wasn’t on his head was in chapel. Then the red cap was tucked under his chair with his books, ring of keys, yellow and black rubber encased flashlight, and his empty coffee cup.

After Mass at St. Austin’s in Nairobi on Saturday, February 1, 1997, we buried Gil in the Missionary Cemetery at St. Austin’s. We walked to the cemetery, prayed and lowered Gil into his grave while the community and those gathered sang Salve Regina.

While we waited, the workers filled in the grave. This is the dry season, and the ground at St. Austin’s is fertile, and called red soil. As they filled the grave with the fine bright red dry ground, a chimney of red dust rose from his grave and we heard loud thumps as rocks hit the coffin. Slowly the thumps quieted, but the chimney of red dust continued to rise – painting the workers bright red, and the mourners who stood too close. I took off my stole and tucked it into my pocket to save it from the red scourge for I didn’t want to move too far away.

Then I looked up. Twin large fir trees grow near Gil’s grave, and standing between the two, almost invisible was a Brother. He had stayed up all night with Br. Gil for the vigil, and now couldn’t leave him in the grave. He had his brown habit on (here they wear white for the heat) and the hood pulled over his head. He stood rigid, motionless, in intense grief. Gradually I walked to him and just hugged him. No response. Later he told me, “At that time, I didn’t know what I needed. I didn’t know what I thought. I didn’t know what I felt. Just the complete loss of our Brother Gilmary.

We stayed until the red soil was piled high over Gil’s grave. The funeral service provided a black wooden cross about four feet high, inscribed: 

Brother Gilmary Manning, O.C.D. 

+January 28, 1997

We stuck it in the heap of soft earth. 

Then we left.

Larry of Nairobi