“Dennis Foley! He was the one who alerted the media. He was solely responsible for that article in the paper.”
“Are you sure?”
Anderson nodded once decisively. “He provided them with every detail in that story.”
“How did he know all this?”
“He was the son of the bitch who refused to witness their wedding in the first place.”
“As well he should,” Donovan stated. But inwardly, for the first time, he had some doubts. “How can you be certain this leak came from Monsignor Foley?”
“Nelson Kane. I called him. He told me.” Anderson did not need to further identify the source. Kane was the tough-talking equivalent of Mother Teresa for Detroit journalists. “Call and ask him yourself.”
“I will.” But even as he spoke, Donovan had no doubt Anderson was being accurate. This information cast a new light on the matter. Donovan would prefer keeping Foley’s role a secret. He was certain Cardinal Boyle would be far more angry at Foley for forcing this issue than at Anderson for violating the law.
But the bishop quickly decided this sort of secret did not easily lend itself to being kept. Much better for everyone—except, of course, Anderson—that the Cardinal be advised of this added complication. “In good time,” Donovan continued, “the boss will be briefed on how this happened. The media has got hold of the story and they’re not going to let it go until some action is taken. Your suspension stands.
“You may, naturally, appeal this decision in the diocesan court; the Tribunal would handle the appeal.” Donovan barely suppressed a smile thinking about what the Tribunal would do to this clerical loose cannon if it got the chance. “I don’t really think you want to pursue this.” The bishop paused a moment. “Does that pretty well finish this matter?”
Anderson’s shoulders slumped. “I guess so.” He rose and took a step or two toward the door, then stopped as another thought came to mind.
The matter was not finished by any means. He thought of all the people he had conducted on a tour of the internal and external forums. He had helped many of them in good faith form their consciences. They—many of them—had been convinced on his word alone. What would they think when they learned that he was being punished for what he had told them and what he had done for them? Would those tender consciences be troubled again?
Anderson returned to the chair and sat down.
Donovan was startled. They had covered all the necessary ground. He would have treated Anderson gruffly. But the poor bastard was on the ropes. While toying with his episcopal ring, the bishop leaned forward.
“I’m not going to accept the penalty. It was meant to punish sin. And, as I’ve said, I don’t consider what I did sinful. Rather than accept, I will resign my priesthood.”
Donovan was completely taken aback. “You’d do that!”
“Yes.”
Donovan studied the desktop. He did not want to go to the mat on this one. The conclusion had been clear at the outset: The Church would slap Anderson’s wrist. He would accept the verdict and go into temporary exile. Later he would come back chastened, a little bit older and a lot wiser.
Anderson would be made to know that he couldn’t get away with this sort of aberrant conduct.
All would be well.
But the whippersnapper was upsetting the applecart. What’s more, there was very little time left before the scheduled news conference.
What to do?
It was too late to contact the Cardinal. The bishop would have to improvise.
“This is not going the way I want it to go,” Donovan said.
“Sorry. But I’m not going to give in on that punishment.”
Donovan thought again. Maybe it didn’t have to be a flat-out sanction. Maybe there was a way of getting the message across without the penalty.
The bishop folded his hands on the desk. “How about this? I state that Church law was violated. And that you have requested and received permission to take a leave of absence. You will use up to a couple of months to rethink your position. You are still a priest in good standing but you will take a spiritual retreat before returning to the archdiocese.”
Anderson considered that. He had taught his people that they were indeed violating Church law. But only because said law could not address their situation. So, he could accept the statement containing language that a law had been broken. It was a little iffy. But after all the time he had patiently worked with these troubled people, they ought to be able to take this language and run with it.
But there was something more to be considered: his mother’s tender conscience and her pride in him as a priest.
It was not uncommon for Catholic parents to feel fulfilled in a very special way when a son became a priest. Generally this feeling was more intense for the mother than the father. So it was in Anderson’s family. His father definitely was pleased. His satisfaction had grown over the years of Jerry’s priesthood. But his mother was ecstatic. She remained so to this day.
It was also not uncommon for a Catholic young man to remain in a seminary or the priesthood solely out of respect for his parents, who would be terribly hurt if he were to quit.
The sentiment is similar to that of a married couple who remain together only for the sake of their children.
In either case, the end result of this charade frequently was disaster.
Anderson’s father had died five years ago. Jerry, assisted by many of his priest classmates and friends, had offered the Resurrection Mass. His mother’s loss was buffered by all the priests, especially Jerry, who stood by her and at the altar.
To this date, Anderson had been a priest over fifteen years. His mother would be shocked that her son would violate a Church law. Both she and he could survive that. And there was no threat connected with his being granted a sabbatical leave of absence. But this would not be the end of the matter.
The handwriting was clear on the wall. The next time he would be dragged into the public arena for a similar sidestepping of Church law, the boom would be lowered. The next time he would, in all probability, be facing anything from suspension to being returned to the lay state. The latter punishment was more popularly known as defrocking.
In all of this, Anderson’s sole certainty was that there would be a next time. Whether it would be a troubled couple of parishioners, or the son or daughter of one of his many friends, someone would bring him a situation that was beyond the scope of Church law. There was no possibility he could turn such people away.
He was on a collision course with Canon Law and the Institution held all the cards. Futility held no attraction for him at all. The deal was done. He needed no more time for consideration. He had to leave the priesthood he so loved.
The question was how. Of the possible courses of action there had to be one that would best tie up all the loose ends.
He thought he had it. “Bishop, suppose you say in your press conference that I am taking a leave of absence in order to contemplate the place of Church law in my ministry. Perhaps you can say it’s open-ended.”
Donovan considered the proposal. “I think we could live with that.”
“All right. Then what I want to do is start immediately a petition to be granted laicization.”
Again Donovan was surprised. As far as he was concerned, this would be the preferred conclusion. Even with the scarcity of priests, the Church didn’t need the Andersons to challenge authority at every turn.
Donovan had neither suggested nor demanded that Anderson be returned to the lay state. The bishop was fairly certain that neither the Cardinal nor the priest would have gone for that. But now that Anderson himself had requested it … fine. “If that is your wish”—Donovan shrugged—“you won’t find any opposition here. In fact, you picked a good time. Rome is in the mood to grant laicizations pretty freely now. And I have some connections at the Vatican.”
“What do I have to do?”
“See Father Arsenault. He’ll take you through the p
aperwork …” He halted and looked at Anderson searchingly. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
Anderson nodded. “It seems to fit the bill. There’ll be no mention of a censure. During the leave, I will presumably reflect on my attitude toward Church law. That I don’t return after my leave will not be surprising. Scores of priests have taken a temporary leave that became permanent.”
“I agree. But my question is: Why the laicization?”
“Because if I were to return, the watchdogs of the diocese would have me under virtual surveillance. It would happen again. And, to paraphrase the Bible, my last state would be worse than my first. Does that answer your question?”
“Partially. What I’m really puzzled by is why you are voluntarily going through due process. It no longer is any secret that you have no regard for Church law. Why go through a procedure that is governed by a law that you definitely don’t believe in? Why not just leave the priesthood? Just walk away—with no paperwork at all. Scores of priests have done that too.”
Anderson stood, but did not turn to leave. “My mother is going to be hurt terribly—at best. I’m trying to soften the blow as much as I can. She would have been wounded by the talk of a Church sanction. That’s smoothed over by calling my disappearance a leave of absence. She’s going to be devastated when I do, in fact, leave. The only thing I can think of to help her over that is to go by the book. So I can be a Catholic in good standing. It’s the only thing I can think of to help. It may not work, but it’s my best shot.
“And now, Excellency, all I can think to say is good-bye.”
Anderson turned and left the room. The bishop did not return the soon-to-be former Father’s farewell.
Bishop Donovan sat motionless behind his desk. A smile began to spread. How things could change!
When Anderson had arrived at the chancery this morning, as far as Donovan was concerned everything had been cut and dried. The priest had violated a serious Church law. He would be punished by being suspended for two months. This had not been Donovan’s best scenario, but it was the most severe sentence he had been able to squeeze from Cardinal Boyle.
But then Donovan long had thought Boyle was too soft a touch. The Cardinal would not have agreed to any penalty at all had the case not drawn all this publicity—publicity that Foley would pay for once Boyle got back in town.
Now, instead of the foreordained conclusion that Donovan and Boyle had agreed upon, Anderson himself had orchestrated an ending that Donovan had preferred all along. How the Cardinal might feel about it was something else. But it had been Anderson’s choice, so …
The bottom line now was the resignation of Father Anderson. And since he was applying for laicization—and Donovan would make certain he got it—Anderson would never again function as a priest.
A canonical situation like this was rare but not unique. Donovan knew that few priests would dare go beyond the Pastoral Solution. But some would try to witness a clandestine, invalid marriage. Most would fail. The bishop reckoned that as long as there were laws and mavericks there would be trouble.
The bishop shook his head. He didn’t understand what made a man like Anderson tick. But Donovan would see to it that Mr. Anderson would never run again.
Ten
Some stories have legs. They run longer in the media. All stories run down eventually.
Reporters tried to milk the Anderson/Dea/Murrow story. But with just about no cooperation from anyone, it died after a couple of days.
The relatives and friends of the newlyweds were happy and satisfied. Even though Mr. and Mrs. Dana Dea were not responsible for the notoriety, they didn’t mind it. Their business, after all, was to be in the limelight. And so they were. The underlying philosophy was: Feel free to use my name; just spell it correctly.
The friends, relatives, and supporters of Father Jerry Anderson were much more somber and concerned.
Jerry’s first task was to make peace with his mother. It took a while but eventually he accomplished it. It was difficult for her to understand how her son, the priest, could break a Church law. She worried, too, about how her fellow parishioners and daily Mass attendees would react to this scandal. In the end, either she finally understood—or pretended she did for his sake. Anderson was not sure which was really the case.
The other shoe that remained to drop in Mrs. Anderson’s life was her son’s laicization. Outside of someone’s being in danger of imminent death—or an extremely improbable change in the Vatican mind-set—Jerry would never function as a priest again. That would be a tough pill to swallow for Mrs. Anderson. Jerry was counting on the effect of laicization that would at least allow him to be a layperson in pretty good standing with the Church.
Meanwhile, he had to find a job. Others might think that a “leave of absence” was temporary. That’s what the dictionary implied: permission to be absent from duty or employment. Initially, these people would expect him to return. In time they might forget he was gone.
As far as Anderson was concerned, he had two months of, in effect, paid vacation in which to find employment, not to mention a continuation of health care insurance.
He was not surprised that there was little interest in a theology major on the part of business or industry. Nor was he unduly concerned when no one broke down his door to offer a job.
One offer did come forward, prodded by Father Rick Casserly. Tom Becker, friend and former classmate of Casserly, mildly recruited Anderson. Becker didn’t need any more employees at that time. In fact he was being forced to lay off workers. Additionally, Anderson had neither experience nor particular interest in flowers or trees.
However, it was a bona fide offer. If all else failed, he could learn the business. He felt he could become scab labor rather than starve. He put Becker’s offer on the back burner with gratitude to both Becker and Casserly.
Over the years, Anderson had lost touch completely with his former penitent, Sister Perpetua. He had not seen her since their ways parted from St. Ursula’s. Out of curiosity, he learned that she had chosen Casserly to succeed him as her spiritual director. With all Anderson had to do at Nativity, culminating with his citywide basketball program, he was happy to know she had found a skilled and reliable director.
He did not know that Sister Perpetua had returned to being Dora Riccardo.
But she had not forgotten him. He was no stranger to the local sports scene. She read about his program in the papers and caught the occasional interview on radio or TV.
Finally, she read about the celebrity wedding he’d almost gotten away with. She understood what his ceremonial leave of absence really meant.
Dora had just managed a switch from Kelly Services to Oakland Monthly magazine. She had applied for a secretarial position with the publication, but had done so well in technical skills that she was hired as a copy editor.
She was familiar with Anderson’s experience with writing, limited though it might be. Among his duties at St. Ursula’s, he had been editor of the parish bulletin. To his credit, he had turned that house organ throwaway into a genuine means of communication within the parish—and an interestingly written paper to boot. He’d had letters published in prestigious newspapers and magazines. Through the programs he created and continued to monitor, he had name recognition, something that would get him through doors if he were researching or developing a story. Mostly, Dora knew that Anderson would be every inch a professional along the lines that Pat Lennon was recruiting.
She debated with herself. Which would be the better way to intercede for him? Go directly to Pat Lennon? Or, sound him out to see if he did indeed want a job on the magazine?
Dora decided to begin at the top. She made a strong case for Anderson’s dependability and thorough professionalism—after Pat’s interpretation of that quality. Though Lennon had grave misgivings regarding Jerry’s experience—or lack thereof—she agreed to interview him.
That left Anderson’s interest in this job yet to be discovered.
&nbs
p; Dora called the Anderson home. She figured correctly that Jerry would be financially strapped and unable to afford an apartment.
His mother, who answered the phone, was very guarded when it came to answering questions about her son. And she was very inquisitive about “this woman” who was interested in her son—still and always her son the priest. Finally, Mrs. Anderson consented to give Jerry the message to return the call.
Which he did that evening. He was surprised and delighted even to think about Sister Perpetua—Dora Riccardo—once again. Both were open for lunch the next day. In fact, though he didn’t mention it, he was wide open all day for any sort of meeting. They agreed on Peabody’s on Woodward south of Maple in downtown Birmingham in the heart of Oakland County. Dora thought the location particularly appropriate since they would be talking about a possible position at Oakland Monthly.
They were to meet in the lobby about 11:30 A.M.—“to beat the crowd.” They never would have made contact had it not been that Anderson had not changed all that much. A bit of gray in the sideburns, hair receding ever so slightly. Still an athletic physique. An attractive gentleman all in all. Of course he was wearing civvies, but that was not much of a disguise; he was still recognizable. Had she not approached him, he never would have recognized her. His entire experience had been with a creature consisting of face and hands, and all else sealed in wool.
She was everything he had fantasized. Her face was every bit, if not more, open, friendly, and beautiful. Her hair was tossed and curly. This was the first time he’d seen her crowning beauty, now unboxed by religious headgear.
After they were seated, Dora told the waitress it would be a while before they ordered. She cheerfully brought coffee and promised them all the time they needed.
Anderson was smiling like a kid who had hit his first Little League home run. “I can’t get over it. After all these years … I almost called you Sister.”
“That’s okay. I’ll probably slip and call you Father before lunch is over.”
He broke a breadstick. “We both left Ursula’s about the same time. Where did they send you?”
Till Death Page 10