WOONSOCKET — When you arrive at the bottom of the hill that appears to signal the end of Highland Street, the long road lined with residential properties along the Blackstone River suddenly bends 90 degrees to the right, like an Allen wrench. Continuing upward a short distance to Harris Avenue, it rewards you on the left with an inviting expanse of serene green space.
“Cold Spring Park,” your local guide reveals, pointing out a stone turret in the nearest corner. “That’s the cold spring. When I was a kid, people would come with bottles to get the water.” It’s long since been plugged up, however. “Pollution,” or some such, he suggests with a lamenting wave of his hand and shake of his head. The community, too, has evolved. “We played over there all the time,” he adds, “because in those days, there were plenty of kids around.” He and another family around the corner represent the only surviving residents of his original neighborhood.
After Madonna and Andrew Kiley died during the 1970s, their only child held onto the property, distinguished by enormous rhododendrons in the front yard, eight larger trees in the back, and an unobstructed view of Cold Spring Park. Seeing to its upkeep for decades while also attending to his day job as a parish priest at whichever Rhode Island church he happened to be assigned to at the time, 85-year-old Father John Kiley today brushes off any suggestion that this proved at all burdensome. Rather, he considers the task a blessing, as his boyhood home patiently awaited his inevitable return.
He first moved in with his parents on his fourth birthday, and then back in, by himself, upon his retirement on July 1, 2011, after 45 years pinballing around the Diocese of Providence. But referring to Father Kiley as “retired” does him an injustice, because on that very same day, he accepted a new job, saying Masses and helping out for the past 15 years and counting at St. Ambrose Church in Lincoln’s Albion neighborhood.
“When I was ordained, we just thought we’d be on the job till we died,” Father Kiley remarks matter-of-factly. “Most people around my age retired at 70. Now, most of them stay on till 75, and some beyond, because there’s a more pressing need [for priests].”
This June 4 marks 60 years since Father Kiley’s priestly ordination. In addition to St. Ambrose, he assists today with Masses at St. James’ Church in Manville (another Lincoln enclave) and routinely visits several area nursing homes. He’s long been active in ecumenical and interfaith activities for the diocese as well. While no longer a full-time pastor, he joyfully maintains a full ministerial schedule that consumes virtually all of his days, emphasizing, “There’s no lack of work, believe me.”
Strolling with him on the fringes of Cold Spring Park on a comfortable springtime afternoon, pleasantly chirping birds make the loudest sounds you hear. From this quiet corner of Woonsocket, Father Kiley also continues to author “The Quiet Corner,” his aptly named, weekly column for Rhode Island Catholic, which he’s penned unwaveringly since 1974. He welcomes you inside to inspect the room where he adheres to his disciplined writing schedule.
It’s impossible not to notice, upon entering or exiting Father Kiley’s home, his array of fine men’s hats arranged in an inverted U-shape around a mirror beside his front door. “I stick to the old method,” he states, “that before Memorial Day you wear a black hat, and after Memorial Day, a white or straw hat.” A man of many hats, indeed.
One week each month, Father Kiley retreats upstairs to his cozy, second-floor study, looks up the following months’ worth of Sunday Mass readings, and composes his thoughts on them. On occasion, he drifts from this course to expound on personal anecdotes, obituaries of cherished ones and dignitaries, his travels, timely Church news, or when, as he chuckles in confession, “something just ticks me off, I guess.” His glacier blue eyes widen with delight and the corners of his mouth curl upward in a coy grin.
Rev. Msgr. Barry R.L. Connerton, assistant editor during the 1970s of the Catholic’s precursor, then known as The Providence Visitor, invented the column’s name. “I think,” Father Kiley observes, “it’s supposed to mean that people would read it, and then you’re led to some quiet, prayerful meditation.”
Retirement hobbies? The question trips him up, for he never gave it any thought. He’s busy enough, he responds, catching up with fond priestly friends and generous former parishioners with whom he meets regularly. He derives further satisfaction from having ongoing platforms, in person and in print, that allow him to continue ministering to people’s spiritual needs. “Actually, I do. People are very, very nice. Very receptive. I post [the column] on Facebook and get all kinds of comments from all over the place.” Pausing, he concludes, “I suppose you could call ‘The Quiet Corner’ a hobby.”
Several times, Father Kiley clears his hoarse throat, a nettlesome souvenir, he explains, from a trip to Palm Springs, California from which he’s only just returned the day before. For the moment, he may be losing his speaking voice. But his writing voice? No. No, that has only grown stronger in the decades since he first discovered it more than half a century ago. Countless Catholics who enjoy his weekly words and steady pastoral presence can take comfort in knowing that neither exhibits any signs of wanting to fall silent anytime soon.
Like his beloved Highland Street, Father Kiley’s long career didn’t end where you would have expected. It simply took a satisfying turn, continuing on to a wonderful place.
