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A LIFE THAT<br />
CONTINUES<br />
After dying unexpectedly, jail<br />
chaplain Michael Ladisa’s legacy<br />
lives on with his family and the<br />
inmates he helped bring to Christ.<br />
BY TOM HOFFARTH<br />
Michael Ladisa, a chaplain with the Office of Restorative<br />
Justice (ORJ) who died in May, with his grandson<br />
Matteo. | COURTESY OF LADISA FAMILY<br />
Monica Ladisa never knew the<br />
full scope of it all.<br />
She was very much aware<br />
that her husband of 48 years, Michael<br />
Ladisa, worked tirelessly for the<br />
Archdiocese of Los Angeles’ Office<br />
of Restorative Justice’s prison ministry.<br />
The hundreds of hours driving<br />
thousands of miles for more than a<br />
decade, often spending the night away<br />
from their home to connect with a<br />
prison community few were willing to<br />
become immersed with.<br />
She knew he bought books and<br />
things for the inmates, but wasn’t<br />
always sure of the how, the where, the<br />
why.<br />
She heard him say how he benefited<br />
from trips made to Valyermo to the<br />
monastery near the Mojave Desert,<br />
where he would have deep discussions<br />
about the ups and downs in his faith<br />
journey.<br />
But it wasn’t until Michael died of<br />
an unexpected massive heart attack<br />
last May — just a few weeks shy of<br />
his 70th birthday — that she began to<br />
understand the true impact he had on<br />
others.<br />
It started with the thank you messages<br />
that came to her on his behalf on<br />
3x5 notecards stuffed into a post-office<br />
box, or written in pencil on lined<br />
sheets of paper. More of them were<br />
posted online.<br />
Trying to convey all the love,<br />
guidance, and redemption he gave<br />
to them, some were not even written<br />
by the inmates themselves, but by<br />
thankful spouses, friends, and family<br />
members.<br />
Sadly, Michael didn’t get to see<br />
them. But Monica has.<br />
“Many of them just thanking me<br />
for sharing my husband with them,”<br />
Monica said. “They wanted me to<br />
know how he put them on the right<br />
road. He knew everyone was made in<br />
God’s image and treated them that<br />
way.”<br />
***<br />
“Thanks to his kind and encouraging<br />
words, I looked deeper inside myself<br />
and that helped me realize I’m not<br />
a complete failure. … Thank you so<br />
much for supporting him in his selfless<br />
service to all of us who are incarcerated.”<br />
— <strong>No</strong>te written about Ladisa<br />
***<br />
Family and friends filled St. Kateri<br />
Church in Santa Clarita in July for<br />
Ladisa’s funeral Mass. The homily<br />
and eulogies touched on his humble,<br />
boundless generosity. The tireless<br />
hours driving back and forth from his<br />
home in Castaic to visit those in Santa<br />
Barbara’s jails in an old green Honda<br />
pickup truck with more than 300,000<br />
miles on it.<br />
“It never broke down for the grace<br />
of God,” said Monica, trying to laugh<br />
through tears, speaking recently about<br />
how the grieving process continues.<br />
“He really believed in the motto we<br />
have at our office: It’s all about them,”<br />
said Gonzalo De Vivero, the Office<br />
of Restorative Justice ministry director<br />
who hired Ladisa 12 years ago.<br />
“You do whatever you can to help<br />
the inmates — this is Christ in jail<br />
and they need your help to the best<br />
of your ability. He became a model of<br />
that kind of person in real life.”<br />
Father Francis Benedict, a longtime<br />
member of St. Andrew’s Abbey in<br />
Valyermo, became Michael’s spiritual<br />
director and talked about the devotion<br />
he had to prison outreach.<br />
“Michael loved the ministry because<br />
of the empathy he had on many<br />
levels, a desire to bring people closer<br />
to God and, for some, bring them<br />
back to the Church,” Benedict said.<br />
“He really went the extra 20 miles if<br />
needed.”<br />
All those miles suddenly caught up<br />
with him in late May.<br />
After a long day of gardening at his<br />
home, he went upstairs to shower. He<br />
was short of breath. He called down to<br />
Monica, an experienced nurse, who<br />
ran to him and tried chest compressions.<br />
The paramedics who arrived<br />
could not revive him.<br />
“The last thing he did was smile,”<br />
Monica said.<br />
The couple had five children and<br />
eight grandchildren. They knew the<br />
pain of a sudden loss. Their twin sons,<br />
Steve and John, both died as adults.<br />
Steve was killed in a hit-and-run<br />
accident years ago. The second, John,<br />
was living at their home and died in<br />
<strong>September</strong> 20<strong>22</strong> of a sudden illness.<br />
He was 44.<br />
“Michael was still deeply affected by<br />
that,” Monica said. “Those were heavy<br />
on his heart.”<br />
***<br />
“Thank you for everything. I remember<br />
you blessed my cell with holy water<br />
when I told you there was an evil spirit,<br />
paranormal activity, and prayed for<br />
me. Thank you. … I fall short at times,<br />
but, honest to God, I’m thankful and<br />
happy that I have you as a mentor and<br />
friend.” — <strong>No</strong>te written about Ladisa<br />
***<br />
De Vivero first connected with Michael<br />
from his volunteer trips to the<br />
Los Angeles County Sheriff’s <strong>No</strong>rth<br />
Michael Ladisa (left) with ORJ colleagues at a luncheon for archdiocesan employees<br />
on May 23, just days before his death. | OFFICE OF RESTORATIVE JUSTICE<br />
County Correctional Facility in Castaic.<br />
That building was a maximum-security<br />
complex with some 1,600<br />
inmates, a place De Vivero called<br />
“heavy duty members.”<br />
De Vivero said Michael would “always<br />
ask a million questions, wanting<br />
all the details he could get. What I<br />
found out was that he did that because<br />
he really wanted to do the best job he<br />
could, to blend in with the people,<br />
and not break any rules. He was able<br />
to establish a trust, and I began to<br />
appreciate his work even more.”<br />
During dinner one night, De Vivero<br />
approached him about a problem: He<br />
couldn’t fill a local chaplain role at<br />
the Santa Barbara main jail, a minimum-security<br />
facility with about 700<br />
inmates. The pay wasn’t much.<br />
“Michael said, ‘Why don’t I help<br />
you? I think I can handle that,’ ” said<br />
De Vivero, knowing it would entail<br />
more than 150 miles and up to three<br />
hours of driving round-trip from his<br />
home.<br />
Years went by and Ladisa was known<br />
for the respect he drew from the<br />
inmates based on his dependability<br />
and compassion. One example that<br />
was not well known even to his circle<br />
of friends: He and Monica took in<br />
a woman released from jail with<br />
nowhere to go. Michael converted his<br />
home office into a living space for her.<br />
She has been living with the couple<br />
for the past 30 years.<br />
He also enriched his spiritual life by<br />
16 • ANGELUS • <strong>September</strong> <strong>22</strong>, <strong>2023</strong> <strong>September</strong> <strong>22</strong>, <strong>2023</strong> • ANGELUS • 17