Father Tully sipped his beer. The bottle had a long way to go before it would be a dead soldier. “I’ve heard that from time to time. But it’s always in the context of history—like this type of pastor went out with the Ice Age.”
Koesler eyed several small potato chip crumbs that Tully apparently had missed. Tempting but not compelling. “Funny,” he mused, “I’m just running the presbyterate—as we are called from time to time—through my mind. It used to be that I could freeze-frame on certain pastors as fitting the infamous mold. That doesn’t happen any longer.
“Not that I think that human nature has changed that much. It’s more that there are fewer rear ends to kick.”
“You mean,” Tully said, “that the object of their sadism—the vanishing assistant—is not around to be brutalized?”
“Something like that. But in the days of yore, pastors—at least a handful of them—could be a menace.”
“Didn’t they ever pick on anyone but assistants?”
“Of course. I can think of one—now in that great offertory in the sky—who had the ushers puncture the tires of every car parked on or over the yellow line in the parking lot.”
“Outrageous! The following Sunday there were no improperly parked cars because no one went to Mass there?”
“You’d think that.” Koesler nibbled on one small potato chip crumb and was disgusted with himself. “But those were the days when territorial boundaries were vital. Most parishioners, even the ones with punctured tires, would attend their parish no matter how tyrannical the pastor might be. And, if it came to the point where they really had had it, they would still need a letter from the pastor to ‘switch parishes.’”
“What if the guy hopscotched over his pastor and didn’t bring a letter from Daddy? If he just went to another parish to sign up there?”
“Then the priest of that parish was not supposed to permit him to join.”
“Seems preposterous!”
“By today’s lights, definitely That was a different time.”
“I’ll say. Personally, I’m happy all my folks—that used to be your folks—show up of a Sunday. It’s nice if they register. But that’s entirely up to them.”
“Yep,” Koesler agreed. “That’s the open-ended approach I favored. But getting back to the original thought, hardly anyone today would consider causing needless insult to the faithful. The same pastor, the one who had tires punctured, was refinishing the interior of his church. Turns out he received only a partial delivery of the new pews he had ordered. So he put all the spanking new ones in the church’s main section, and left the old, shabby pews in an old side section, and had parents with small children occupy that space.”
Tully was shaking his head. “What a winner! He could solve the priest shortage by cutting back on the number of Catholics belonging to parishes—thus reducing the proportion of the faithful compared with the number of priests left to go around. Didn’t these guys ever take on someone their own size?”
“You mean pastor to pastor?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Rarely. But when it did happen it was like a couple of bulls, a couple of lions having at it. No, the butt of choice were the assistants. They were a well-defined target.”
“And you?” Tully beckoned the waitress to bring the bill. Waving aside Koesler’s attempt to pay, he studied the bottom line briefly then slipped some money on the table. “Keep the change,” he said. It would be a generous tip. The waitress could never again bad-mouth stingy clergymen.
“And you, Bob? Did you ever serve with any of these guys?”
“Well, of course, there was Angelico.”
“I mean beside him.”
“No, thank God. I don’t even have to knock on wood. I’m well beyond the stage of having anything even remotely resembling that happen to me.”
“How was it with you and Angelico?”
“Different than anyone he had living with him before or after.”
Tully was smiling. “Because?”
“Because I was the first—and the last, as it turned out—who wasn’t an assistant. I was ‘in residence.’ I was the newly appointed editor of the diocesan paper. He didn’t really know what that entailed, how much clout I had with the administration. It was all lost in the mist of ‘down-town.’
“I think the poor man may have suspected that I was sent to spy on him. It was unlikely he could be charged with anything that resembled misfeasance of any kind. He didn’t steal any of the parish’s money. If anything, he squirreled it away against a rainy day.
“He had no problem avoiding sexual misconduct. He distrusted, even disliked women and boys and girls”—he chuckled—“just about everyone, for that matter, except the men he drafted into the ushers’ guild. Them he handpicked.
“He took no chances with the weekly collection. None but the consecrated hands of a priest could touch the Sunday collection. So, with three priests counting—the pastor, his two assistants, but not me—the money would be banked sometime Monday afternoon.
“Outside of sheer general crankiness, his principal vice was the demeaning abuse he inflicted on his assistants. He never gave any indication that he considered anyone sent to work with him as fully human, let alone fellow priests.”
“They weren’t allowed to exercise their ministry?” Tully wondered.
“They were commanded to exercise his ministry. Or, at least, what he considered his ministry.
“Take this for example. The two assistants were not supposed to leave their one-room chambers—at all!—except to say Mass, to take devotions like Perpetual Help, to answer emergency sick calls, to bring Communion to shut-ins, to give instructions to converts … you get the picture.”
“Wow! They might as well have been prisoners.”
“Exactly. I was many times his junior. I didn’t feel it was my function to get in the middle of this mess. Over the years, I have come to have second thoughts: I should have intervened. Of course, the chancery downtown knew what was going on. They should have corrected him—no matter the cost. But, for whatever reason, I should have gotten involved. It was a major failing on my part. The best I could do, I thought, was to form the Ursula club. It may not have been the best idea I ever had. But I think it did some good.
“Originally it was intended as a haven for priests and nuns who had spent any time at all under Father Angelico’s thumb. We had no dues, no rules or regulations, not even a clubhouse. Just a get-together to lick wounds, let off steam, find comfort from shared misery.
“Many years ago most of the membership consisted solely of those priests who were actively assigned to the parish. After a guy had moved on, he tried to forget, and once he’d been reassigned, he rarely needed a group to get over the experience.
“Nor did any nuns belong to the club. First off, they would never have had a chance to escape the convent to gather with the rest of us. Secondly, most of the nuns of that order probably thought that Angelico was a saint.
“But as is usually true, time heals all wounds. And Father Angelico has, for lo these many years, passed on to his eternal reward—or whatever. Now, only a few who were contemporaries attend. It’s more a social event dedicated to keeping tabs on each other and, inevitably, recalling the stories of the way it used to be. Only in retrospect were the good old days actually good.”
Tully checked his watch. The afternoon’s clergy meeting loomed. “By the way,” he said, “thanks for inviting my brother and sister-in-law. They’re looking forward to it.” He stopped and smiled. “At least Anne Marie is.”
Koesler smiled. “I know you want to include them in everything you do … as much as possible.”
Oddly, Koesler had known Zack Tully’s brother and sister-in-law longer than Zack had. Father Koesler and Zoo Tully had collaborated in solving several murder investigations and had become friends. Through Zoo, Koesler had come to know and appreciate Anne Marie for the treasure she was.
In subtle ways, Koesler, Zack, and Ann
e Marie were trying to interest the detective, a Baptist backslider, in things Catholic. They were careful not to push too hard. For none of the three conspirators was it essential that Zoo convert. If it happened, it would be a tasty frosting on the cake.
“I just hope,” Tully said, “that they won’t feel like fifth wheels. After all, they’ll be the only ones there who won’t be alumni—or alumnae—of the parish.”
“Well, not really,” Koesler responded. “Just so they won’t feel like outsiders, I invited another couple who were never affiliated with the parish or with Father Angelico.”
“Oh? Who?”
“Tom and Peggy Becker. They’re friends of Rick Casserly. Matter of fact, Tom and Rick were seminary classmates. Tom left the seminary something like three years before ordination.”
“They the ones with the landscape business?”
“You know them?”
“I’ve read about Tom Becker. But I’ve never met him or his wife.”
“I think you’ll like Tom. He started out practically giving away housing to the homeless. Then he married and started a family. At which point he got serious about money—and from then on he had the Midas touch.
“That part I’m familiar with. How about the wife?”
“Peggy? She’s a good wife and mother for all I can tell. But I think she let the winds and sands of time pass her by.”
“How’s that?”
“She’s on the other side of changes in the Church.”
“Impervious to Vatican II?”
“Exactly. Tom moved with the changes. Peggy did not. Either they have established a delicate balance or all is not perfect in paradise. I don’t think they have much in common anymore—at least not as far as the Church is concerned.”
“Okay” Tully looked quickly at the waitress. She seemed in no hurry. Nor were there many customers in the restaurant. He felt there was no pressing need to clear out. “Everyone else at the party will know each other. Right?”
Koesler nodded.
“Then, how about I introduce my brother and sister-in-law to everyone and you do the same for the Beckers wherever they need an introduction.”
“Fine with me.”
“You can start right now,” Tully said, “in giving me a quick rundown on the rest of our guests for tonight.”
“Sure.” Koesler glanced at his watch. Something he had always done with great regularity throughout his adult life. “I know you’ve got a meeting to attend. And I should get in a few hospital visits before evening. So, it’ll just be thumbnail sketches.
“There’s Rick Casserly. I think you know him.”
“God’s gift to vocation recruiters? I should say so. Seems like all the little boys who know him want to grow up to be Father Casserly. I don’t think our archdiocese knows what a gem they have in this guy. If they did, they’d center most of their recruitment efforts around him.”
Koesler chuckled. “I guess you do know Rick! And you’ve identified him perfectly. He’s the next best thing to Bing Crosby, Father O’Malley in Going My Way. He’s big and brash and handsome and Irish. He makes friends with everyone. He’s reverent with the sacraments, especially Mass. He’s established a reputation as an effective spiritual director. In short, if Hollywood wanted a perfect priest, central casting would send for Rick Casserly.”
“And,” Tully added, “he could do it without makeup.”
“Right. And, let’s see, the others. There’s Dora Riccardo—formerly, Sister Perpetua of the dreaded Theresians. She joined us almost immediately after the order helped her make up her mind whether to leave or stick it out.
“I must confess, she surprised me with how quickly she came to us. Almost as if she left the order just to join the club. That couldn’t be … but I still wonder about the speed of it.
“Well …
“Then there’s Lillian Niedermier. She has the distinction of being the only nonreligious ever to join the club. She taught at the school for three years.”
“Enough time to experience the wounds and develop the scars of Angelico, I’d say … sort of a kissing cousin of the stigmata,” Tully said. “Where is she now?”
“Principal at St. Enda’s. And doing very well from all I’ve heard. If the Church will let her climb an ecclesiastical ladder, she ought to have a bright future.”
Tully shook his head sadly. “Yes, I’m afraid the Church has got as impenetrable a glass ceiling as any nonepiscopal organization. Good luck to Lillian.”
“Lil, she prefers.”
“Lil it is. Any more?”
“Our newest member,” Koesler replied, “Jerry Anderson. You’d have to be living in a cave not to know who he is.”
“True. But I didn’t know he had been with Father Angelico.”
“A few years ago. And that explains his eligibility to join us. Once upon a time he served under Angelico. That entitles him to become a member of the club. But it doesn’t account for his joining us just now. I mean, he could have joined while he was with Angelico—and believe me, he had good reason to do so. The pastor was as rough or rougher on Jerry as on any other assistant. But Jerry didn’t get in touch with us then, even after he left the priesthood.”
“He left the priesthood?” Tully was surprised. “I thought he took a leave of absence.”
Koesler shook his head. “In this archdiocese, ninety-nine percent of the time, when a priest takes a leave he’s not coming back. The phrase is nothing but a euphemism for quitting. In all the time this term has been in use, I think only two or possibly three priests actually returned from a leave.”
“Why not just say he resigned?”
“It looks better. It softens the blow. People read that this or that priest is on leave of absence. They don’t reflect that never—or almost never—is there a notice that the priest has returned.”
“So,” Tully asked, “nobody knows why, after that huge time gap, Anderson is joining this club now?”
“Not really … not that I know of. But,” Koesler toyed with his napkin, “I think it has something to do with Dora Riccardo.”
“The former Sister Perpetua?”
“The very one.”
“What’s the connection?”
“I must have too much time on my hands,” Koesler confessed. “Or maybe it’s just fun searching for answers to puzzles. And all I have is circumstantial evidence; there’s no smoking gun …” He hesitated. “My Lord, would you listen to me? I must be watching too many reruns of Law and Order.”
“You’ve certainly got my attention. Proceed, counselor.”
“Okay.” A small smile played at the corners of Koesler’s lips. “Dora … Perpetua … served time with both the Theresians and Father Angelico while Jerry … Father Anderson … was assigned to St. Ursula’s. He was her spiritual director. I know that because when they left for new assignments, he passed her on to Rick Casserly. In one of our gatherings around the hot stove, he happened to mention that.
“Now,” Koesler warmed to his story line, “by the time Anderson picked up all that publicity and left the active ministry, Dora was working for that Oakland magazine. She gave him an entreé to the magazine. And he applied and got the job. He followed her into the lay life. And now …” He paused.
“He’s following her into this little club. You think this could become a relationship made in heaven?”
“Kind of strikes me that way. He certainly doesn’t need this club. He had plenty of time to join us during or immediately after his stint with Angelico. One would have to think that he did just fine with his own rehabilitation. Those wounds were healed. But there was something the magazine and the club have in common …”
“Dora Riccardo.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Sort of paints the picture of basketball’s full-court press.”
“I think so. It shows every promise of ending in marriage.”
“But,” Tully objected, “he’s still a priest. I mean canonically He’s still bound to ce
libacy. If that isn’t enough to deter him, how about her? Maybe Dora isn’t quite ready to be excommunicated …”
“At this stage in their lives it may not make a lot of difference. Besides, it’s always possible that Jerry has applied for laicization. Most of the guys who do just don’t talk about it.”
Tully thought about that for a moment. “Generally, there’s no other reason for going for laicization than getting married. There’s no ecclesiastical penalty, as such, for leaving the priesthood; just for getting married.”
“So,” Koesler continued the thought, “if the rumor is true, then Jerry probably does plan marriage. And, again, probably, the bride will be Dora Riccardo.”
“My …” Tully spoke with mock wonder. “There are circles inside circles in this club.”
“Puzzles and mysteries add spice to life.”
Tully leaned forward. “Let’s see, we’re expecting Tom and Peggy Becker; my brother and Anne Marie; Rick Casserly; Jerry Anderson; Lil Niedermier; Dora Riccardo—and the two of us, right?
“Well, the caterers are preparing for a generous serving for ten, yes. The ‘generous’ label should take care of any last-minute guests. I know it was an RSVP invitation, but I can think of one or two more who might just wander in without reservation.” Koesler checked his memory. “Matter of fact, I can think of one who has attended these meetings religiously. So I kind of expect him.”
“Who is that?”
“Father Harry Morgan.”
It was Tully’s turn to check his memory. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard of him.”
“I’m not surprised. Harry Morgan is my classmate.”
Tully was startled.
“Yes”—Koesler grinned—“that old!”
“I didn’t mean …” Tully fumbled.
Koesler laughed. “It’s okay. Just remember: As we are, so you one day will be.”
Till Death Page 13