Latest news with #Jesuits
Yahoo
a day ago
- Yahoo
Best public golf course in Oakland County offers all the solitude in the world
This is the sixth and final entry in a series looking at the best public golf courses in the six-county metro Detroit area. There's simply no getting around the massive advantage Shepherd's Hollow Golf Club enjoys. It sits on 350 acres of undulating, wooded terrain in Clarkston that sits next to a park-like retreat for Jesuits priests and brothers. Advertisement There isn't a more beautiful and serene setting for a golf course in metro Detroit, if not the entire state, and that's why we're picking it as the Free Press' Top Public Golf Course in Oakland County If the mere setting was all that Shepherd's Hollow offered, it still might be enough to earn it scores of accolades. But Shepherd's Hollow is so much more than a setting. A round here is a holistic, luxe experience that starts from the winding drive through the tall pines onto the property. It lasts until the final bite of seared scallops grenobloise and truffle fries paired with Moet and Chandon champagne during a post-round meal in the handsome white clubhouse reminiscent of South Carolina's Low Country estates. MORE GOLF: Michigan's best 20 public golf courses rankings Advertisement Between your arrival and departure, you get an exquisite taste of some of the prettiest 27 holes of golf anywhere in Michigan. Like very few other courses in metro Detroit, the scenery, undulating topography and secluded nature of the entire property make Shepherd's Hollow feel like a true facsimile of playing Up North. Any combination of two nines stretch past 7,000 yards. That's long enough, but when you factor in plenty of hilly terrain, the length often feels like more than enough challenge. Yet it's never too much because of the sheer straightforward beauty of Arthur Hills' classic, minimalist design. There are generous fairways and large greens that make it eminently playable for anyone, as long as they stick to the right tees, because the course can also play shorter than 5,000 yards. One of the keys to the isolated serenity is the expansiveness of the property. Shepherd's Hollow claims another 27 holes could have fit on its 350 acres. But instead of crowding golfers, the course's ample space has bestowed up on players the benefit of solitude. If you stay on pace, and off your phone, there are times you feel the world doesn't exist beyond this tranquil forest of solitude. Being located on the second-highest point in Oakland County also offers Shepherd's Hollow the distinct advantage of providing plenty of elevated tees and dazzling views of the course. Of course, what goes up must come down, so there are some blind shots that force you to face a green mound as you imagine that lovely scenery and, hopefully, the well-placed shot you just hit. Advertisement The two holes I most often think of at Shepherd's Hollow are the first and 18th, among the 27. The first is a long par-4, dogleg right that quickly puts the course behind you and requires a tricky approach to a tricky green that plays 50 feet downhill from the fairway. The 18th could be considered the course's signature hole: A par-5 that bends to the right along the shoulder of a pretty lake. If you come to Shepherd's Hollow, make sure you aren't rushed. Give yourself the time to enjoy the experience, in totality, of what this course offers and the exquisite manner in which it does so. Contact Carlos Monarrez: cmonarrez@ Follow him on X @cmonarrez. The rest of the series MACOMB COUNTY: The Orchards Advertisement WAYNE COUNTY: The Cardinal at St. John's MONROE COUNTY: The Legacy by Arthur Hills LIVINGSTON COUNTY: Moose Ridge WASHTENAW COUNTY: U-M Golf Course This article originally appeared on Detroit Free Press: Shepherd's Hollow is best public golf course in Oakland County
Winnipeg Free Press
4 days ago
- Winnipeg Free Press
Man sues over claim of sex abuse by priests
A Winnipeg man who claims he was repeatedly sexually violated by at least two Catholic priests while growing up in Stony Mountain is suing over the alleged abuse. In a statement of claim filed in Manitoba Court of King's Bench earlier this month, the man accuses the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Winnipeg and its corporate arm of failing to protect him from abuse while he was a child. The man, now 62, alleges the abuse began when he was five years old and continued until he was 13, between 1967 and 1974. The court papers allege the two named priests — Rev. Harold J. Bedford and Rev. Robert L. MacDougall, both Jesuits who died more than 20 years ago — were pedophiles. Both also served as chaplains at Stony Mountain Institution, the federal prison. 'The priests assaulted the plaintiff by, among other things, exposing themselves to the plaintiff, molesting the plaintiff, performing fellatio on the plaintiff and sodomizing the plaintiff,' the lawsuit alleges. 'The plaintiff says there were over 100 total assaults.' The archdiocese has yet to respond to the claim with statements of defence and the allegations have not been heard in court. The court papers claim, in addition to MacDougall and Bedford, other priests abused the plaintiff in his youth, too, but he forgets the particulars due to his age, the trauma and the passage of time. The lawsuit claims priests were given unfettered access to members of St. Joseph's Church in the town, at their homes and elsewhere. The man alleges the priests separately and repeatedly abused him at different points. Bedford was the priest at the church and served as a chaplain at Stony Mountain prison from about 1936 to 1971. He died in 2004 at the age of 98. He was later honoured in 1983 at a reception at the prison, said a Free Press story that named Bedford as the longest-serving chaplain in the federal corrections system. The court papers claim Bedford began to abuse the plaintiff when he was about five in 1967, spending an 'exceptional amount of time' at the victim's house. Bedford would molest the boy while tucking him into bed, the court papers claim. He alleges he was sexually and physically assaulted on multiple occasions at the church, and once while attending a church service at the prison, when he was molested and sodomized in a bathroom. The plaintiff claims he reported the assaults to community members and church officials, but was called a liar and told not to say anything. He also alleges he witnessed Bedford sexually assault his mother and sisters. He alleges Bedford and other church officials 'employed a practice of intimidation' to stop him from speaking about the assaults. MacDougall was priest at the church and chaplain at the prison beginning around 1970, the court papers say. His Free Press obituary said the chaplain term lasted from 1970 to 1974. He died in 2004 at the age of 81. The plaintiff claims MacDougall molested him in his car beginning in 1971. He also alleges MacDougall would watch him urinate and would molest and sexually and physically assault him during lunchtime catechism classes at the church. In 2023, MacDougall was named by the Jesuits of Canada on a list of priests or brothers 'credibly accused' of child sex abuse. MacDougall was accused of 'inappropriate relationships' with minors between 1973 and 1975 while he was a pastor in Winnipeg, a spokesman for the Jesuits said in 2023. He was assigned to the St. Ignatius Parish in 1975. The Free Press is not naming the plaintiff due to the nature of the allegations. His lawyer, Faron Trippier, did not return a request for comment Monday. The court papers allege the archdiocese had a practice of hiring and employing priests it knew or ought to have known were sexual offenders, demonstrating reckless and callous disregard for children's well-being. Weekday Mornings A quick glance at the news for the upcoming day. The man accuses the archdiocese of failing in its duty to protect him and failing to act after hearing of the alleged abuse. The court papers also accuse the archdiocese of negligence by placing the priests in positions of trust, failing to prevent abuse, failing to investigate and failing to warn members of the church community. The lawsuit argues the archdiocese should be held vicariously liable for its priests' alleged actions. The plaintiff claims to have suffered mental and emotional trauma, including post-traumatic stress disorder. The lawsuit seeks unspecified damages for his suffering, lost income and the costs of future treatment. Erik PinderaReporter Erik Pindera is a reporter for the Free Press, mostly focusing on crime and justice. The born-and-bred Winnipegger attended Red River College Polytechnic, wrote for the community newspaper in Kenora, Ont. and reported on television and radio in Winnipeg before joining the Free Press in 2020. Read more about Erik. Every piece of reporting Erik produces is reviewed by an editing team before it is posted online or published in print — part of the Free Press's tradition, since 1872, of producing reliable independent journalism. Read more about Free Press's history and mandate, and learn how our newsroom operates. Our newsroom depends on a growing audience of readers to power our journalism. If you are not a paid reader, please consider becoming a subscriber. Our newsroom depends on its audience of readers to power our journalism. Thank you for your support.
Winnipeg Free Press
5 days ago
- Politics
- Winnipeg Free Press
Pray for rain — and plant more trees
Opinion As I write this, Saskatchewan is under another air-quality alert as smoke from Alberta and B.C. drift over to cast a shadow on what would typically be a sunny June day. It's a day of indoor work while the winds dry out my garden and the prospect of a morning run evaporates with the first whiff of wildfire smoke. But I still have a home. And that home in a small farm town is buffered by miles of open farmland and copses of poplar trees. Saskatchewan's wildfires are three hours north of me in the boreal forest. Last Saturday, we had our first real downpour since the snow melted but the drying winds picked up again the next day. Tim Smith/The Brandon Sun The sun, obscured by smoke from forest fires in northern Manitoba, glows pink in the sky as an aircraft takes flight at the Brandon Airport. 'Pray rain,' we say to each other at the post office. Thanks to the Chinese tariffs on canola and peas, Prairie farmers planted wheat instead. 'It won't matter what the farmers seed,' the locals say, 'if we don't get more rain there will be no yields.' Manitobans are also navigating enormous challenges on the home front. While one eye is poised north on the wildfire crisis and the other looks anxiously south at the threat to U.S. civil rights, Prairie people are feeling overwhelmed. Whenever I'm in trouble, I look to my late father, John, for wisdom. Dad was great at taking the long view. 'Patricia, in five years, will this problem even matter?' Most of the time Dad was right. The crisis would blow over and life would return to normal. What would my father, a lifelong conservative who was educated by Jesuits and abided by the social contract, say about U.S. President Donald Trump? It's unprintable. In the case of the Trump government and its egregious conduct, dad's long-view approach works. As we count down the days to the American mid-term elections, a course correction seems inevitable. In the interim, we watch in shock and horror. It's been almost six months since the Trump inauguration. How long does it take to dismantle a democracy? Can Trump really be calling in the National Guard to quell a legitimate protest against his retrograde use of Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents? Seven hundred U.S. Marines may now joined 2,000 California National Guardsmen despite California Gov. Gavin Newsom's clear objections. It brings to mind Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young's anthemic protest song, Ohio. On May 4, 1970, Ohio National Guardsmen shot and killed four students at Kent State University during a protest against the Vietnam War. 'Tin soldiers and Nixon coming,' sang Young. I was seven years old during the turbulent time of the Kent State shootings. My parents reminded me that Neil Young, the son of my parents' friends, Scott and Rassy Young, was a brave Canadian who deployed his talent to shed light on the wrongful deeds of the Nixon administration. Right now, I'd prefer to see 'Tricky Dick' Nixon at the helm. Trump's shock and awe approach to governance means that he'd rather fund the mobilization of Marines than support FEMA. Since Trump assumed office, America's federal disaster relief program has been gutted. In a period of record unpredictable and harsh weather, it's disastrous timing. Climate change is an even bigger challenge than Trump. It's not something we can fix overnight. But if we don't take collective action, it will get much hotter. There will be more wildfire evacuations, floods and drought in the years ahead. Given the magnitude of the problem that Prairie residents currently confront, we cannot endure the distraction of another Trump drama. Yet we cannot, in good conscience, look away and do nothing. On the federal level, Canada can be a sanctuary country. Prime Minister Mark Carney can offer safe asylum for those impacted by Trump's regime. Wednesdays Columnist Jen Zoratti looks at what's next in arts, life and pop culture. On the local level, citizens can take tangible action to mitigate the impact of climate change. Manageable and affordable projects like community gardens can provide food security and citizen engagement. On the federal transportation file, offer tax breaks for telecommuters, ride share programs and people who cycle, or walk, to work in the summer season. Fund bike lanes, not more pipelines, Mr. Carney. One simple and accessible fix is to plant more trees. Diana Beresford-Kroeger, a Canadian botanist and author, says if we each plant one tree per person over six years, it will help offset our carbon footprint. Tomorrow the wildfire smoke will clear and I'll be able to weed my garden again. But Canada's long-term vision, the protection of Mother Earth and our democratic freedoms, requires our constant vigilance. Patricia Dawn Robertson lives in rural Saskatchewan. Her new book of father-daughter escapades, Media Brat: a Gen-X memoir, can be purchased at
Boston Globe
02-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Boston Globe
The priesthood, or rock 'n' roll? How the Stones inspired me to break my grandmother's heart.
Advertisement Mick wrote the words, and Keith helped make them better. With the other Rolling Stones, they flew to Chicago and recorded the track at Chess Records on the South Side, 25 miles east of my family's house. They'd just performed three pretty good songs on Ed Sullivan, but none were as good as this new one. No song was, really. One mag said Keith used special tuning and something called a fuzzbox to make his guitar sound so aggro and dirty. Get The Gavel A weekly SCOTUS explainer newsletter by columnist Kimberly Atkins Stohr. Enter Email Sign Up Five years before that, our Grandma Grace had moved from the Bronx to our new house in Lisle, Ill. Her husband had died back in 1928, and she loved telling me about my namesake grandfather — mine-laying sailor during the war, stalwart teetotaler, devout and pious Catholic — and how much he respected Jesuits, how thrilled he'd be to look down from heaven and watch me serve on God's altar. I was 9. 'My little lamb,' she called me, as in Lamb of God. Advertisement Next thing I knew, she'd landed a job as the secretary at our parish's rectory and talked Father Fred into letting me start serving mass two years early. I became the youngest altar boy in the history of St. Joan of Arc! But that was just part of her plan. After serving at masses, weddings, and baptisms from fourth through eighth grade, for high school I would attend St. Stanislaus Jesuit Seminary in Florissant, Mo., where I'd 'accept the gift of celibacy.' After four years there and four more at a Jebby university, I'd be ordained as a Jesuit priest. As she drove me to and from the 6:15 a.m. masses I served almost daily, Grandma Grace told me that if a boy became a Jesuit priest, his grandparents, parents, brothers, and sisters would all go straight to heaven the moment they died, skipping what could be dozens or even millions of years in purgatory. 'Most indulgences remove only some of the penance,' she said, 'but a plenary indulgence, like when you get ordained, removes all of it.' I promised her many times I would do it. I didn't think that lifelong celibacy was a deal-breaker, if I thought about it at all. Plus I was proud to be able to spare my whole family the stinging, cleansing fires — cooler than hell's, but still pretty hot — so our souls could all zoom up to heaven the second we passed away. Advertisement Our plan stayed on track until I was 12 or 13, when what celibacy forbids started sinking in. What the hell had I been thinking? For months and months, I seesawed back and forth about breaking my promise, though I forgot about the whole thing for long stretches during football or baseball season. As the summer between eighth grade and the seminary rolled around, 'Satisfaction' was on the radio all the time, most predictably when WLS counted down to the No. 1 song every night at 10 o'clock. My parents would be watching TV downstairs, and I'd turn it up as loud as I dared. I dug when Mick sang, 'He can't be a man 'cause he doesn't smoke the same cigarettes as me,' because my friends and I were smoking them too, especially when we played poker. Keith, Mick, Charlie, and Brian all smoked, sometimes while playing onstage. The biggest difference was, they never had to get haircuts; we couldn't avoid them because our parents were so strict. Mick is 'tryin' to make some girl,' though he's obviously made a few others. But the coolest thing was that even Mick couldn't 'get no satisfaction' that summer, since we couldn't get any ourselves. In late July, the paperwork for St. Stanislaus had to be signed, and I somehow found the courage to tell Grandma and my parents that instead of the seminary, I wanted to go to St. Procopius, the all-boys prep school right there in Lisle. Thank God, whom I no longer completely believed in, that my dad supported the switch, because he secretly hoped I'd become a good Catholic businessman and usher, like him. If he hadn't, I'd be Stanislaus-bound. Advertisement Grandma was stunned, which killed me and her son. She couldn't have known that in 1999 I'd name my fourth child after her. All she knew was that in five years I'd gone from being probably her favorite kid (there were six of us now, and counting) to an undevout promise-breaker. She said she no longer recognized me, and not because I was taller than she was and had whiskers. 'In here,' she said, touching her heart. When she asked why I changed my mind, I wasn't sure what to say, but I didn't want to lie. 'Maybe I'll change it back while I'm at Proco,' I said. Proco was Benedictine but Catholic, I reminded her, and half the teachers were priests. Their motto was U.I.O.G.D., 'Ut in Omnibus Glorificetur Deus' — That in all things God may be glorified. Grandma just sniffed, shook her head, looking down and away, like she did when she really wanted you to know how disappointed she was. If I'd been totally honest, I would've told her girls, sports, poker, and 'Satisfaction.' That whatever's the opposite of becoming a priest is what the words and Keith's riff are about.
Yahoo
01-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
‘It's an honor': Miami's own Tom Llamas on taking over a national nightly newscast
Tom Llamas is more than ready for his closeup. When the Miami native takes over 'NBC Nightly News' Monday evening, he brings 30 years of experience to the anchor desk. Did we mention he's only 45? A good chunk of that experience came from logging many hours at local TV stations, where he started at the tender age of 15. First job: Interning for Telemundo 51 in Hialeah. 'I walked in with a blue blazer and they told me to take that off immediately,' Llamas told the Miami Herald while in town in early May for a promo tour. Duties ranged from the mundane, like answering calls on the assignment desk, to the terrifying, like going out to cover crime scenes. 'I saw my first dead body when I was 16,' he stated calmly. 'It was a really serious job for a teenager, but I loved it. It put me on a path to where I am at today.' About that path, it's pretty stratospheric, and not lost on him. Llamas is just the fourth lead anchor in the last 40 years of 'Nightly News,' and the first Latino. His Cuban immigrant parents — constantly consuming newspapers and TV to know what was happening on the island — get a hat tip for that one. 'I remember waking up in the morning smelling Cuban coffee and my dad reading the Miami Herald cover to cover,' recalled the fellow news junkie. 'My mom was the same way.' Llamas landed the Telemundo gig soon after a serendipitous career day at Belen Jesuit Prep when local anchor Louis Aguirre, then with Channel 10, returned to his alma mater. The starstruck freshman told Aguirre he had an interest in current events and writing; Aguirre recommended going into broadcasting. 'Because he took the time out to speak to us, it changed my life,' Llamas said. Aguirre didn't realize the impact he'd had on Llamas until the fall of 2015 when the two men reconnected at the GOP debate in Simi Valley, California. At the time, Llamas was with 'ABC World News Tonight' and Aguirre with 'The Insider.' 'He came up to me and said, 'You may not know this, but you made such an impression on me,'' Aguirre told the Miami Herald. 'He'd already hit it big in New York, so I thought that was so generous and gracious to tell me that anecdote. It's a testament to what kind of person he is, not to mention a hell of a journalist.' Now with WLPG Local 10, Aguirre thinks it's a bonus that they're both graduates of Belen's 'hallowed halls.' Founded in 1800s Havana, the all boys school was re-established in Miami in 1961 after Castro (an alumnus) confiscated the property and expelled the Jesuits. 'I'm proud to be an alum,' said Llamas. 'It has such a rich history. It has grown to this incredible institution that is educating young men and has never lost its focus or its roots. It also teaches every student the importance of being Hispanic and why you need to love this country.' Llamas, who now resides in Westchester County with his wife and three kids, will always have a soft spot for his hometown. When he was born his family was living in Little Havana, then moved for a brief, 'freezing' three-year stint to Flint, Mich., for his father's pediatric dentist residency. They then returned to South Florida and lived in the Coral Gables area. 'It was a great life. Little League... roasting pigs in the backyard, a very typical life in Miami. An amazing experience. You could play sports year round. You could be at the beach year round,' said the avid fisherman. 'I am 305 through and through. It's in my DNA.' The 305's weather isn't too shabby either: 'Right when February rolls around and there's still snow on the ground in New York and you don't see the sun, I'm going, 'What is going on here? How did I leave!?'' Favorite old-school (and now defunct) hangouts included the Bakery Centre (the site of Shops at Sunset Place); Specs records store; the original CocoWalk; and — going way back to the archives — Whirlyball. 'It was like this concept of bumper cars and wiffle ball and jai alai,' Llamas explained. 'It sounds like a Miami fever dream.' These days, you'll catch the media superstar with his wife and three kids at iconic spots like Versailles ('a classic'), Pinecrest Bakery ('the best pastelitos'), Joe's Stone Crab (for the colossals) and Faena (their kids love the 'blinged out fossil.') As for local sports? Llamas is still all about the U, aka the University of Miami's Hurricanes, which won five national championships in the 1980s and '90s. 'Some of my best memories with my dad are going to the Orange Bowl and watching them just dominate,' he said, adding he still catches Marlins and Dolphins games every now and again. 'Those were great teams and great years for a very long time.' Shortly after graduating from Loyola University in New Orleans, Llamas began cutting his teeth with the NBC family in various behind the scenes roles. His first on-air position was at NBC 6 South Florida, with his folks cheering him on from their living room a few miles away. 'I was really green when I started and made a lot of mistakes, especially when I was live,' Llamas admitted, laughing. 'I called my mom and I'd say, 'How'd I do?' And she'd say, 'You did great.' I knew I was terrible!' Llamas got better, way better. He went on to win multiple awards, including an Emmy for his report on human smuggling while embedded at sea with the U.S. Coast Guard. Among the vastly fascinating stories in his highlight reel, some stick out more than others, namely natural disasters. He's covered all the big storms, from Katrina and Irene to Sandy, and lived through Andrew as a kid. 'Hurricanes remind us we're not in control,' he said. 'When you have no power and you have no food and you're just trying to get by, and you're trying to help each other out, it's hard, even in a modern world.' In 2014, Llamas was hired as a correspondent at 'ABC Nightly News,' where he eventually moved onto the weekend anchor desk filling in for David Muir. A few years in, he went viral when President Donald Trump singled him out during a press conference for questioning donations to veteran groups. OK, that snippet won't go in the highlight reel, though he did eventually score an exclusive sitdown with the first lady in in Nairobi, Kenya. Without discussing politics in general, Llamas will allow that the country is divided, a topic he hopes to eventually delve into in the future. 'We're at a time right now ... I mean, people are split up, and that's OK. It's happened throughout history, right? I don't think this is unique, but I do want to remind our viewers that we're all Americans, and there's certain things we can all agree on.' Since rejoining NBC network in 2021, Llamas has reported across the globe on major breaking news, including the New Orleans terror attack, the war in Ukraine, the deadly Baltimore bridge collapse as well as the Tokyo and Paris Olympics. Lester Holt's reins were handed down in March, while the 66-year-old TV vet pivots his focus to 'Dateline.' 'Tom has the winning combination of journalistic excellence, passionate storytelling and unyielding integrity,' said Janelle Rodriguez, NBC News' executive vice president, in a release at the time. For Llamas, it's literally a dream come true, but not without challenges. 'It's an honor; there's a lot of pressure, but I do think pressure is a privilege,' he said, adding he'll look to Holt, who is both a friend and mentor, for guidance. 'His brand is the most trusted journalist in America,' he continued. 'I want to make sure once I take that seat the viewers know that I'm working for them. I work for NBC, but I really work for them. It's a public service.' When that camera goes on at 6:30 p.m. Monday how does one prepare for that full circle moment? What would the kid walking into the newsroom in Hialeah say? 'Everything that brought me here — I'm going to use,' he said, getting emotional. 'You don't get to the top of the mountain by stumbling. There's a reason why you're there. I've worked really hard.'
