My dear friend Fr. Martello died this morning. I thank God for the years that we had together at St. Joseph. So many good memories. These pictures remind me of how much he loved my playful side. I can’t believe he was willing to do some of the things. A wonderful friendship formed, and we ministered to each other. I was blessed to see him recently, and every time we parted ways, he would always ask for my priestly blessing, and I would ask for his. And we would trace the sign of the cross on each other’s foreheads. May you rest in peace, my dear friend and brother priest.
These are some reflections I wrote.
Fr. Martello was at my home parish, Holy Family; after his assignment, he began doing high school ministry, and since he didn’t have a parish assignment, Holy Family remained his home for many years. When I was assigned to St. Joseph in Amherst, I didn’t know Larry but had fond memories of him at Holy Family, where he knew my Godparents and my parents. One of my early memories with him was with Frank and Chris Yako. These were friends of his from the Hholy Family days. They owned a bed and breakfast on Kelly’s island. He took our staff there once and myself many times after. He loved the beauty of God’s creation. Lake Erie and Kelly’s Island were a refuge for him.
I will never forget the day I walked into St. Joseph’s office. Larry came up to me and gave me a big hug, and welcomed me. Honestly, I’d never had a pastor ever treat me like that. I couldn’t believe that I was finally assigned to someone so loving.
I’m sure everyone knew that Larry could be gruff at times. He would talk softly and get frustrated when people couldn’t understand him. I wonder if he was already experiencing his medical issues back then. For some reason, I was blessed that I could always understand him. Over the years, people often took me to visit him because they had trouble understanding him.
Larry loved his time with Fr. Joe Warner. I remember asking him what he loved the most about his time with him. He told me he loved that they would sit in the living room and watch Wheel of Fortune every evening after dinner, and the price was right. Half the time, they napped in their recliners while the shows were on. I thought, “Well, this will be very difficult because my evenings have always been full. The funny thing is that he helped me slow down, I mean, not really, but kind of.
Our secretary Lesley and her husband Jeff had told us about this show, “The Big Bang Theory.” She lent us the DVDs, and when I got done with my evening appointments, Larry and I would watch a couple of episodes. Always laughing, we would look at each other and ask, “One More?” It turns out I loved my TV time with him in the evenings.
There was a framed picture of Noah’s ark in the hallway of the offices. It was written, “We are all in the same boat.” That became a maxim of Larry’s and mine. No matter what we went through, I knew I had a pastor in the same boat as me for the first time, and I was blessed to be in his boat.
He also had another maxim I still live by today and tell my parishioners and office staff. Larry would say, I ask one thing of you, “Don’t believe anything you hear unless you hear it from me, and I won’t believe anything about you unless I hear it from you.”
Being the priest for the parish, I realize how many times rumors can damage people, myself included. I say and think the same thing. I will never judge or condemn anybody about a situation until I hear the truth. I think he would ask that today if there is anyone you need to forgive, forgive them. And if he has hurt you in any way, can you forgive him?
Larry was one of those priests whose retirement age was extended from 70 to 75. He didn’t bemoan this and loved being a parish priest. I mean, he loved it. His favorite ministry at the parish was RCIA. He loved spending quality time with the people coming into the faith and the RCIA team. He went to every meeting and wanted me to go to every meeting. That was one of his few demands. I was initially frustrated because I didn’t feel it was worth my time “sitting there.” I learned from him the importance of quality time with the people, especially with those who were coming into the faith. The RCIA team and the people who came into the faith over the years became some of my closest friends at the parish.
I look back on our time together still with bewilderment and realize I had a pastor I could trust in my best interest who delighted in me. I can be a headache to some priests, but he delighted in me for some reason. I was a young priest filled with energy, creativity, and passion. He wasn’t threatened by this, I think; even going beyond his comfort, he participated in my antics he participated.
We had such a good and playful rapport, and to everybody’s shock, I think I could bring out the child in him. I remember the first Halloween at the parish. I wanted to dress up and go around the classrooms, giving the kids candy. I walked into Larry’s office, and, very much unlike me, because I was nervous to ask him, said, “Larry, we are going to dress up and go into the grade school. I’m giving you two options. Pick a costume and put it on.” I still can’t believe he abided by my command. We ended up being Elvis and the Houndog. I gave him my guitar and a rubber Elvis mask. He put it on, and I laughed so hard I was almost on the floor. My mother and I worked on the next set of costumes every Halloween after that. Larry was so devoted to his mother that I think my mother’s participation in this broke down a barrier and bonded us. He would send my parents a centerpiece for every Christmas and Easter. He would call before and after any surgeries or other important life events. And I know that he also did this for many others. He got excited before the holidays, knowing that this was one thing he could do for people.
Larry LOVED eating out, and eating in, for that matter. He loved going, especially to restaurants owned by parishioners. His classmates affectionately referred to him as “The Bishop of Amherst.” Whether it was downtown Amherst or Lorain, he had known these people for decades, being the pastor at St. Joseph and the campus minister at Lorain Catholic before that. These friends loved, loved, loved Larry, and he let me into their friendship. Some people who cared for him when things were the worst were his Lorain Catholic students or St. Joseph parishioners. I am so blown away by their dedication and support to him. I have never seen people so willingly, dedicated, and unwaveringly take care of him in some of the most humiliating situations in such a gracious way.
Larry’s mother “Grace” Martello, was a legend in the diocese of Cleveland. She would go to every class he taught the seminary deacons. She would cook and serve and be there to support her son. She was also a prolific seamstress for making albs for the seminary and the cathedral. I always wanted a handmade alb and wish I had one of hers. Larry surprised me one day with a package, and I opened it up. To my delight, he had someone make me an alb with his mother’s pattern. Now I had a Martello alb; my world was complete.
He loved being the chaplain for Chautauqua every year. My all-time favorite memory of him was when he invited me out, and we took in lectures and beautiful concerts from the top balcony of the Catholic House.
He had a lifelong love for learning. I’ve heard that he was always seen as a leader as a student. He loved monsignor Murphy. Larry was so proud and happy to be the spiritual director for the diaconate formation for decades. He would take me to the seminary once a year to teach a class to the deacons on Spiritual Reading. To my surprise, he just wanted to share these priestly ministries with me and, again, just like being with me and having me there with him.
He loved going to Cancun with his priest group. I wish I had met him earlier because I love nothing more than doing nothing on a beach. Unfortunately, his health started to take a turn when I got to the parish, and he never made any trips after that. We would discuss how wonderful it would be to hang out on a beach together.
I was so blessed and grateful to have such a loving pastor then. He took me under his wing, and for the first time as a priest, I didn’t feel like I was a burden. Instead, he delighted in my
As my time went on with Larry, his health continued to diminish. I loved every opportunity I had to take care of him. I would often valet his car, pick him up, and get him in and out of the car. Any opportunity I had to help him was such a privilege for me. Even though he was very guarded about his health or allowing anyone to help him, he let me help him for some reason. I felt so grateful that he allowed me to do this for him.
He, like me, loved concerts, theater, and films. He had a group of priests that had season passes to the Playhouse Square and loved going with them. One evening, on a dark, rainy fall night, we went to dinner and a movie with some parishioners. Some could only make it to dinner, so we went to dinner with everyone, and the couple that was not going to the movies dropped us off in the front of the theater. As usual, I opened the door for him, got him out of the car, and escorted him into the movie theater.
After the movie was over, there was another group that was going to take us home. Did I mention that it was dark, rainy, and cold? Larry was wearing a long black trench coat and the big mafia-looking hat he always wore. The car pulled to the front of the theater, and I did what I always did. I walked Martello up to the front of the car, opened the door, got him seated, and then jumped into the back seat. When I sat down to put on my seatbelt, I looked into the front review mirror to see a very panicked and scared man who screamed at us, “Who are you? What are you doing? Get out of my car!” I instantly thought, “Larry will be pissed at me for this!” I got back out, helped him out of the car, and began walking to the correct car, only to notice a young girl and her mother going up to the stranger’s car. The girl said, “Daddy, who was that in your car.” The poor guy probably thought that the mafia was in his car. I held my breath the whole ride home. Did I mention that Larry could get upset at times? Thankfully, I was laughing so hard that he finally broke down in laughter.
As the years progressed, Larry’s health turned bad. More and more times, he was in the hospital. More and more, I was beginning to minister to this pastor who had been ministering to me. Again, for some reason, he let me into his suffering. Many will never know how much he struggled, suffered, and endured. He was never embarrassed around me. He let me care for him and take care of him. Whether in the hospital or nursing home, I would see him every day, taking his mail, bringing checks for him to sign, and asking him what I could do for him.
I’ve always struggled with hospitals and nursing homes. It is one of the most challenging parts of being a priest. I hate the way I feel in those situations. Over time, I got comfortable being with Larry in the hospital or nursing home. Now, I would bring my laptop, and late in the evenings, we would watch the Big Bang Theory together, and just like in the rectory, we would look at each other and ask, “Wanna watch one more?”
After transferring to the opposite end of the diocese and he was in the nursing home, I would try to see him every month. I once told him, “I never thought I’d be hanging out with someone in a nursing home.” He laughed, stroked his beard, smiled, and said comfortingly: “I know, I know, I know”.
He was very devoted to his family. Larry loved his brother, sister, and brother-in-law. He told me repeatedly how grateful and humbled he was by their taking care of him and spending time with him. He loved when they would bring dinner and hang out in the dining room.
What a wonderful blessing for me to know this priest, my pastor, and my friend, and to see what it is to be a priest with such a good family that he could make others feel part of his family. The Family of God.
How much I would love to say to him, “Wanna watch one more?”
