Politicians, developers, street toughs, the Catholic Church hierarchy. Sister Rose, who died Friday at 79, took 'em all on -- without ever raising her voice.

Sister Rose was the founder of Peace House, the living room of Franklin Avenue. She opened the urban refuge in 1985, wanting to welcome all, but fearing that nobody would come.

"The first day it was open, we sat here and it was empty," recalled Irene Eiden, a volunteer there.

Digression: Sister Rose didn't like the word "volunteer." To her, it created a sense of separation from the people of the street. "She wanted us all to be one with the people," Eiden said.

Anyway, on the grand opening of Peace House, nobody showed for a few hours, and those who worked with Sister Rose sensed anxiety in her usually tranquil soul.

"But then this man named Paul came in," Eiden said. "He unloaded his story, and Rose just sat and listened. After he left, she said, 'It will be all right. People will come.' "

And they came -- and come. People who are lonely, homeless, mentally ill or who have addictions. They come for a place to sit, eat a light meal and sometimes talk. What all receive at Peace House is acceptance.

"I came from Chicago," recalled Pat Naughton. "I had some problems. Somebody wanted to bring me here [to Peace House]. I said, 'Tell me about it.' They said, 'It's run by a nun.' I said, 'Then I'm not going. I don't need that.' This person said, 'Just come once.' I went the first time, and I stayed for 12 years."

Why?

"She didn't judge," said Naughton. "First time I was there, I started talking to her. I was telling her all of these things about myself, and I thought she'd throw me out. When I was finished, all she said was, 'Would you help me make some sandwiches?' I think she was like Jesus would be if he came today. He wouldn't be downtown with the big, powerful people. He'd be here."

But, oh, that toughness.

The Peace House draws troubled souls. Over the years, there have been near-violent outbursts.

"I have a military background, but it doesn't help me here," said Tom Dooley, another of the gentle souls who volunteers at Peace House. "If there was trouble, if somebody was giving me a raft of crap, I wanted to say, 'Dammit, stop that, I'm in charge here.' There'd be some huge guy here, giving me sass, and I couldn't do anything with him. Then Rose would go speak softly to him for maybe 15 seconds, and he'd go out the door. That's humbling. A velvet hammer. Once had the chance to work in Mother Teresa's place for a few days. The two were alike. Small, tough, gentle ladies."

Sister Rose fought City Hall for the right to open her place. And she was fighting to find a new location for Peace House because redevelopment is coming closer to its front door at 510 E. Franklin. These have been tense political times, and some in the neighborhood have used the time to put pressure on Peace House to move.

Eve White, one of the sister's friends, said she thinks the anxiety of these times may have led to Sister Rose's awful migraines in recent weeks, perhaps even to her death.

"About seven weeks ago she got an anonymous call that was very upsetting to her," White said. "She said the caller said, 'Get out of town and take that scum with you.' She said she told the woman who called, 'Why don't you come over and sit with us someday?' But the caller hung up and called [again to complain] the next day. It really bothered her."

But generally, Sister Rose seemed untroubled by tussles, no matter how big the foe.

On Monday, some of her friends giggled amid their tears as they recalled letters Sister Rose would fire off to the Catholic Spirit, the newspaper of the local diocese, railing against some church doctrine or policy.

"They stopped publishing her letters," Eiden said, "so she sent them under another name. She'd chuckle when those letters got printed."

Those who worked with Sister Rose vow they will keep Peace House open in the coming years. They're just waiting for her to deliver messages on how it should be done.

Meanwhile, scores of people have been delivering messages of grief to the Peace House. There was a poem on the door Monday that read in part:

Like every body needs a Godly soul,
Maybe heaven needs our Rose.

Doug Grow
Star Tribune
July 9, 2002