The Rev. Mychal Judge never shut his door at the Midtown Franciscan friary, literally or emotionally. Anybody with the slightest need for the contents inside — be it a warm jacket or his attentive ear — was welcome.
Not that Father Judge was often in. As chaplain to the New York Fire Department, Father Judge, 68, could be found joking or comforting firefighters or driving hellbent to emergencies. When a boatload of Chinese refugees were shipwrecked in the Rockaways, he was one of the first there, "handing out blankets and coffee and telling them jokes," said Peter Johnson, a friend. "They didn't know English, but he was doing pantomime and they were laughing."
He had "movie-star looks and a tremendous ability to speak and sing," said Mr. Johnson. "And that was tempered by his absolute consistent devotion to being a priest." He wore his friar's robes to soup kitchens, to Gracie Mansion, to the White House, to countless baptisms and funerals.
He had no use — none — for physical things, said Steven McDonald, the police officer paralyzed by a gunshot who accompanied Father Judge on peace trips to Belfast. Give the father a cashmere sweater, he said, and it would wind up on the back of a homeless person. Go to him with a troubled soul and he would listen intently for as long as it took. He went where he was needed. On Sept. 11, he faced the inferno with the firefighters.
New York Times
Published: December 31, 2001