“‘So,’ I thought to myself, as Chesterton thundered and swayed slightly to his place, his bushy hair in its own convenient parting and his wrinkled and baggy clothing left to look after itself with a pronounced abandon, ‘can this be the man that is so mentally nimble, so sure footed in thought, so precise in diction, so accurate in his thrusts, so merciless in heaping wrath on adversaries, and so loud in his frequent laughter at the absurdity of those who oppose his Christian fighting?’”
Once he began to speak, Chesterton’s eyes lit up with a joy born of that common bond that is the Catholic faith, thus destroying all barriers of racial differences because, as he said, “Under the portals of our Lady’s Shrine, all men are at home.” That was the spirit that characterized his stay at Notre Dame. To his young listeners he was an inspiration. Every word that he uttered had a clear, certain and convincing ring in it that made for conviction. He was thoroughly Catholic. For him life was full of faith and beauty and romance. Every word that he uttered had a freshness and wonder about it. His adroit phraseology, his accent and his inexhaustible flow of genuine humor quickened his youthful audience to frequent bursts of applause and measured gaiety.
Chesterton had the honorary degree of Doctor of Law conferred upon him Wednesday afternoon, November 5, 1930, in Washington Hall. Many honorary degrees had been conferred by Notre Dame, but this was the first time in the history of the University that a special convocation of the Faculty had been called to participate in the conferring of a degree.
At four-thirty the academic procession left the University parlors and made its way to Washington Hall where members of the Senior Class and the guests were assembled. After an introductory musical program had been given by the student orchestra and Glee Club, Father J. Leonard Carrice, Director of Studies, announced the conferring of the degree,
“The University of Notre Dame, in this special convocation of the Faculty, confers the degree of Doctor of Law, honoris causa, on a man of letters recognized as the ablest and most influential in the English-speaking world of today, a defender of the Christian tradition, whose keen mind, right heart, and versatile literary genius have been valiantly devoted to eternal truth, goodness and beauty, in literature, and in life—Gilbert Keith Chesterton, of London, England.”
After receiving the Degree from Notre Dame’s President, the Rev. Charles L. O’Donnell, Doctor Chesterton replied,
“I only wish it were possible for me to say, as you have suggested, something of what is in my heart in the way of gratitude. Gratitude is what I feel most deeply at present, and it is the irony of human fate that it is perhaps the only thing that cannot be expressed. If I said all the things which are usually said on these occasions, I should only be expressing my feelings, for in my case, they happen to be perfectly true. It is usual to say that one is not worthy of such an honor, and the vividness of my own unworthiness is so acute in my own mind that I find it almost impossible to express it and to thank you for the far too generous things which have been said. I have given a series of lectures on a subject on which a number of you are much better acquainted than I. If I happen to say something about the history of the Victorian age, the history which I am supposed to talk about, or if I happen to say something about the Victorian age in literature, I am all too painfully reminded that you have learned history and have studied literature. If I mention the Province of Canada, I am reminded that you have studied geography. Therefore I am afraid that I am not only unworthy but almost in a false position before you. I am a journalist, and the one thing I can claim is that I have endeavored to show that it is possible to be an honest journalist. Therefore, a great academic distinction of this kind gives me a very strong sense of gratitude. I can only thank you from the bottom of my heart, not only for this favor extended to me, but also for the very great patience with which you have listened to my lectures.
“There is always a bond between us that would make you tolerant of me, I know. I have only once before gone through a ceremony of this kind and that was at the highly Protestant University of Edinburgh, where I found that part of the ceremony consisted of being lightly touched on the head with the cap of John Knox. I was very much relieved to find that it was not part of the ceremony on the present occasion that I should, let us say, wear the hat of Senator Heflin! I remember that, when I came to America before, about nine years ago, when I was not a catholic, and when I had hardly realized that there were Catholics in America, my first sensation in this country was one of terror. I recall the first landing and that great hotel in New York, the Biltmore, the name of which held for me such terrifying possibilities. (Surely there would not be more of it!) It all seemed alien, although I quickly discovered what kind and generous people the Americans are. I did not feel at all like that when I came to America for the second time. If you want to know why I felt different, the reason is in the name of your University. That name was quite sufficient as far as I was concerned. It would not have mattered if it had been in the mountains of the moon. Wherever She has erected Her pillars, all men are at home, and I knew that I should not find strangers. And, if any of you who are young should go to other countries, you will find that what I have said is true.”
Prof. Daniel O’Grady was invited to a social evening with Chesterton at Notre Dame’s Sorin Hall ... among those present were the host Charles Philips, Paul Fenlon, Pat Manion, John Frederick, Lee Flateley, John Connolly, Steve Roney, Rufus Rauch ... all either professors or students. The affair started at nine in the evening and lasted until almost three in the morning.
When Manion asked whether liquor in England produced immorality, G. K. C. replied,