"Who could think this could be accomplished?" Hospitaller Brother Patrick Corr muses from behind his small wood desk covered with papers and folders in his small back office at St. John of God Retirement and Care Center.

The 95-year-old Irish religious is referring to nothing less than the development of an entire ministry.

Opened in 1942 as a nursing home with 12 beds for men with long-term illnesses and incurable diseases, today the seven-acre urban oasis at Adams Boulevard and Western Avenue offers continuum care to the sick and elderly via separate Mediterranean-style buildings for skilled nursing, assisted living and independent living. And in 2007, a separate residence for Alzheimer's patients and other memory impaired seniors opened largely through the fund-raising prowess of Brother Patrick, as he's known, whose grin and chuckle come about as often as cloudy days and winter rains do to his homeland.

All together, 252 men and women call St. John of God Retirement and Care Center their home today.

Farm Boy
Watching his older brothers plowing oat and barley fields on the family farm, "Thomas," the youngest of six children born to Edward and Maria Corr, certainly never dreamed such a thing was possible. All the lad who walked four miles home from school in Kilkenny knew was when he grew up he wanted to follow his father's compassionate example of caring for sick neighbors and his mother's deep devotion to her Catholic faith.

After a three-year stint working in a dry goods store, he was able to combine both noble ambitions by entering as a postulant with the Hospitaller Brothers of St. John of God in Dublin. At the age of 28, he took vows of poverty, chastity, obedience and hospitality. And in 1945 as a young Brother, he earned a diploma in psychiatric nursing, being trained to care for and teach mentally handicapped children. The farm boy couldn't be happier with the way things had turned out.

But then religious life, as it's often prone to do, threw Brother Patrick a major monkey wrench. His provincial summarily announced that he was being transferred across the pond to the United States, where the order had just begun a pioneering health-care effort in a place called Los Angeles. "Where in the world is that?" he wondered, but decided to be prudent and keet that thought to himself.

So in 1946 he arrived in L.A., just five years after the religious beachhead had been established here. But already the Brothers were turning away sick and destitute men from their overcrowded single home at Adams and Western. Brother Patrick was immediately given three jobs at then-Mt. St. John of God: primary caregiver for six patients and eight long-term residents; director of the novitiate; and moderator of the women's league and men associates. But soon he was assigned one more "little" task - to raise money so the fledgling ministry could expand as Archbishop John Cantwell had envisioned it would.

Fighting homesickness, the young Irishman threw his heart and soul into the effort. When one of his first successes as a neophyte fundraiser was tapping hotel magnate Conrad Hilton, he was off and running. Some 60 years later, he still is.

'Not a pleasant job'
"Raising money is not a pleasant job," Brother Patrick points out today, a rare frown coming over his friendly face, his Irish brogue giving the sentence a lyrical cadence. "It's much more difficult than taking care of people. But I like doing it. It gives you a challenge every day, you know. You're going to be turned down, so when you ask you have to be prepared for that. I may be turned down, but I have made a connection. And then in time, that will pay off.

"The most important thing is to build good relations. Most people don't want to give anything. They want to hold onto their money, and who blames them for that. But eventually you build up a clientele that loves to help. You do that by stressing your good cause. And once people realize you're not asking for yourself, they often come around.

"You want to establish and build on relationships," he explains. "You're plowing ground and planting a seed. The most difficult part is just asking. You don't know what to anticipate. It's always difficult, but I didn't find any of it really hard. I just plowed along, and here I am. If I got rejected, there would be another day."

Brother Patrick has no idea how much money he's raised during the last six decades. For the newest Alzheimer's Care Residence alone, it was more than $5 million. But there were at least a half-dozen other building fund campaigns from 1951.

When he's told he must be good at fund raising, some blarney comes into his eyes. He insists it's mostly due to the hard work of his secretary, Marliese Becker, and bookkeeper, Arlene De Guzman. Then he wrinkles his brow, calling out, "Don't you like raising money, girls?" From an outer office comes back muffled laughter, which gets him chuckling ever harder.

After awhile, however, his expression turns serious. "It's tough now getting anything," he reports in a troubled tone that suddenly becomes upbeat and determined. "But that's the time to hold on and plow along and be happy with what we get rather than saying, 'I should have a lot more.' And then when people have money, they will always think of you and your good cause.

"I'm proud of being able to get the people together and make so many friends," he continues. "That's a great joy to see what has been accomplished with all these great people. This place is wonderful now. The people who supported it should be as delighted as much as myself. It's just marvelous."

Big challenge
The challenge of raising funds, however, never dissipates. He says it's always daunting whenever you put on a benefit, such as St. John of God's major mid-season party. The hall must be filled, with more and more money coming in every year just to pay rising bills. "That's a big challenge every time you do it," he says, shaking his head.

But once again, the consummate Irishman's eyes are smiling. He talks about how his local pastor wanted him to become a parish priest, and tried his best to persuade him but couldn't. His mind was made up to be a brother so he could work with the sick and elderly.

He recalls a religious life of service as a Hospitaller Brother, who has been helped along the way more than once by the intersession of St. John of God, the 16th-century Portuguese-born friar and saint, who decided to devote his own life to caring for the sick and the poor. After his death, Joao Cidade would be named the patron saint of not only hospitals, the sick and nurses, but also firefighters, alcoholics and booksellers.

About being 95, the president of the Hospitaller Foundation, which he founded in 1965, says he still gets excited every morning leaving the room he shares with an elderly resident in the skilled nursing care center, thinking about how to keep improving St. John of God Retirement and Care Center. He works four to five hours every weekday, making calls and meeting with steadfast supporters and, of course, potential new donors.

"I have great energy, thanks be to God," he says. "I used to complain about having to walk four miles home from school every day. But that made me strong and healthy. And I still walk a lot. I have no trouble with my diet. I still like corn beef and cabbage, but I don't get too much of it today.

"And I'm still working harder than ever," he notes with a nod. "I think this place has been a tremendous grace when you think of it. It's unique in the city - to take care of the sick and elderly all these years. I never dreamed that it would become what it's become."

There's one last impish grin. "So I keep plowing along."