Father Pete Marcial was a Filipino priest on Guam and quite a character.
He came to Guam in the early 1970s and was a chaplain to the Filipino workers at Black Construction Company. He landed a job as a counselor at the government Vocational Rehabilitation department and stayed there a long time.
There was a time when we weren't sure if he was an AWOL priest. Rumor at the time was that he refused to return to his diocese in the Philippines, so he was on Guam, they said, without his bishop's permission. When he showed up now and then to concelebrate at a Mass, people looked at each other not sure what to do. I myself never saw him being told to leave. So it remained a mystery. In time, though, he squared everything away with his bishop and all was well. But, in the meantime, he earned his living employed by Voc Rehab.
There was a time when he was coming to our Friary each and every week. He'd have dinner with us and then stay many hours into the night, sharing story after story. I wondered if half his stories were true, but whether or not they were true, they were certainly entertaining.
Here's one of his stories.
Father Pete went on a trip off-island but it was a short trip, so he decided to park at the airport in long-term parking so he could just drive off once he returned.
But his flight back to Guam arrived at two or three in the morning, and Father Pete was very sleepy. He got to a red light on a deserted highway in northern Guam. Already sleepy, he got even more sleepy waiting for the light to turn green, with no other cars in sight. He fell asleep at the wheel, the car in park.
Well the light changed from red to green, back to red then green again, several times, and Father Pete was blissfully unaware as he continued to sleep, the engine running.
In time one or two more cars were waiting behind him and Father Pete wasn't moving at all. Very soon, a police man drove to the scene and tapped loudly on Father's window, abruptly waking him up.
Father explained he had just landed late at night and was sleepy, but the policeman didn't care. He was going to write him a ticket. Father Pete protested; the other drivers behind him could have easily moved around his motionless car; there was hardly any traffic on the road at all at that early hour of the morning.
Still, the policeman handed Father his ticket and asked him to sign. Father Pete refused. The policeman said, "Well, here's your ticket and the court date is on the back. Make sure you appear if you're going to contest this ticket. And I'm putting down here, 'REFUSED TO SIGN.'" Father took his ticket and went home.
When Father appeared at the court house, the judge looked over the ticket and declared, "Case dismissed." Why? Either the policeman was dyslexic or was just as sleepy as Father Pete that morning he was ticketed. Instead of writing "REFUSED TO SIGN," the policeman wrote "REFUSED TO SING."
The judge asked out loud, "How can a police officer force a man to sing?"
It was stories like these that I looked forward to each week Father Pete came to the Friary for dinner. I've forgotten all of them but the REFUSE TO SING one. Rest in peace, Father.
FATHER PETE WHEN POPE JOHN PAUL II VISITED GUAM IN 1981
