San Diego Union Tribune Opinion by Jody Hammond. Originally Published: October 11, 2023.

As a local radio and television reporter during the ’80s and ‘90s in Southern California, I had the chance to meet hundreds of fascinating people in every possible situation, from tragedy to triumph. There is one woman who has a special place in my memory and in my heart. She is, to borrow a phrase from Reader’s Digest, my most unforgettable character. Her name is Mother Antonia Brenner. Next week marks the 10th anniversary of her passing at age 86.

I was often assigned to cover stories in Tijuana because I speak Spanish, and, frankly, I usually found these assignments much more interesting, albeit challenging, than my San Diego ones. I invariably was helped by the Tijuana press corps, always generous in sharing information with the blonde gringa reporter from San Diego. I started hearing about “La Mama,” the American nun who lived inside La Mesa State Penitentiary in Tijuana. That got my attention. You can’t make this stuff up.

I learned that she’d been born Mary Clarke, the daughter of Irish immigrants. She was a blue-eyed beauty who grew up in a Beverly Hills mansion. She married twice and raised seven children, but both marriages ended in divorce. This was not your typical nun.

Mother Antonia’s story inspired me to make a documentary, “La Mama: An American Nun’s Life in a Mexican Prison.”

Always a devout Catholic, she began helping the prisoners and families of La Mesa prison in the ’70s. Her children were grown, and eventually she founded an order of women like herself, who were older, had raised families, had enjoyed careers and now wanted to serve. Fittingly, they called themselves Eudist Servants of the Eleventh Hour, an order founded in 2003.

Standing a mighty 5 feet tall, La Mama could usually travel freely throughout the prison, hugging the prisoners she called her sons. Dressed immaculately in her white coif (headpiece) and habit, speaking her unique brand of Spanish, she was never in danger. One warden told me La Mama brought humanity inside the prison walls. In a 2005 interview, Mother told me, “A person who is wounded in their dignity, sometimes they go a lifetime without being healed. That’s what I’m here for.”

Mother Antonia had street smarts, and recognized that she would have to accept certain realities about life inside La Mesa in order to be allowed access. She readily acknowledged that no American jail would ever have allowed her to live inside prison walls. Her “sons” included the lowliest street criminal sleeping on the floor or the most powerful drug lord, living a life of relative comfort inside prison walls with his own apartment and security guards. Mother lived in a 10-by-10 foot room with a cot. To be clear, she could come and go from the prison as she pleased.

Mother was also a devoted supporter of the police. In 2000, Tijuana’s municipal police chief was killed in a barrage of gunfire as he drove along a busy Tijuana highway. Mother raced to police headquarters with a bouquet of red roses for her fallen son, offering comfort to his brothers in mourning. Her order supports the families of fallen officers, and there have been many.

Mother Antonia also was aware that she had political clout in a city with many opposing factions. I was present when she received a personal invitation to attend a political banquet, expected to sit next to an elected official at the head table. She knew she was being used, and would not attend.

As spiritual and inspiring as Mother Antonia was, she had a great sense of humor, an infectious laugh and an unforgettable deep voice any stage actress would envy. She had the bearing of a society matron that she had once been.

Mother Antonia captured the attention of none other than the late Father Joe Carroll, who started hearing complaints about a Tijuana nun showing up to St. Vincent de Paul’s building in San Diego and making off with donations. As Father Joe told me in 2007, “I came running down to stop her. I was going to put an end to this thing. She falls on her knees and looks up with that innocent joyful smile. ‘Padre, your blessing.’ So this little old lady stops me, in the middle of stopping her, to give her a blessing. Meanwhile, they’re carrying stuff out the door. She’s a thief and she’s good at it!” High praise from the man affectionately known as the “hustler priest.”

There’s also a campaign in the works to nominate Mother Antonia for sainthood in the Roman Catholic Church. Definitely a most unforgettable character, serving a life sentence, by choice.

Jody Hammond is an independent journalist and filmmaker who lives in Encinitas.

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