Mr. Speaker, rarely has a single person left so great a mark on a community as Sister Jeanne O'Laughlin. When Sister Jean, as she is universally known, assumed the presidency of Barry College in 1981, it was a small all-girls institution.…
Mr. Speaker, rarely has a single person left so great a mark on a community as Sister Jeanne O'Laughlin.
When Sister Jean, as she is universally known, assumed the presidency of Barry College in 1981, it was a small all-girls institution. When she left nearly 25 years later, it was Barry University, a 9,000 student co-ed institution of higher learning, complete with a law school and a national reputation for excellence.
However, Sister Jean's achievements, as great as they are, pale when compared to the power of her personality and extraordinary impact she has had on virtually everyone she meets.
Last fall, South Florida CEO magazine did a profile of Sister Jean which I think captures some of the spirit of this remarkable woman, and I would like to share it with my colleagues.
The Nun on the Run
It is not every day you meet a nun whose license tag reads
``Hugs 1'' and whose sentences are punctuated with an
endearing ``honey.'' But then again, there is only one Sister
Jeanne Marie O'Laughlin.
A few hugs here and a few ``honeys'' there--along with
bulldog tenacity and a refusal to compromise her
convictions--have helped O'Laughlin forge bonds with everyone
from religious figures to football stars to dignitaries. Her
new office at Barry University, where she recently become
chancellor, is proof. The corridor is wallpapered with framed
photos of O'Laughlin with the pope, presidents, sports stars
and scores of other influential people.
About 100 plaques, keys to cities and the Greater Miami
Chamber of Commerce's ``Sand in My Shoes'' award overwhelm
glass-enclosed display cases. O'Laughlin says it was tough to
choose from the hundreds she received during her 23-year
tenure as president of Barry University.
``They just delivered the furniture today. You are my first
external guest, honey,'' O'Laughlin, 76, says in a
grandmotherly tone as she points out her private prayer
closet. She proudly displays her collection of icons--
artistic representations of sanctified Christians that are an
integral part of worship in the Catholic faith. Directing
attention to an icon of ``Jesus the Teacher,'' O'Laughlin
reveals. ``With this one I look at the world through his eyes
and see the humanity of children.'' She has a special place
in her heart for children of all ages, perhaps because her
own childhood, including World War II years spent in Detroit,
was strained.
In 1935, when O'Laughlin was barely 6 years old, her mother
died in childbirth. Her family became a single-parent
household long before it was a societal norm. She describes
her father, a draftsman at the Dodge car factory in Detroit,
as a ``good old Irish dad'' who prayed the rosary every day
and read the Bible to his family on Sundays. Her childhood
memories are a mixture of pain, love and poverty.
``At times you had to pretty well fend for yourself. So
maybe my creativity in fundraising came out of that,''
O'Laughlin laughs now. ``But my core values came from my
father's training and education. Our family always cared for
each other and loved one another. Sharing became an integral
part of what we did. My dad cared. He even took in my
mother's two brothers and two sisters when they got
married, So I had a model even though our family was poor
and motherless. I learned that family was important.''
O'Laughlin's mother lived on in her imagination, stoked by
her Aunt Edna's frequent recounting of stories. One tale in
particular would forever direct the course of O'Laughlin's
life--and arouse her passion for education.
``Aunt Edna told me that my mother valued education and
that her whole desire when she died at age 29 was that her
children would be educated. My dad promised her on her
deathbed that we would be, and we all got college
educations,'' O'Laughlin solemnly shares. ``Missing a mother
made me yearn to protect other mothers and babies.''
Detroit left its impression, too, and an early experience
with racism there, says O'Laughlin, led her to a lifetime of
social action.
One day when she was 13 years old, a streetcar O'Laughlin
was riding in suddenly jolted. Two black children fell into
her lap, and she embraced them during the rest of the
journey. To her surprise, when she stepped off the streetcar,
a white man spit on her.
``I asked my dad why that man spit on me,'' recalls
O'Laughlin, still obviously disturbed by the decades-old
event. ``He told me
it was prejudice. I asked him what caused prejudice. He told
me it was ignorance. I asked him how you get rid of
ignorance. He said education.''
The experience left O'Laughlin with a burning desire to
help people--all people, and it eventually led her down the
path towards joining the Dominican order of nuns. Three years
later, she joined the Adrian (Mich.) Dominican Sisters, an
international congregation of more than 970 vowed religious
women whose roots go back to St. Dominic during the 13th
century.
O'Laughlin began professing her first vows at age 17, That
initial step towards becoming nun was followed by several
years of exploration and training, until she became a
permanent member of the order of the Dominican Sisters of
Adrian. O'Laughlin took her final vows when she was 21--lying
flat on her back in the midst of a battle with respiratory
illness so severe her father feared it was her last breath.
After taking her final vows as a nun, O'Laughlin's next
priority was getting the education that her mother had wanted
for her. She earned a bachelor's degree and began her
teaching career in the 1950s. She taught throughout Michigan
at St. Agnes in Iron River, Detroit's Dominican High and
Dearborn's St. Alphonsus. After she earned a master's degree
in biology, the Archdiocese of Tucson, Ariz. hired her as a
supervisor of schools. Even then, she continued to attend
school, earning a doctorate in education from the University
of Arizona.
A watershed moment in O'Laughlin's life was Pope John
XXIII's issuance of the Vatican II documents between 1962 and
1965, which made several reforms to the Catholic church,
Among the reforms were options for nuns to choose not to wear
a habit, the traditional head covering and garment worn for
centuries, and to have the choice of returning to their
baptismal names or keeping their religious name, That is when
O'Laughlin chose to exchange her religious name of Sister
John Anthony for her baptismal name, and became Sister Jeanne
Marie.
Shortly thereafter, in the late 1960s, O'Laughlin was
appointed superintendent of the Adrian Dominican Independent
School System, overseeing schools in Arizona, Nevada, New
Mexico and California. The administrative position left her
with the experience she would later need to build a thriving
university.
``I learned a great deal about diversity during that time
because I worked with Indians [Native Americans] and
Hispanics. I gained a great respect for various cultures. I
learned to look at sameness instead of differences,''
O'Laughlin says.
Along with her development as an administrator, O'Laughlin
continued to evolve her concept of being a woman in the
religious order. By 1970, she shed her habit, after examining
the rationale of wearing it in light of Vatican II's
redefining of nuns as members of the laity and not of the
clergy. O'Laughlin says it seemed logical, in that light, for
her to dress like the laity. Her sister helped her pick out
clothes, which included the fashion of the day.
While today O'Laughlin wears business suits with
sophisticated style, she says at the time it was like going
from adolescence to menopause in 10 minutes as she began to
understand what it meant to be a woman.
``All of a sudden my identity was not neuter. I had to
worry about hair and clothing. It was a whole new experience
for me. I had no idea how to dress,'' O'Laughlin says. ``I
had to learn the things most women learned in the normal
maturation process from girl to woman.''
She also further reexamined her relationships with non-
clergy. ``It was always very easy to define in the habit. I
just kept my place and my distance,'' she says. ``As part of
the laity, I had to begin relating to the laity on their
level as who I was as a woman.''
As her career progressed, O'Laughlin became the executive
assistant to the president at St. Louis University in St.
Louis and also spent time as an adjunct faculty member at the
University of San Francisco and Siena Heights College in
Adrian before assuming the presidency at Miami Shores-
based Barry University in 1981.
transforming barry
When O'Laughlin first took the helm at Barry, it was a
small all-girls college. When she retired in June 2005, it
was a 9,000-student co-ed university with a law school, an
athletics program, and a $22 million endowment.
After dropping to her knees and dedicating the school to
``the Lord''--saying, she recalls, that it was his
institution and he had to save it and develop it because she
couldn't do it with her own strength--she set out to instill
what she calls the ``midnight shakes.'' Her goal was for
Barry's mission to be so clear in the minds of the staff that
if she suddenly awakened them at midnight they could recite
it, nearly in their sleep.
The mission was (and still is) to offer students a quality
education, assure a religious dimension to that education,
offer a caring environment and provide community service.
O'Laughlin saw the biggest challenge to fulfilling that
mission and building Barry into Florida's fourth-largest
private university was finances.
``It's easy to have dreams and visions, but you need the
resources to fulfill those dreams and visions. The most awful
thing was worrying at night about the people who worked here
getting paid: their mortgages, their car payments, their
children,'' O'Laughlin recalls. ``When I got here the payroll
was about $250,000 every two weeks and then it got up to $2.5
million every two weeks. The greatest challenge to me is to
try to reward and keep the people who shared this mission and
ministry with us.''
O'Laughlin embarked on an exuberant fundraising campaign,
often using the sheer force of her personality to fulfill
what had become a true mission for her. In fact, some have
described her as a cross between P.T. Barnum and Mother
Theresa because of her unusual fundraising efforts, which
included a lot of arm-twisting and the acceptance of a dare
or two.
There was the time she took a $2 million dare to learn
ballroom dancing. O'Laughlin became the first Dominican nun
to debut at the US Ballroom Championships, wearing a floor-
length royal blue gown. She donned a feather boa and white
satin gown on a millionaire's yacht and sang ``Don't Cry for
Me, Argentina'' for a $1.5 million donation.
O'Laughlin's 16-hour days were not only spent building
Barry University, but also building the community. In 1987,
when Boynton Beach-based community radio station WXEL was
plagued with personnel problems, plummeting membership and
donations--even a lightning strike on its transmitter, the
station turned to Barry University for help, and O'Laughlin
led the university's takeover of the station.
Talk of turning the community station over to a Catholic
school drew its critics, but those voices were muted when
O'Laughlin herself spearheaded the move to wash away the
station's $2.5 million debt with the help of a single donor:
Dwayne O. Andreas, retired chairman of agricultural giant
Archer Daniels Midland Co. Andreas had donated the money to
Barry at the urging of his wife, an alumnus. O'Laughlin asked
Andreas if she could use it to save the radio station and he
agreed.
O'Laughlin hired Jerry Carr, a broadcasting veteran and
turnaround expert who had helped revive Miami's Channel 33
and Paxson television stations. Carr credits O'Laughlin with
single-handedly rescuing WXEL from bankruptcy. Many didn't
believe O'Laughlin could keep a Catholic agenda out of the
station's programming, but Carr says she never told him what
to air. In fact, Carr even ran a Planned Parenthood
advertising campaign, a taboo subject in the Catholic church.
``I did not even have to ask Sister Jeanne for permission
because I knew her heart was to do whatever was necessary to
serve the community in a non-sectarian role,'' Carr recalls.
``She always told me I should not do anything other than what
was expected in the world of broadcasting. She was the
greatest boss I ever had and the most wonderful lady I've
ever met in my life.'' WXEL rebounded and revenues
skyrocketed. When Barry took over, the station's net value
was $354,573. It was valued at $5.93 million when O'Laughlin
handed over the chair of the station to Sister Linda
Bevilacqua.
O'Laughlin smiles when she talks about WXEL, but admits it
wasn't quite a dream come true in every respect. ``My dream
was to use the radio station as an instrument to increase
access to education in the community,'' she says. ``We just
didn't have the resources. But God used me as an instrument
to save it, and if that's all he wanted and all he wrote,
then that's OK. It's a huge success. I am proud of that.''
In 1999, O'Laughlin oversaw the launch of Barry's law
school in Orlando. She battled for three years to gain
accreditation from the American Bar Association (ABA). Barry
law professor Stanley M. Talcott, who was dean during the
battle, says he will always remember O'Laughlin's
determination.
``I watched Sister Jeanne as she advocated for the law
school. I found her to be extraordinarily effective, well-
informed, and just powerful,'' he says.
Changing the Meaning of ``Nun''
O'Laughlin has never taken the easy path, and her life has
been tinged with controversy since the Detroit streetcar
incident. She proudly calls herself ``the nun on the run''
because she is constantly on the go and knows she has helped
quash some stereotypes about Catholic religious women and
women in general--things she never intended to do. As she
sees it, she was just following her faith.
In a time when nuns did not typically fraternize with
political potentates and influential business leaders,
O'Laughlin was the first woman on Miami's influential Orange
Bowl Committee and the Non-Group, an informal fraternity of
local power brokers. She has served on countless boards and
committees and has been urged to run for political office.
Never afraid of being outspoken, O'Laughlin has worked to
do more than educate her students. She has labored to fight
drug abuse, feed the homeless, assist immigrants and protect
children.
``We have to understand the dignity and beauty of each
human being, even though we don't agree with them because of
a different tradition or history,'' says O'Laughlin, who has
also fostered the most diverse enrollment in Barry's history,
with 47 percent of its students identified as black or
Latino.
Among her many exploits, O'Laughlin took responsibility for
300 Haitian immigrants when they were released from the Krome
Detention Center in 1982 and placed with sponsors who
provided them with food, housing, and employment; took in
Romanian detainees; helped get residency for an Iranian
couple and their children; and found a home for a Chinese
baby.
Certainly O'Laughlin's most controversial engagement was
her role in 2000's Elian Gonzalez saga. Moved by the little
boy whose mother had died while they were fleeing Cuba by
raft to the US, she initially acted as a neutral mediator,
hosting meetings between the boy's Miami relatives and his
Cuban grandmothers in their tug-of-war for custody. Hers was
an unpopular position that spawned death threats, bomb
threats, and plenty of hate mail.
Then, suddenly, the neutral nun became an ardent advocate
for the Miami relatives, urging the government to allow Elian
to stay in the US. O'Laughlin says her emotions included
fear, compassion, and rejection during a period she describes
as one of the most difficult in her life, but insists her
faith got her through.
``When I went to bed at night, I had to tell the Lord it
was in his hands, and, `If I offended, I ask pardon. If I
haven't, I sure hope you'll help me the next day,'''
O'Laughlin reveals. ``When I talked to [former Attorney
General] Janet Reno about Elian after it was over, she quoted
Truman. She said we were both searching for the truth.''
Generally, O'Laughlin's disarming manner has been key to
her success in helping people, say those who have worked
closely with her.
``With the `honey' here and the `honey' there, she gets a
lot of things accomplished,'' says Leslie Pantin Jr.,
chairman of Barry's board of trustees. ``She continues to
instill in Barry a unique, caring environment while being
involved in every major cause we've had in South Florida,
from the airport to rebuilding after Hurricane Andrew to the
fight against drugs, and of course the Elian Gonzalez
position.''
O'Laughlin may be loathe to admit it, but one of her
toughest fights was her personal battle with lung cancer. She
underwent two lung cancer surgeries in the past few years
(she never smoked) but has hardly slowed down. After stepping
down as Barry's president last summer to allow a new face
with a new perspective to take the university to the next
level, she continued to focus on education, albeit with a
slightly different twist. O'Laughlin's mission now is to
teach women how to open universities in developing countries.
``It would be really great if the Lord would let me, before
I turn up my toes, play a role in getting schools started and
I don't care at what level--because we'll never have peace,
we'll never have a legitimate fight against poverty, unless
we have education,'' she says.
In her quasi-retired life, O'Laughlin remains involved in
various South Florida organizations, and has faith that the
region will become a model that the whole world will envy.
``South Florida has all right ingredients: good people, an
embracing climate, and welcoming shores,'' O'Laughlin says.
``My vision and hope is that we continue to open our arms and
caress our people and energize them to create a greater state
and a greater South Florida by giving their gifts back to
this great place.''