Tribute to O.C. School’s ‘Soul’

There is no particular course at Mater Dei High School in which students learn the meaning of loyalty and kindness. But for nearly 50 years, the small, unassuming man ambling along the pathways has taught them well.

Josef D’Heygers has called Mater Dei home since he arrived from Belgium in 1956 to take a janitor’s job at the Santa Ana Catholic school. He didn’t speak English and had no place to sleep, so the school allowed him to live on campus.

He never left.

And at some point amid all the changed lightbulbs and swept floors, D’Heygers ceased to be just Mater Dei’s caretaker. He became one of the school’s largest benefactors -- in terms of spirit and money.

“He is such a gentle, kind man, and his dedication to this school is incredible,” said Sandy Lions, a secretary who has known D’Heygers for more than 20 years. “He has given this place its soul.”

Today, a day after his 90th birthday, Mater Dei plans to pay tribute to D’Heygers with a special Mass and party in his honor.

As is his way, D’Heygers hopes the school he calls his “family” won’t dote on him excessively, he said.

“I hope they don’t make big deal of me,” D’Heygers said last week in his still-accented English. “I hope we stay quiet.”

D’Heygers, born in 1915 with a deformed right ear that left him partially deaf and with a speech impediment, was sent by his parents to work in a shoe factory as a teenager. He remained a shoemaker for 25 years until a childhood friend who had moved to Southern California told D’Heygers of the job opening at Mater Dei.

His parents had died, and his sister had married and started a family of her own.

“Nothing stopping me,” D’Heygers said. “I was by myself.”

The parochial school, just 6 years old, served about 500 students when D’Heygers arrived. Tumbleweeds blew across the campus. Over the decades, D’Heygers has seen the school grow, both in size and reputation. Today, with 2,200 students, Mater Dei is the largest private school in the western United States.

Until a few years ago, when doctors told him to stay off ladders and handed him a cane, D’Heygers spent most of the last half-century planting lawns, replacing broken windows and overseeing school security.

For years, his day typically started at 4:30 a.m., when he rose to unlock the main gate for the daily bakery delivery. After learning to drive, he shuttled the school’s nuns to and from their convent. And each evening, the “locks and lights man” made the rounds with his cat in tow, checking doors and flipping off switches.

“If you needed anything -- anything at all -- you knew you had to find Josef,” said Sister Marie Furlong, a teacher.

Content with the rhythms of his small universe, D’Heygers rarely left the grounds of Mater Dei over the years.

“Why should I leave?” he said with a contagious laugh. “I am very happy here.”

D’Heygers recalled the first time he saw the Pacific Ocean, during one of his infrequent drives out of town to San Diego. “Never saw anything so beautiful in all my life,” he said.

Early on, he spent nights listening to news programs on a small radio he had bought to improve his English. After sleeping for a short period in a converted bathroom, D’Heygers moved into a trailer behind the gym that the school helped him buy.

These days, he listens to his cherished music collection -- Luciano Pavarotti is his favorite artist -- in the apartment above the chapel that the school built for him a few years ago. A caretaker now looks after the old caretaker.

Always deeply religious, D’Heygers still tries to attend Mass at the campus chapel every day, sitting alone in a back pew. He can often be found standing before the statue of Mary at the center of campus.

“I pray a lot, but I never pray for me,” he said. “I never ask for anything for me. I just say, ‘Thank you.’ ”

From the start, D’Heygers developed friendships with students -- especially members of the football and soccer teams he follows passionately.

Myths swirled about the mysterious man living on campus. (A shellshocked charity case injured in one of the World Wars, some wondered?) But students, parents and teachers quickly grew protective of D’Heygers, watching out for him as he watched over their school. Holidays and birthdays have long been celebrated with various families and faculty members.

Today, his interaction with students is less, but his effect remains tangible. At reunions and other gatherings, “the first thing alumni ask about is Josef,” said Principal Patrick Murphy. “They want to make sure he hasn’t been forgotten as the school has grown.”

And, like the other thousands of students D’Heygers has affected, Ricky Russell, 17, says he has learned from the man lessons not covered in any textbook.

“Just knowing him and talking with him, I’ve learned a lot,” he said. “I’ve learned from him that it’s not just about how long you live, but about how you live.”

After years of frugal living and shrewd investments made with the help of a school parent, D’Heygers shocked school officials in 2000 when he quietly made plans to will his entire estate to Mater Dei.

Murphy declined to say how much D’Heygers had bequeathed, other than to say that it was “well into six figures” and to point out that the school’s new clock tower bears D’Heygers’ name.

Staring up at the tower as he leaned on his cane, D’Heygers said the honor was unnecessary.

Yet he’s grateful it was done.

“When I am gone, my name will remain,” he said. “I will always be a member of this family. I’m very lucky.”