BROOKLYN, NY.  They say that good things come to those who wait. It might also be added that they really do happen to good people. Tonight’s Collegiate Water Polo Association induction of Cathal “Carl” Quigley, former St. Francis College men’s water polo coach, into their Hall of Fame is a good thing for a great representative of the sport.

Certainly he deserves the honor on merit—and not because you cannot talk about polo in America’s largest city without citing the ebullient and indefatigable Quigley. As rightly chronicled in the CWPA’s justification for bestowing membership in their Hall of Fame, for almost half a century he decided the fortunes of one of the best programs in the East. Leading a perennial Top 20 program, from his days as a Terrier water polo player—as well as a decorated breast-stroker for SFC swimming—Quigley was the right man for St. Francis, for polo in New York City, for the sport in the USA.

And it almost didn’t happen.

Terrier polo enjoyed success in the 60’s, led by the Harris brothers Billy and Charlie and a revolving roster of local swimmers who made the leap to collegiate polo play, any one of whom might have taken the polo reins in 1975 after St. Francis invested heavily in a new pool and athletic facility. But legendary SFC Athletic Director Daniel Lynch picked Quigley, a St. John’s Prep standout who had just graduated after a distinguished collegiate career, to lead St. Francis water polo.

Quigley was part of a swimmers’ migration from NYC Catholic high schools to the small Catholic institution in Brooklyn Heights, a formula that started to wear thin by the 80s, when teams in the East were impacted by the arrival of Californian and Puerto Rican athletes. Challenged by Navy’s Mike Schofield to “piss or get off the pot” and be more competitive, Quigley and fellow 2024 CWPA inductee Ted Bresnahan elevated their recruiting to compete against the mighty Middie, Princeton, Queens College and UMass squads that dominated the East in the 90s.

And compete St. Francis did. Using a formula that has now become standard operating procedure for top California programs, Quigley scoured Europe for talented polo athletes eager to get an education in the world’s most visible city. The transformation of Terrier polo from perennial bridesmaid to powerhouse took untold hours—Quigley quips that his wife Chris, also a St. Francis graduate, was a water polo widow—and brought him into contact with players from Australia, Brazil, Croatia, France, Hungary, Italy, Japan, Serbia, Spain, a veritable alphabet of countries. 

First as head coach, then as aquatics director and finally as an associate athletic director, the fearless Franciscan—let’s not forget St. Francis of Assisi who founded the religious order that oversaw his beloved alma mater—Quigley looped into every polo conversation he could find. To hone his coaching skills and develop a home-grown pipeline for his collegiate program, in 1979 he created a St. Francis age group club which produced many outstanding polo athletes, none better than Wolf Wigo, the most decorated Eastern male athlete in US water polo history.

And Navy, the unsinkable program steered by the domineering Schofield, finally succumbed to the Franciscan devote when—after many heartbreaks in CWPA Eastern Championship play—the 2005 Terrier squad broke through and captured the first of SFC’s four NCAA men’s water polo championship berths, knocking off the Midshipmen 10-9 to advance to the Final Four. By then SFC was no longer the little school of big dreams. It was the East’s dominant program, especially in its bathtub of a home pool, nestled four stories below the streets of Brooklyn Heights. You could hear the subway as it rumbled by—unless it was drowned out by the overflow crowds who trudged to SFC’s subterranean confines whenever the Terriers were in the water.

Which is where I found Quigley in October of 2012. By now he had retired from coaching, passing the direct reins of his precious collegiate program to others but still steering his youth club. When I first encountered Carl in his surreal natatorium I didn’t know what to think. Why were those players beating each other to a pulp under the toney streets of the Heights? And why did The New York Times keep writing about it?

[At N.C.A.A. Tournament, a Splash From Brooklyn, by Way of Europe]

But to know Carl is to love water polo—you can ask anyone about that. Like a pilgrimage to Fatima, Guadalupe or Lourdes, a visit to the St. Francis pool was a conversion experience, even if you weren’t seeking one.

For me polo has been the strangest of convictions; I’m a relatively unathletic, pasty-faced non-swimmer polo groupie. All because of Carl and his unwavering belief in polo, sports, and that Franciscan philosophy of giving back to make the world a better place.

Which is not to say it’s all been smooth sailing. The years take their toll; Terrier polo is no more with only weblinks and photographs and fleeting memories. And Carl, who remains steadfast in his belief in his sport. Who revels in friendship made, and memories cemented. Who will go anywhere and do just about anything to spread the sport. And who never gives up; the secret that he won’t tell you is that he’s indefatigable because he believes that anything is possible. Still.

Like entering the CWPA Hall of Fame. And being feted by his peers for his many accomplishments—success that can never be taken away.