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Feature
The Day My Brother Was Murdered
Memoirs of a shattered hope.
[Recently, I found the following memoir in my files. It was written, I believe, within a year of the event described. At certain points, I have updated it with new information. --M.N.]
ON JANUARY 16, 1964, IN THE MORNING, Father Richard Novak left Notre Dame College in Dacca, East Pakistan, on his bicycle. He was wearing his white cassock, a light blue jacket over the cassock, and full black trousers.
The day was cool, fresh, clear, like a June morning in Minnesota. The sky was playful and deep. Unfortunately, this was the fifth day of violence against Hindus, which had cost several thousand lives. Bodies could be seen floating in the river.
Slipping through the policemen and the militia who had maintained Dacca’s recent night-time curfew, and who still patrolled the roads of the countryside, Dick bicycled twelve miles down the road, along the river, to the village of Narayanganj. He spoke for a while with Monsignor D’Costa, the elderly pastor at the local Catholic church, seeking information on the family of a Hindu nurse from the Catholic hospital in Dacca, whom the nuns had asked Richard to help them find. The older priest tried to persuade him to hurry directly back to Dacca, to get away from the danger zone. Dick listened thoughtfully. He said good-bye, and headed upstream toward Dacca.
But he did not return directly to the college. He made three stops, to inquire among refugees about the welfare of the missing Hindu family. All week, bitter riots had swept this Moslem province. Thousands of Hindus had been killed, and countless more dispossessed or plundered. Hundreds of thousands were forced to take refuge in Hindu India--where retaliation was taken upon the Moslem population there. At places in Pakistan, bodies lay piled in heaps or strewn across fields. In Dacca alone, at least a thousand lay dead.
On this bright day, Dick made one too many inquiries. Westerners were never or rarely molested in this periodic internecine warfare, which had broken out sporadically since 1954. But my brother was last seen, by chance passersby, as he waved to a ferry boat to come take him to the farther side of the wide, slow river. On the opposite bank, he intended to visit one last mill where he had been told that many refugees were gathered. It was noon.
The boat came toward him. He pulled his bike on board. The boat pushed out toward the opposite shore.
Dick was first missed during the evening of January 16, when his fellow priests gathered for dinner. By that time, the nightly curfew made any search impossible. His friends hoped he had stayed over with Monsignor D’Costa or elsewhere.
All day Friday, the 17th, by telephone and by trips along his route, an inquiry about his safety was undertaken. With each hour, the picture took a more ominous shape. Like flame touched to a field of powder, a wave of violence had swept through the area where he disappeared. A ruthless martial law was later imposed on a wide region: it was impossible to enter some parts of the area; for days, in fact, the bodies of victims in that area were not buried. The searchers notified the American consulate and the Pakistani police that Dick was missing.
The following notice, together with a picture, was released to the local press
Father Richard Novak, C.S.C., Roman Catholic Priest, Lecturer in Philosophy at Notre Dame College, aged 28 years, American citizen, weight 150 lbs., height 5 feet 9 inches, has been missing since noon of Thursday, January 16, 1964. He was last seen in the vicinity of Luxmi Narayan Cotton Mill, Narayanganj. A reward is offered for information leading to his discovery. Please contact Notre Dame College.
Ten days later, on January 27, a solemn funeral was held for Dick, even though his body had not been found. For by that time the outlines of his story had begun to come clear. But not everything was clear, even months later, when those who murdered him were at last apprehended and confessed. They were five teenage boys.
Meanwhile, in reporting the funeral, the Pakistani press wrote of him:
He was known to many in Dacca as one who had a deep love for the people of Pakistan, and in many ways he showed his deep interest in the Bengali culture and language. He was a member of the Bengali Academy.
He often visited local families, and was frequently seen at the Tejgaon Bottomley Orphanage, where he loved to play with the children and practice his Bengali with them. He slept on a chowki, wore a chaddar.
About the Author
Michael Novak is the George Frederick Jewett Scholar in Religion, Philosophy, and Public Policy at the American Enterprise Institute. He wishes to express his indebtedness to his sister, Mary Ann Novak, for her tireless researches, which have uncovered many heretofore unknown facts.
Letter to the Editor View all comments (15) | Leave a comment
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David Govett| 12.24.08 @ 11:38AM
Perhaps you are starting a tradition by telling a Christmas Eve murder story. Whatever next, I wonder.
Matthew M.| 12.24.08 @ 12:18PM
David, it is said that the wood that cradled Christ in the manger was the wood of the cross upon which he was crucified. This story is a sobering balance to an overly sentimentalized Christmas.
Ken| 12.24.08 @ 6:41PM
A tale of family loss, set against the hope and glory that is Christmas. You can't expect people like Paddy or David G. to understand or even appreciate such a story. In their world, personal sacrifice is anathema to them. It is for people such as Paddy and David G. that we should pray. Merry Christmas.
David Govett| 12.24.08 @ 10:36PM
Ken: You evidently derive satisfaction from flaming complete strangers on the Web. If indeed you are as callow as your behavior evinces, experience probably will remedy your boorishness. If not, not. In either event, please consider behaving civilly toward your fellow humans, even though they are not you.
wanda keith| 12.24.08 @ 11:05PM
Mr. Novak,
Thank you so much for sharing your sad, yet beautiful story. It is clear your family has many happy memories of your brother. The world is poorer for having lost him.
Stephen Eakin| 12.25.08 @ 4:18AM
Mr Novak
I was educated by the Dominicans, the Christian Brothers and the Jesuits.
There were a few loonies in all those groups, but the majority were straight up and down, with problems, as described about your brother.
I am a better person to having been through the system. It didn't scar me. It made me a better person (for which I am truely thankful).
We are Anglo-Celtic stock full of Catholics, Anglicans, Hueguenots, Presbyterians, Welsh, Maronite Lebanese, left and right Oz's, and the only punch-up's (metaphorically) are are birthday
parties, weddings, christenings and funerals.
Why can't other groups accept the way that we do it?
Our story is the story of your family.
We have been so fortunate that we have not had to have undergone your family's bereavement.
We just have a refeeeeend punch up because of our Celtic female backround.
Our attitude is that you do your own thing. Your are on your own from the time you pop.
However, in our family there are squillions of
rellos to provide support.
Is this not the reason why God invented the extended family?
God works in misterious ways.
'Tis a pity that your brother was not here to listen to such a brilliant eulogy.
lillith| 12.26.08 @ 8:01PM
Father Richard gave his life doing what he knew he needed to do.
We are lesser in the lose, but he is in a better place.
My your family receive the peace the passing understanding.
L
Peregrinus| 12.26.08 @ 8:02PM
I write this from a place just a few miles from Stonehill, and, like Mike and Dick, as someone who, in "the old days," went very young to the seminary of an Order that drew into Community the most diverse group of individuals and made us a remarkable, if somewhat "weird" family of brothers who, across the years and miles and myriad changes are still in touch today (thanks to email and the Internet!).
The week of the Christmas Octave features in the liturgical calendar, the Saints who are dubbed the "comites Christi," the companions of Christ, a royal retinue for the newborn King, Saints who suffered: Stephen, John the Evangelist, the Holy Innocents, Thomas Becket.
What a worthy addition to that procession your brother Dick is, Mike! Thanks to you - and to your sister - for letting us share the story.
And, as TS Eliot wrote of one of those Christmas Saints in his Murder in the Cathedral: "It is this which forever renews the world, though it is forever denied. For wherever a martyr has shed his blood, there is holy ground, and the holiness shall not depart from it."
May his intercession help bring peace to the land and people he loved - and to ours!
Tim Allen| 1.9.09 @ 7:27PM
A sacred thing, this story. I am reluctant to even slightly touch it with comments, so I'll simply say thank you, Mr. Novak.
Irving M.Levine| 1.12.09 @ 10:19PM
Friend Michael. What a moving and fascinating tribute to a brother long gone but well remembered Once again, in our episodic history of knowing one another, I owe you gratitude for sharing from a rich Catholic life to this unreconstructed, but sober liberal who reads you with occasional disagreement but with abiding affection .
G| 1.28.09 @ 7:47PM
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Angela V. McDonnell| 2.26.09 @ 2:02PM
Dear Mr. Novak,
I am Johnstown Catholic High School classmate of Dick's.
I talked with your Dad once when he called to ask me to organize with him a reception for Dick after his ordination. I was sorry that I could not help, as I had recently had a third child.
Later, the news of Dick's slaying was too sad.
His was a unique personality; many of us knew him in such different ways. I enjoyed his droll sense of humor; I saw him as laidback, carefree. I was in many classes with him, he seemed always to be prepared.
Angela v. McDonnell
guo| 7.1.10 @ 5:06AM
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