Ordinary man- Joe Estabrook, Bishop

Joe Estabrook and I had worked together at St. Vincent's in Albany for a few years. On rare occasions, our vacation times overlapped in the summer. One year, we decided a camping trip to Canada would be good, so with borrowed tents and sleeping bags, we set out for the North. We arrived somewhere north of Montreal, near nowhere in particular. Joe thought a good way to see the country was to go horseback riding, Until then, my experience with horses was on TV and merry-go-rounds, but Joe insisted...give it a try.  The horse managers assured me that my horse was not too spirited, and it was safe, and the horse was not spirited at all. The horse brought up the rear of the party of four and had to be coaxed and kicked the whole way. He was actually more reluctant on the journey than I was. Joe got a spirited horse, and he handled the beast well, until something stung the horse in the back area. The horse laid down in the middle of the trail to scratch its back, send Joe scurrying off, nimbly to safety. After the horse was becalmed, Joe mounted his steed and the journey continued. The horseman showed us a good place to camp in the back country. After the ride, we returned there, set up camp and decided to have a party with the horseman. We bought steaks, potatoes, corn, dessert, and beer. It went well, lots of stories, well into the night. The next morning we broke camp, but had  a bag full of garbage to dispose of. Amazingly, we drove about 20 miles, and could not find a refuse container anywhere, not even at a gas station. we picked up some kids who were hitchhiking, and who spoke only French. Where can we put the garbage I asked. They looked at us, dumb. I used all my French ability. I shouted "Gar-bage'!" and Joe was laughing, barely able to keep the car on the road. I then used the word "refuse" and Joe reached back and opened the bag to show them the trash. The boys had us drive a little further, drop them off, and pointed to a place down the road where we could dispose of our precious cargo. It worked. All in all, it was a good vacation. Adventurous, and fun, thanks to Joe's common man attitude and sense of adventure.
I have known a number of bishops in my life, each of whom had his own particular style. Probably all of them came into their bishopric because they were in the right place at the right time, having played some kind of game to get where they got. It was for the most part an old boys' network, extending as far as the Vatican, and with reaches into the various seminaries the future bishops attended. Special attention was paid to those men ordained from North American College in Rome or Catholic University of America. There were exceptional men who had attended Mt. St. Mary’s in Emmitsburg, Md. or St. Bonaventure's in Olean, NY. 
Bishop Joseph Estabrook was one person who became a bishop who  was a good friend of mine. He was a little younger, and died a few days ago after a bout with pancreatic cancer. He was a bishop in the US Navy, having served as a chaplain in that branch for almost 40 years, and as a bishop for maybe the last 6 or 7 years of that service.
I never met anyone whom he ministered to, nor have I met any of the chaplains who have served under him while he was bishop. Actually, I only spoke with him a few times during the past year, all since he was afflicted with cancer. He was very optimistic about his chance of surviving for a long while. He said he had the rare form of pancreatic cancer that plagued Steve Jobs, and the chances of living longer were better with that. He went through some rounds of chemo, always with hope, to live another day in service to God and country. He was stunned by the cost of chemotherapy. “How can anybody afford it?” He  did okay under the circumstances, but succumbed to the cancer, probably as he would say, according to God’s plan.
The great thing about Joe: he was ordinary. He went to St. Bonaventure’s in the seminary. He worked with me at St. Vincent’s in Albany where he loved the people, and made an impression on the young people there. He also did pre-Cana work, and fostered the program in the Albany area so that married couples, not just celibate priests, actually assisted in the preparation of young couples for the married life. And many of the couples who participated in the program became his friends. I have heard that he used this same effective humble style as he supported the spiritual needs of military men, women and families in his service. For this work, he was made a Bishop, probably breaking the circle of the old boys' network.
I know he enjoyed smoking a pipe, driving a camaro, and nice clothes. He enjoyed talking with people, and always looked for a different angle in situations. “I wonder!” “What if…”
An ordinary man, exceptional in his ordinariness, and he didn’t need a title, but he became a Bishop. Wow!