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A Chronological Glimpse
The Ursulines
The Growth of Glengarda
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Photo Album 1919-1997
Windsor Star
March 26 1997
by Marty Gervais
Memories of a 'sacred
The sun streams through the windows, making patterns on the smooth hardwood floors and the empty walls.
Down the hall, the chapel, shorn of its icons, except for one large wooden cross, leaded windows, and empty choir stalls, speaks of a silence and a presence from a past that soon will disappear.
Even so, those days are not forgotten by the Ursulines who used to inhabit this space, rising at 5:30 a.m. for prayers.
They still live with the joy of those treasured moments, of days filled with prayer and work.
And last summer, when the handful of the sisters left at Glengarda decided to vacate and sell the place, they were joined by others from the order--some in wheelchairs--who had lived here over the years. They went room to room, on a kind of pilgrimage to their own history, their own roots in this community, the lives they had lived together."We went through the whole house and told stories of people we remembered," says Sister Theresa Mahoney, a member of the Ursulines leadership committee that opted to sell the building and the three-hectare site (7.02 acres) on Riverside Drive East.
That moment last July was celebrated without fanfare, without defined direction, except to stroll the halls of this rambling building they put up in 1939.
"We talked about the memories, the families who came to visit, the children being baptized, the mopping up of floods in the basement. We can't forget the blood and sweat and tears that went into this place." Yet that tour wasn't an odyssey into regret or sentimentality. It wasn't a sadness over the passing of an era.
Rather it was a quiet, joyful ritual, a comforting blend of humor and buoyant sentiment.
"It was our way of dealing with this decision," says Sister Theresa. She insists in selling the property to developer Chuck Mady, who plans to demolish the 58-year-old former convent and school, the sisters weren't turning their back on the memories, or Windsor itself.
Moving on
"Glengarda's a sacred spot, a hold spot, and we won't forget it, but it's time for us to move on."
The Ursulines, explains Sister Theresa, face the future differently. It's not a matter of wiping away the past. The sisters can't lament that Glengarda--rich with its own history and stories and accomplishments as a school--will be demolished.
"We have to sell without any strings attached."
But in selling, Sister Theresa adds, "We're not abandoning Windsor...We just didn't say 'the heck with this.' It's simply this building is no longer helpful to us in ministering to people."
As Sister Theresa makes her way through the darkened hallways of the former convent, passing empty rooms that at one time had so much vitality, she says, "I don't know if other people assume we don't care...We do care."
But this former principal believes the role of the Ursulines in Windsor has changed dramatically since 1919, when the order acquired the McGregor farm that extended in a 28-hectare (approximately 70 acres) strip of land from the Detroit River to Tecumseh Road. Over the years, the nuns disposed of much of the property, including parcels to Brennan High School, Our Lady of Guadalupe Church and St. Therese Church.
The present building with its stately bell tower was the result of Sister Kathleen Taylor's efforts when she arrived here in the 1920s. She had envisioned a sprawling school to accommodate the trainable mentally retarded.
Mandate Changed
At first, Glengarda's mandate was to work with the mentally challenged. Over the years, that emphasis was modified numerous times. Today, Glengarda Child and Family Services, now a provincially-sponsored agency (no longer under the jurisdiction of the Ursulines) counsels and provides education to some 66 emotionally troubled children.
The group still occupies Glengarda, and plans to move out in the next few months.
In its heyday, Glengarda dispatched sisters to teach in Catholic schools throughout the area. It also boasted of a music academy. All of that gradually changed.
"That's the way it should be. We're here to serve. We go where we're needed," says Sister Theresa.
A maxim perfectly in keeping with the Ursuline founder, the 16th century St. Angela Merici, who had ruled how essential it was "to read the sign of the times and adapt."
Today, Ursulines work among street people, refugees and support groups for women.
"People may not see us in schools or hospitals, but it doesn't mean we've gone away."
The move out of Glengarda was partly necessitated by finances. Like other religious orders, the Ursulines are immersed in a crisis of dwindling numbers and an aging membership.
At one time, the order had more than 400 members. That is now down to less than half that number. And the 40-bed infirmary at the mother house in Chatham is overflowing.
In days past, that would have been fine, when the Ursulines provided their own nursing staff. Now the order must resort to hiring nurses. "We used to do everything ourselves...We cooked, cleaned...We were administrators, child care workers, teachers...We no longer have the kind of energy to go day and night."
Sense of realism
Standing at a tiny window in a cubbyhole room on the third floor, Sister Theresa says, "This is where I stayed when I lived here. The river was the first thing I saw in the morning, and the last thing I saw at night."
A good memory. Yet there's an air of expectancy about what lies ahead for her and for others in the order.
"We are on the brink of seeing a whole new form of religious life...We have a pretty good sense of adventure and realism about the future."
THE END