He just didn’t scratch where I itched mostly. As I was settling into being Catholic, he was sort of winding down his career, from what I can tell. I don’t have much interest in Church politics or sociology (though my work has *forced* me to pay attention to such things at times) and wasn’t attracted to his novels (hilariously recognizable at the grocery store because they always seems to feature a busty and scantily-glad woman reaching down to somebody–which I was later informed was supposed to symbolize divine grace to the reader of bodice rippers: “all things to all men” I guess).
Consequently, I had only the dimmest impression of him as a sort of Yellow Dog Democrat priest of the old school: crusty, devout, not hesitant about sounding off about damn fools in the Church, particularly at the episcopal level, blithely dismissive of all the sort of pelvic issues Woodstock Generation priests dismissed–and likely the sort of guy who would buy you beer or spot you $20 and never ask for it back. But that was about it. I couldn’t tell you five words he ever said. So I didn’t write an RIP for him since I would have no idea what to say.
Happily, Fr. Robert Barron writes him a very generous encomium here. Generously done.