Marian Helper Winter 2015-2016

H is body was buried on Eden Hill with his rosary wrapped in his hands and with his colorful pro- peller cap. His devotion to Mary grounded him. The propeller hat helped him to rise above — to see the sacred in the mundane, the face of God in the broken- ness of others. Brother Fred Wells, MIC — who sang like an angel and whistled better than Bing Crosby himself — died Sept. 9, in Stockbridge. He was 88. “He would create an atmosphere of such joy,” said th e Very Rev. Fr. Kazimierz Chwalek, MIC, the Marians’ provincial superior. “He would shower people with affection and affirmation, particularly the lonely,” said his dear frien d Br. John Bryda, MIC. In matters both secular and sacred, Br. Fred practiced and advocated com- mon sense and simplicity. He never had the ambition to change the world: he knew he couldn’t. His was an apostolate of smiles; he made people smile. A native of Richmond, Virginia, and one of five chil- dren, Charles Frederick Wells, Jr., was raised in a poor but loving home. The fam- ily shared a record player. Music filled their lives. And dancing. And prayer. He took Joseph as his Confirmation name becaus e St. Joseph was “an ordinary work- ing guy who saw the Lord’s hand in everything.” Plus, as Br. Fred would later explain, he didn’t know many saints at the time, and Joseph “was right there in the Holy Family. I figured I might as well start in the Big Leagues.” During World War II, no sooner was he drafted than Japan surrendered. He would claim credit for that. He left the faith as a young man. When invited by a pastor to return to the Church, he misguidedly declared himself “unworthy” of God’s love. The pastor set him straight. Brother Fred would spend a lifetime setting straight similarly misguided souls who don’t know the love of the Father. Inspired in 1954 by a n image of Divine Mercy i n a pamphlet published by the Marian Fathers, he entered the congregation in 1955. Over the course of his 60 years with the Marians, he served as an accountant, provincial councilor, and assistant novice master. He ministered to the poor, the homebound, orphans, and prisoners. With his gentle Southern intonation, Br. Fred spoke as if he had sanded his words down to a fine finish, each word rounded off at the end as if to ensure they’d never hurt anyone. He laughed frequently. He listened care- fully. And, in the words of Br. John, he sang in the key of “B natural.” He learned enough Polish to make his Polish confreres chuckle. When asked how he was doing, he could respond in Polish, “Good, but not exactly.” He was known for the bread he would bake and give away. It was dubbed “Fred’s Bread.” “My first bread came out like a brick,” he said. “If you dropped it on your foot, it would make an impression on you.” He began wearing the propeller hat in 1992. He’d buy them in bulk and give them away. “I once gave one to a woman in her early 20s who had cancer. Chemotherapy had made her bald. You never saw some- one so happy as when I gave her that hat. The hat opens doors. If you wear this, your life will never be the same again.” Brother Fred was diagnosed with cancer in 1998. It would take its toll. He said cancer is “not about death; it’s about life.” It forced him to direct all his thoughts and affections toward God and loved ones. In his last years, he lived like a hermit, content to stay in his simple room, sit by the window, soak up the quiet, and talk to God as he would talk to a friend. “The Lord is giving me this opportunity,” he said months before his death. Lenny, the local butcher, once said to him, “Brother Fred, I don’t know where I’m going after I die.” His propeller hat in place and his spiritual affairs in order, Br. Fred leaned in and responded, “I don’t know either, but I refuse to go any place else but Heaven. I just refuse.” — Felix Carroll F rom the N ational S hrine Farewell, Br. Fred MH M arian H elper • W inter 2015-16 •  marian.org 27