While living in the shack, I wrote my first book, “The Starved and the Silent,” concerning the poor in Korea and the poverty of Christ.  Also, I founded the Sisters of Mary and started my apostolate to the poor.  This shack-living certainly was not essential to these programs, but I felt it was quite helpful.”

“All in all, I consider my years in the poorhouse as one of light and grace.  And I look back upon this period of time with gratitude and nostalgia.”

Here is Father Al’s firsthand account of his years in his poorhouse.

You may ask what helped me relate to the poor.  As I mentioned previously, I was named pastor of Song-do Parish in Pusan.  In the spring of that year, I moved out of the Bishop’s house where I was staying to take up my duties as a parish priest.    

At first I lived in a small Korean cottage, which was part of the parish plant.  After considerable effort and using the good offices of Bishop Choi, I prevailed upon some Korean Benedictine Sisters to come live and work in the parish.  Korean Sisters are a great asset to any parish in Korea.  They conduct catechetical classes, work with the children, do home visitations, help with the liturgy, and assist the Pastor in many other ways.  Their presence heightens the spiritual tone of the parish and very often means the difference between a parish which is alive and dynamic and one which is dying.

I was delighted that three Sisters were coming, but there was one problem. There was no place for them to live.  I could have built a convent on a small piece of ground adjacent to the Church, but this would take time.  Since the demand for Sisters at that time was very great and the supply was very short, I felt that any delay in establishing the presence of the Sisters in the parish might result in losing them.

At that time there was a Korean squatter family living in a shack which they had built on church property.  The shack was a non-descriptive hovel with a tarpaper roof and mud walls, similar to what other people in the parish were living in.  I offered this squatter family a sum of money to purchase or rent shelter elsewhere, and prevailed upon them to move out.

My idea was to fix up the shanty in which they were living and use it as a temporary rectory.  After the premises were vacated, I went to inspect my future dwelling with my parish assistant, Damiano.  The place looked very uninviting and I wasn’t sure whether it was livable or not.  I turned to Damiano and asked what he thought.  His reply was simply, “Sure, Father, with determination you can do it.”  That simple remark was decisive and I decided, under the circumstances, to give it a try.

The fact that the shack differed very little from the houses in which many of them were dwelling seemed to make no difference.  They uttered dire predictions, which had a somewhat unsettling effect on me. 

They predicted that if I didn’t die of tuberculosis, I would be eaten alive by the rats and bugs, and if sickness and rodents didn’t do me in, then robbers, who would assault the place at night and smash my head, would finish the job.

Frankly, what worried me more than the tuberculosis, rats and armed robbers was the simple fear of making a fool of myself.  But the words of my faithful servant, Damiano, “With determination, you can do it” urged me on.  Of course, what I might term “determination” another would call “bullheadedness,” but that’s another matter.

I fixed up the shack as best I could and move in.  It worked, but just barely.  I encountered a number of difficulties.  First was the smell, a rich, earthy, overpowering smell, composed of human excrement, dead animals, garbage, bugs and dirt.  At first, the smell was so awful I had trouble sleeping at night. 

But I kept shifting my sleeping bag about the house until I eventually found a corner where the air was somewhat breathable.  Then I made a determined assault to extricate the cause of the odor.  I discovered one or two dead rodents in the walls, and using some chemicals eventually changed the odorous aspect of the parish house.  Also, I am sure that unconsciously my sensitive American nose became desensitized with time, and although the smell lingered on, my reaction to it diminished.

The smell from the dead rats was one problem.  The noise at night from the live rats which scurried about in the space between the roof and the ceiling was another problem.  Rats are real swingers, and every night when I lay down to sleep, they would come alive and start a disco dance just over my head.  Before crawling into my bed at night, I would position a broom alongside me.

When the rats got too exuberant, I would hit the ceiling with a broom.  This would startle them into immobility for a period of time.  I waged constant warfare with the rats and although at times I seemed to be winning, I guess the final result would best be termed a “stand-off.”

During winter months cold, icy wind would find its way through many cracks, holes and crevices and at times, heating the place properly became something of a problem.  The shack was heated by yonthen coal, as are most homes in Korea. 

Yonthen coal briquettes are made of compressed coal dust and clay. They heat the floor from below and this works pretty good except they give off a deadly, odorless carbon monoxide gas which every year claims many lives in Korea.  While living in my “poorhouse,” on two or three occasions when the floor cracked, or at night when the air was laden and heavy and prevented the smoke from exiting property, the cottage became filled with yonthen fumes.

Several times, I remember stumbling out the front door semi-conscious and reeling as a drunkard leaving a tavern at night.  After a while, I considered the yonthen too dangerous and eventually installed a small diesel-burning space heater.  One night I woke up to find my shack on fire as a result of the diesel fuel leaking, but the fire was quickly put out and there was very little damage.

A final problem, which is in a category by itself, was the problem of the outhouse.  The outhouse was located about 20 feet from the front door.  I grew rather fond of it over the years. It was a little smaller than a telephone booth and consisted of a leaky roof, four walls made out of planks, and, of course, the strategic hole in the middle of a shaky wooden floor.  I have a clear recollection of days when a trip to the outhouse required uncommon courage.

It was the rainy season, the wind was blowing, the rain was coming down in sheets, it was cold.  An umbrella was useless because of the strong wind, so I would simply fling open the front door, dash 25 feet across the muddy yard, shoot into the outhouse, and position myself.  So far, so good. 

Then as the rain was leaking on my head and I was wondering whether the planks would resist the wind, I glanced down at the spot where a roll of toilet paper should have been.  It was gone.  The mysterious “toilet-paper-snatcher” had struck again.  This was the final blow. 

I could take the rats and the cold and the deadly gas, but this was something else.  It happened repeatedly, and the culprit would leave nary a clue.  My toilet paper was not such a luxury, but simply something sold on the Korean market for about 10 cents or so.  I didn’t like the dirty, inky Korean newspaper which most people in Korea used, so I indulged in genuine toilet paper.  But someone, I never found out who, always slipped into my outhouse and absconded with it.

Such were the perils of trying to live with the poor life in Korea.  But poor style living had its positive elements as well.

By living more or less poor, I discovered it was easier to think poor, to feel poor, and to stay on the same wave length as the poor.

I lived in this parish shack for nearly five years from 1961 to 1965, when I left the parish with the Sisters and the children to move to another location where I set up the headquarters for both the Mariahwe Sisters and our child welfare program. 

While living in the shack I wrote my first book, The Starved and the Silent, concerning the poor in Korea and the poverty of Christ.  Also, I founded the Sisters of Mary and started my social apostolate to the poor.  This shack living certainly was not essential to these programs, but I feel it was quite helpful.

My shack also served as something of a protection.  More and more funds were coming into Korean Relief in Washington.  Word was getting around that I had control of large sums of money for welfare work.  Many people began calling on me with various schemes and projects, all requiring capital.  Some of these people were bishops and priests and religious.

Many of the schemes were half-baked, others were outright phony.  Anyhow, I discovered that the office, in my shack, was the perfect place to discuss, and more frequently than not, turn down useless requests for relief funds.  Many of the people requesting funds lost their initial enthusiasm when they saw my simple living quarters.

Also, my little shack protected my own reputation.  At that time there was a great deal of hanky-panky in relief goods and relief funds in Korea.  After a while no one trusted anyone who had at his disposal considerable amounts of relief goods or relief funds in Korea. 

Since the funds at my disposal were gaining in importance, I automatically would be subject to suspicion and possible accusation of misuse and skimming for my own benefit.  But when people saw my living style, any suspicion automatically dissolved.

Also, many of the Christians in my parish were “kujae pum Christians,” or “relief goods Christians.”  Many of them entered the Church to get free grants of cornmeal, flour, milk powder and used clothing.  Many of them still approach the church with a bad “gimmie” complex.  So when they discovered that their pastor had control of large relief funds, many of them considered that they had a God-given right to a share.

But because of my lifestyle I was in a strong position to refuse useless requests, and I began a campaign of spiritual brainwashing.  If I were living in more luxurious surroundings, it would have been very difficult to do this as effectively.

In October of 1989, as his muscles continue to deteriorate, he consulted various well-known doctors in the United States, who gave him their services free of charge. After a series of tests, the result was that he had a fifty-percent chance to have contracted what is called Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis. Upon hearing this, he asked, “Is this disease life threatening?” The doctor told him the usual period of time was three years.

Father Al recounts: “I was in the car with Bill Vita (Bill Vita is his brother-in-law and in-charge of his fundraising operations at that time). I said, “Can you believe it? This disease ALS has my name on it.” Frequently, I would sign my name ALS. in place of Al Schwartz. Apparently, we two — that is, amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS) and yours truly, ALS — were destined for each other.”

ALS brought him many sleepless nights, as sleep disorder is one of the frequent problems of ALS patients. He would wake up in wee hours after a mediocre sleep not from tossing and turning all night because tossing and turning are luxuries which are denied the ALS patients, but from pain in his arms, legs and all over his body.
He would also suffer bad falls trying to help himself stand. 

As the disease is described as “terminal” and “very cruel and demeaning”, he writes, “Right now, I have very little control over my environment. I have lost all independence and so-called dignity. However, I do not find this all that devastating. I think of Jesus, Lord and Master, who had all power in heaven and earth, yet He deigned to become a small infant. He entrusted Himself totally to the Virgin of Nazareth.” Father Al became totally dependent on the help of others and so he considered the Sisters who were taking care of him as his angels of mercy.

In officiating Mass, flies landing on his nose or his forehead added to his agony. Also at Mass, he had to struggle to keep his head erect to avoid having it fall down on his chest. If so, a Sister would come to lift it back again.

He also became extremely sensitive to cold and heat. But, what struck Father Al the most in his sickness is that it kept him from running, the only secular diversion that he loved.

As the disease progressed, his health deteriorated and declined. He writes about his thoughts on life-support system.

“[…] normally, an ALS patient, in the final stages of illness can no longer speak. However, the eye muscles are never affected by the disease. In the last five or ten years, technicians have developed sophisticated computers with voice synthesizers which can be activated by simply winking and blinking your eyes. The good news is that, even if you are on life-support systems, breathing through a tube in your throat and eating through a tube in your stomach, you can still communicate with the outside world. I personally feel a certain revulsion at the thought of being hooked up to these life-support systems. The idea of lying there, totally paralyzed, breathing through a hole in your throat, eating through a tube in your stomach and speaking through a computer by winking and blinking your eyes, holds little appeal for me. My gut instinct at this point in time, although it is quite possible that later I may change my mind, is to let nature take its course and to accept death without trying to outwit it by any extraordinary means.

 Some ALS patients who are on life-support systems are held up as heroes. They are spoken about as models of courage, determination and as having the will to live. This is one point of view.

 An equally strong case can be made for the opposite. It can be argued that it is just as courageous, heroic and noble to accept death with calm, dignity and serenity as it is to accept a prolonged illness and disability with the same calm, dignity and serenity.

According to the provisions of the apostolic constitution Divinus perfectionis magister and its Normae (promulgated on 25 January and 07 February 1983 respectively), a beatification cause may be initiated by a petitioner five years after the death in fama sanctitatis (with reputation for holiness) or in odium fidei, uti fertur (presumably killed out of hatred for the faith) of one or a group of professed Catholics. This petitioner, or actor, may be an individual or, as commonly practiced, a group (e.g., a parish, a religious congregation, a diocese, an association of lay faithful, or even a civil body) duly recognized by ecclesiastical authorities whose task is to finance and promote this enterprise. However, the pope himself could waive the required five-year waiting period, as in the case of Mother Teresa of Calcutta and John Paul II.

The actor must name a postulator who must be duly recognized by the bishop of the diocese where the Servant/s of God died (canonically referred to as the competent bishop). A postulator is the lawyer of the cause and representative of the actor before the Congregation of the Causes of Saints (CCS), the Vatican office that has direct jurisdiction over such matters. He/she may also appoint a vice-postulator who acts in his/her behalf within the diocese . It is the task of the actor, through the postulator, to request the competent bishop to launch a formal diocesan inquest into his/her/their life. On the same time, the CCS designates a protocol number to refer to the case. In case the bishop of another diocese were to act, for a legitimate reason, as the competent bishop for the cause of someone who died outside the jurisdiction of his territory, he would have to obtain the decree competentia fori from the CCS.

Divinus perfectionis requires the competent bishop to consult with the bishops of his ecclesiastical region on the appropriateness of initiating the cause. He must also publicly publish the petition of the postulator and invite the faithful to report to him any information they may have on the Servant/s of God. Then, should he decide to officially initiate the cause, the competent bishop must assign two theologian-censors to examine both published and unpublished writings of the Servant/s of God . A favorable opinion from them is necessary to proceed with the cause. After this, he assigns a promoter of justice whose task is to draw up a questionnaire for witnesses based on everything that has been collected concerning the cause. Finally, the competent bishop must obtain from the CCS the decree nihil obstat, which would certify that nothing in the records of any Vatican office would merit a suspension of the investigation.

After obtaining the nihil obstat, the competent bishop or his delegate summons and examines witnesses before a diocesan tribunal. The witnesses include those brought in by the postulator as eyewitnesses to the life of the Servant/s of God as well as those who had examined his/her/their writings. They will be examined using primarily (but not exclusively) the questionnaire drawn by the promoter of justice. After this, the competent bishop must also ascertain that there is no public cult accorded to the Servant/s of God in his/her/their burial place or sleeping quarters. When the diocesan inquest is accomplished, two faithful copies of all its acts, the so-called transumptum, are sent to the CCS.

At this point, the CCS ascertains the decree on validity of the diocesan inquest. Having done this, the congregation appoints a relator to the cause. An official from the CCS, the relator’s task is to supervise the writing and publication of the positio by a collaborator (who may or may not be the postulator himself/herself). The positio has two essential parts:(1) the informatio, a critical biography of the Servant/s of God based on the transumptum; and (2) the summarium, a collation of the testimonies of the witnesses during the diocesan inquest and documents relative to the life of the Servant/s of God. It will be examined by three different bodies of experts – historians, theologians, and prelates – who work for the CCS and whose votes would determine the final outcome of the cause. When these three bodies unanimously give a favorable decision on the positio, the CCS draws up a decree on the heroic virtues or martyrdom of the Servant/s of God. Normally, this decree is formally read and promulgated before the pope in a public audience. From then on, the Servant/s of God begins to be referred to as Venerable.

In the case of martyrs, what follows is the designation of the date for the solemn beatification. For non-martyrs, however, another decree is needed. The Vatican requires that one exceptional miracle be proven to have been wrought through the venerable’s intercession. When this is found, the postulator and the bishop of the diocese where the miracle occurred must petition the CCS to authorize its investigation. All records gathered during this inquiry are to be sent to the CCS, which then appoints a body of qualified physicians or scientists, the consulta medica, to judge its extraordinariness. A favorable judgment from this body is presented to the theologians and prelates of the CCS. The pope who formalizes his recognition of the miracle through a decree. Only then can the non-martyr’s beatification be finally scheduled.

The beatification normally takes place in Rome. Pope John Paul II celebrated many of these rites in the country where the candidate for beatification lived, labored, or died. From 1971 to 2004, the pope himself has officiated this ceremony. Until then, a cardinal appointed by the pope presided over the rite. After the solemn act, the venerable is referred to as Blessed. However, his/her/their cult is canonically limited within a particular ecclesiastical jurisdiction or religious community.

For the blessed to be canonized, the actor of the cause must again find one more exceptional miracle that took place after the beatification. The very procedure for investigating a miracle before the beatification is to be repeated. When the decree over this miracle is promulgated, a special consistory consisting of the pope and cardinals is later called to determine the date of canonization itself. After this ceremony takes place, the blessed is henceforth to be called Saint and is presented to the entire church for veneration and emulation.