Two names, decades of daily mercy, and innumerable blessings at St. Paul’s free hospice home

Our Lady of Good Counsel/Our Lady of Peace marks 80 years of caring for the dying, rooted in Hawthorne Dominicans’ ministry

Editor’s note: This story recently appeared in Ramsey County History, magazine of the Ramsey County Historical Society. Article and sidebar reprinted with permission by Ramsey County Historical Society. It retains that publication’s style. To see the complete article with nine illustrations, sidebars, and associated endnotes, visit this link.

Rosebud, he called her. A tender nickname for his youngest child, his brightest hope.

In 1850, the year before his daughter’s birth, his novel The Scarlet Letter published. It was selling well and garnering literary acclaim. Nathaniel Hawthorne imagined a promising future for his lastborn.

A beautiful redhead with soft eyes and a square jaw, Rose Hawthorne showed great talent early on—writing, painting, and performing. She was well-educated and welcomed into sophisticated social circles. Who knew her legacy would one day play out over a thousand miles away along St. Anthony Avenue in St. Paul, Minnesota?

In 1871, at twenty, she married a writer named George Lathrop. Five years later, they welcomed a baby boy —  Francis. But life did not go as planned. Their son died from diphtheria at age four. The couple tried to cope, moving frequently, writing, changing jobs, and, eventually, their religion — both converted to Catholi­cism in 1891. Rose, especially, focused on her personal spiritual journey, attending daily Mass and praying countless novenas — many for her husband. After twenty-five years of marriage, the couple separated permanently in 1896.

Slowly, her newfound faith and gaping grief reshaped her heart. Nothing looked the same. Then when two friends died of cancer, Rose was struck by their fate. One friend was wealthy and received the best care. The other, a seamstress, was poor and left to die on Blackwell’s Island, now called Welfare Island — “New York City’s last way station for the penniless.”

At the time, cancer was considered contagious, like scarlet fever. Some families cast cancer-stricken relatives out on the streets, “. . . they are avoided more than any other class of sufferers.” Rose vowed to embrace them, “I set my whole being to endeavor to bring consolation to the cancerous poor.”

Dignity for All

That same year, Rose returned to New York and appeared at the city’s Cancer Hospital, requesting doctors to teach her how to attend to the very worst cases. For several months, the earnest forty-five-year-old student observed the best care afforded to those who could pay for it. She then set out to provide care for those who could not.

That meant living among the poor in the noisy slums of New York’s Lower East Side. A visiting reporter commented on Rose’s living quarters, “The plastering has fallen from the walls . . . the house itself looks as if it had the skin diseases in which Mrs. Lathrop is so interested.”

Yet, Rose saw only hope and possibility. She believed she could make a difference. She recalled her visit to the World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago in 1893, where George Westinghouse demonstrated electricity, illuminating much of the fair with light bulbs. She wanted to provide that same spark as he had, lighting the way for others.

Reflecting on that experience, she set to work, getting down on her knees and scrubbing. She painted the floors in a vivid yellow, manufacturing her own sunshine. The once-pitiful rooms were soon “gladdened in the mornings by a miraculous sunbeam.”

She was undaunted by the slum dwellers, “My manner was all trust and good cheer — the only preparation needed for success among the poor.”

Rose’s strategy worked. An old woman living on the ground floor — referred to as “that thing” by other tenants — was transformed by Rose’s kindness. She “shines with happy smiles now,” Rose wrote. “Everybody is growing to like her, because I liked her and said respectfully that she had a soul, and Our Lord loved her.”

Rose’s confidence in God’s providence and the daily mercy of the public was so high she refused any payment from patients. Instead, she placed ads and wrote appeals in newspapers, hoping to interest potential benefactors.

She was not without critics, however. Some questioned her insufficient nursing training, others the “dirty” occupation, and still others suggested she encouraged beggars. To Rose, she could not, in good conscience, neglect the poor, even when the work was endless. Rose also suffered. Twice during the first year of her work, she nearly died of pneumonia.

An Order is Born

Something deep was at work in Rose as she eventually began fundraising to purchase her first freestanding, free cancer home. All money raised and all donor names were printed from time to time in The New York Sun.

She was buoyed by an art instructor named Alice Huber who decided to join Rose’s cancer outreach. The two women forged a close friendship and together founded the Congregation of St. Rose of Lima.

Rosebud — the laughing, dancing girl from so long ago had finally realized her calling and had become the very determined Sister and, later, Mother Mary Alphonsa.

In 1900, the two friends were accepted as Third Order Dominican religious. They were called the Servants of Relief for Incurable Cancer. Later after the establishment of the mother­house in Hawthorne, New York, in 1901, they become known informally as the Hawthorne Dominicans. Over the years, they and their congregation would accomplish the unimaginable, eventually establishing seven free cancer homes across the country.

At every turn, the nuns battled foreclosures and a multitude of other issues, but just as happened in the early years, volunteers and benefactors poured in to help, and contributions multiplied. Mother Alphonsa even received encouragement from Samuel Clemens (Mark Twain), who wrote of her cancer ministry, “I know of this lofty work of yours . . . This prosperity will be continued . . . for that endowment is banked where it cannot fail until pity fails in the hearts of men. And that will never be.”

Settling in St. Paul

The sixth cancer home established was in Minnesota. It proved, in some ways, to be the most difficult and the most meaningful to found.

War clouds loomed over the nation in 1941 when plans began developing for Our Lady of Good Counsel Home in St. Paul. Taking over for Mother Alphonsa, who died in 1926, Mother Rose had high hopes for the order’s western-­most home. She had seen the profound impact of their cancer facilities and yearned to reach the Midwest.

“Do you think it wise to begin such a venture in these troubled times?” Bishop James Cassidy, the head of the Fall River Diocese in Massachusetts asked Mother Rose as he worried about American involvement in World War II.

Mother Rose spoke of the pressing need, making a compelling case. But privately, she, too, was worried.

As I write, the world is in great distress, and there seems no chance for improvement . . . Hitler and Mussolini have caused so much destruction that if we are not near the end of the world, there seems little chance to ­rebuild . . . As far as our work continues, there will always be the poor incurable cancer patients to care for, and our Homes will be kept well filled. Death is sometimes a daily visitor. We hope in a few months to open a Home in St. Paul, Minnesota.

Despite her fears, Mother Rose found allies, beginning with the head of the Preparatory Seminary in St. Paul, Very Reverend James L. Connolly. “Our Archbishop has a heart wide open to every charitable work,” he wrote Mother Rose, “and I have not the least doubt that he will welcome it.” Indeed, Archbishop John Gregory Murray did.

A few months later, a location was chosen: a two-story brick toll office owned by the Tri-State Telephone Company, situated on the southwest corner of Cleveland and St. Anthony Avenues. It needed work. Some fretted about wartime conditions causing a shortage of building materials and labor, but those who knew Mother Rose well knew she would not be deterred.

Nine nuns were chosen to make the journey and operate the St. Paul cancer home, with Sister Mary Paul as their leader. They departed New York on November 26, 1941, following a rousing farewell address from Father Joseph Clune, their chaplain, “That lovely city on the Mississippi is to welcome a band who come as pioneers, yes, but seeking nothing, begging only to be allowed to give their all.”

The long train ride carried them across the Heartland, showcasing servicemen that hinted at imminent military engagement. The nuns arrived in St. Paul as the last rays of the sunset glistened on the Mississippi River. War was very possible. Winter was near. But the warmth of the Minnesotans and the depth of the nuns’ faith shone brightly.

A Surprise Attack, A Quiet Opening

Archbishop Murray celebrated Mass the next day in a makeshift chapel, consoling the newcomers with the reminder that “[o]ur home is where our Lord is.”

The grand opening for Our Lady of Good Counsel’s home was set for Sunday afternoon, December 7 — a day that would go down in history —­ when Japan attacked Pearl Harbor early that morning, and the country waited to see if the US Congress would declare war. As news trickled in, the nuns proceeded with their opening that somber afternoon. The Axis powers would not stop them.

Ray Wey was eight when he attended the opening with his family. During the tour, he heard the radio buzzing and folks trying to piece together what had happened far away in Hawaii. Despite the uncertainty of the day, visitors were awed by the cancer home with its tall windows and long rows of tidy beds. “We thought it was quite a generous organization — there was nothing else like it,” said Wey, a St. Paul resident who is now eighty-seven, a former priest, and former associate director of Catholic Charities of St. Paul and Minneapolis. “Everyone saw it as an innovative undertaking — the idea that you didn’t have to pay and could come in your last days and get incredible care!”

The nuns, smiling in their crisp white habits, impressed his family and other curious visitors. “They had a spirit of innovation and adventure,” he said. “. . . Even as a kid, I sensed their warmth and friendliness.”

Looking back, Wey said, it seems fitting that Our Lady’s opening was eclipsed by an enormous news-making event. It has remained low profile over the decades. “Even though it’s not well known, it’s well loved. It’s had tremendous support . . .”

After the humble introductory gathering, the nuns had no time to rest. Their first patient arrived the following day. Word spread. Soon, some very sick men and women had settled into the cancer home.

The sisters’ learning curve was steep, but their guiding light directed each step through Mother Alphonsa’s mission to set out to love everyone. Despite having little medical background, the nuns committed to learning every aspect of end-of-life care. In the coming decades, many earned nursing degrees. They were ahead of their time, said Dr. Wayne Thalhuber, who served as the facility’s medical director for four decades from 1968-2009.

“They were so devoted to the care of their patients,” he said. “They lived in the same building. They were around all the time. When I walked in there, I experienced something different. I said, ‘What is this? This isn’t like [other] hospitals or nursing homes in town.’ There was such a peacefulness conveyed by the nuns. I don’t know if you can measure it, but you can feel it.”

From the first patient he encountered — a woman with a large sarcoma of the hip that was fungating — Dr. Thalhuber was stunned by the complex medical situations with which the nuns were tasked:

The overwhelming disease they were facing — that you would never even see in your residency or a county hospital. These people were down and out. The more I went, the more I wanted to go. . . . I felt more fulfilled as a physician there than in sitting in my office trying to take care of somebody with diabetes or hypertension that wouldn’t listen to [me] anyway. At Our Lady, I felt that I was really helping . . .”

Bedside Prayers

That calling was extended to the Catholic semi­narians who visited Our Lady. “It was something the seminarians took very seriously,” said Wey, who had grown from an eight-year-old boy into one such seminarian receiving a real-world education far beyond any textbook.

With time and a beautiful example from the nuns, the seminarians, Dr. Thalhuber, and many others learned to lean into the spirituality of their work “I wasn’t a great religious guy,” said Thalhuber, “but when I couldn’t do anything else and their symptoms were as reasonably controlled as I could get them, I would say, ‘Tell me about your spirituality.’ And I’d try to identify something they were really grateful for. . . . Suddenly, we were praying. Gratitude opens the door.”

Spirituality turned out to be the most important tool in his toolbox. “It was the hug that sent the patient off on their travels.”

The modern idea of hospice care — a holistic, person-centered approach to palliative care that addresses a patient’s physical, psychological, and spiritual needs — was introduced in the late 1960s in England by Dr. Cicely Saunders. Yet, by then, the sisters at Our Lady had quietly been providing hospice care for decades.

According to Dr. Thalhuber, the staff —­ doctors, nuns, and lay people — often introduced to patients and families the concepts of asking or giving forgiveness and saying I love yous, thank yous, goodbyes, and, sometimes, assurances that those left behind will be fine and it’s okay to let go.

A Garden, Good Will, and Faith

Staying true to Mother Alphonsa’s vision of a free cancer home was no small feat. Since its founding, Our Lady of Good Counsel depended entirely on donations of goods, money, time, and service. No payment was ever accepted from patients, their families, insurance companies, or government agencies.

In 1980, a new building was erected on the grounds, including a sun-drenched, brick-lined chapel near the entrance, a central courtyard with a large fountain, and two floors for patients offering twenty-one beds in total, two per room. And, there were gardens.

The sisters knew their flowers as well as their patients. “A nun would humbly ask, ‘Can you put some more moss out near the rhododendrons?’?” recalled Greg Deacy, director of maintenance at the facility today, who served as groundskeeper from 1997-2000. Roses bloomed beside the windows, and the nuns sometimes added them to floral displays in the chapel or shared them with a resident.

“Simple things matter,” said Sister Mary de Paul Mullen, who served at Our Lady from 2007 to 2009. “Bringing a patient a perfectly bloomed flower from outside could spread such joy.”

Being responsive to patients has always been a priority. For Deacy, that meant keeping the building a comfortable temperature. When a patient who loved baseball lost power on his TV during the World Series, Deacy replaced the set immediately. All the staff delighted in granting wishes: a Schmidt beer, a pontoon ride, a delicious blueberry scone, or the chance to pet a cat again, hop on a Harley, or even visit the Twins stadium.

The nuns’ devotion to their patients never wavered. When Kim Perez, volunteer director and department manager, began working at Our Lady in 1989, she asked, “Who works the night shift?” The answer from the administrator stunned her: “Well, we do, of course!”

Perez believes the nuns at Our Lady, with their trust in Mother Alphonsa’s daily mercy of the public, would’ve made their foundress proud. “One of the sisters would say, ‘Oh, I need this’ or ‘I need that,’ and it would come in the next day!” Perez exclaimed. “Once, a sister said, ‘My patient loves pink. It would be so nice if she had a pink gown.’ A few days later, a beautiful pink gown showed up. My mind was blown, and the sisters were like, ‘Oh, sure!’?”

Still, generosity didn’t keep staff members from worrying. For one, there was such a great need, evidenced in the ongoing waiting list for beds along with the continual call for donations. In a 2011 interview for The Catholic Spirit, Director of Nursing Matthew Stafford emphasized Our Lady needed new donors to continue its mission. “The younger generation has not quite picked up the support of the home the way that their parents did,” he said. “When we call, they say it was their parents’ favorite charity. We need to encourage people to pick up the torch again and support.”

It was a heavy weight that fell on the nuns, who had to be skilled nurses, savvy fundraisers, and fervent prayers. Decade upon decade, they put in long days, drawing on their education and their faith to serve the dying.

Listening, Learning, Loving

A hallmark of the excellent care provided is symptom management. What can be done to make patients more comfortable? This is approached through a broad lens, with some measures requiring advanced medical knowledge and others involving basic hygiene.

The day after patients are admitted, they receive a warm bath in the hot tub. Nails are trimmed, a man’s face may be shaved. These simple measures make a big difference, and visiting family members are often comforted to see the patient looking fresh, clean, comfortable. Other times, symptom management requires selecting exactly the right medication at the right time — a decision that is made by a medical director with input from the nursing team.

This commitment to listening, learning, and loving spurs on the staff. Comfort was and is further amplified through an array of ­therapies — from music to dog to, at one time, a roller skating nun — and enhanced by volunteers who come simply to hold a patient’s hand.

Harpist Jennifer Wilson, a former volunteer at Our Lady, understood the power of music to transport someone to another time or place — before cancer. “There’s that trail down to Lake Superior,” she said one long-ago Monday morning, perched beside a patient after playing the final chord of Forest Stroll, a sunny Celtic melody. “The North Shore is my favorite travel spot.”

“Can I join you?” the patient asked.

The benefits of music are wide ranging — from lowering blood pressure to lessening the perception of pain. It’s not taking the place of medication, but it can help make a person more comfortable.

Patients are further comforted by the knowledge that Our Lady will care for their loved ones through extensive grief-therapy programming. Services include one-on-one meetings, phone calls and Zoom sessions, grief support groups, seminars, workshops, and memorial services.

Ron Rudolph was reluctant to attend his first session of a spouse support group after his wife, Pat, died. He lingered in the parking lot, but when he finally joined the group, he was amazed by its impact. They spoke knowingly of struggles, such as removing a late spouse’s clothes from the closet.

Rudolph formed a special connection with one widow in the group — Kathleen. On Christmas Eve in 2019, he proposed in Our Lady’s chapel. “It had to happen in the place where both of our lives stopped and started again,” Rudolph said. “If I had stayed in my truck and not walked into that support group, I would probably still be home by myself.”

New Owner, New Name

A major transition came in 2009, when the Dominican Sisters of Hawthorne made the difficult decision to transfer sponsorship of Our Lady of Good Counsel to the St. Paul-based Franciscan Health Community. The few remaining beloved nuns returned to New York to minister there, and the staff and community grieved.

“Continuing the sisters’ legacy is a priority,” said Joe Stanislav, who has been CEO for the past twenty-nine years. “It’s a testament to the people that we all just wanted it to succeed, to continue giving free care as long as possible. . . . Now that lay people like us have tried to imitate what they (the sisters) set up, hopefully they’d be happy with what we’re doing.”

Despite the loss of the six sisters, today, four Franciscan Clarist nuns serve in their place, living at the hospice and assisting with caregiving while providing a gentle Catholic presence.

In 2011, Our Lady of Good Counsel was renamed Our Lady of Peace (OLP), and three years later, the charity’s board decided to broaden its free end-of-life care to include people with other terminal illness, not just cancer.

A Pandemic Strikes

For all the organization endured, Our Lady of Peace faced yet another unimaginable test in 2020 when a public health crisis converged with an economic crisis, placing the hospice in the crosswinds.

As increasingly dire information about COVID-19 emerged, the staff rallied. Life as they knew it was about to be upended. From administrators to receptionists, everyone united to implement the best practices on infection control. Administrators closed the hospice to visitors. This was the hardest part of the pandemic. Nurse Frezgi Hiskias explained how healthcare workers facilitated virtual meetings, held up iPads for their patients to see families online, and with only their eyes showing above otherwise masked faces, they quietly kept vigil over dying patients around the clock, clasping their hands, listening to their stories, praying, and holding the space.

At the same time, Our Lady called for donations, and, soon, hundreds of handmade masks and gowns arrived. Donors stepped up in record number, enabling the hospice to meet new COVID-related expenses. “It was like the miracle of the loaves and fishes multiplying,” said Director of Development Lisa Sweeney. The facility reopened to the public with modified visitation policies in May 2020 after eight weeks.

Continuing the Mission

Today, Our Lady of Peace employs 135 workers, including nurses, social workers, chaplains, and a full-time physician, which is rare for a hospice residence. Its affiliated home-care program and Highland Block Nurse Program are thriving, and it is bolstered by a legion of ninety loyal volunteers.

Since its founding eight decades ago, the groups under the Our Lady of Peace umbrella have served some 26,000 patients. But their focus remains on the single patient before them.

To continue to provide patients the very best experience, the OLP Board of Directors recently launched a capital campaign for a $5 million expansion and renovation. The chief goal is to build an addition that allows for all rooms to be private. They’ll also add a covered entrance to shelter incoming patients and ease the transition, renovate the lobby, construct a family lounge, and expand the parking lot.

“I think we’re the best kept secret in St. Paul,” Perez said. “We’re a beacon of light and a source of hope for people who don’t know where to turn. People are aghast we can do this for free. ‘What?! In this day and age? How are you doing it?’ Well, there’s a community of support. There’s this big whole community of people who believe in what we do.” Mother Alphonsa and Mother Rose would be pleased.

Christina Capecchi is a freelance writer and contributor to The Catholic Spirit newspaper in St. Paul. She earned a master’s degree from Northwestern University’s Medill School of Journalism. She and her husband, Ted, live in Inver Grove Heights with their four children.