Mario Cuomo

by O'Shaughnessy, William;

  In fact, if one looks closely, some of the most fundamental of Teilhard’s principles are equally available to me and to all rational human beings whatever their level of formal education.

  They are instructions of what has come to be called “natural theology” or the “natural law,” which is to say they can be ascertained by using evidence that is there for all of us to see and feel with nothing more than the gift of consciousness and exposure to the world around us.

  Without books or history, without saints or sermons, without instruction or revelation, three things about our place in the world should occur to us as human beings.

  The first is that the greatest gift we have been given is our existence, our life and the power to help procreate.

  The second is because as humans with the gift of consciousness we are unique parts of creation—sharing the same principal needs, desires and threats against us—our intelligence inclines us to treat one another with respect and dignity.

  The third is the inclination to work together to protect and enhance the life we share.

  The Hebrews, who gave us probably the first of our monotheistic religions, made these ideas the foundation of their beliefs. Tzedakah is the principle that we should treat one another as brother and sister, children of the same great source of life. And Tikkun Olam is the principle that instructs us to join together in repairing the world.

  Rabbi Hillel pointed out that these two radiantly logical principles together make up the whole law. “All the rest,” he said, “is commentary.”

  Jesus confirmed it was also the whole law for Christians. “The whole law is that you should love one another as you love yourself for the love of truth, and the truth is God made the world but did not complete it; you are to be collaborators in creation.”

  I know of no religion recognized in this country—God-oriented or not—that rejects these ideas.

  If, then, as seems to be the case, politicians today are looking for guidance from religions in learning how to create a sustainable future or looking for the best wisdom to govern by, day-to-day, the answer is apparent: To deal effectively with our problems and to make the most of all our opportunities, we must understand, accept, and apply one fundamental, indispensable proposition. It is the ancient truth that drove primitive people together to ward off their enemies and wild beasts, to find food and shelter, to raise their children in safety, and eventually to raise up a civilization.

  Now, in this ever more complex world, we need to accept and apply the reality that we’re all in this together, like a family, interconnected and interdependent, and that we cannot afford to revert to a world of us against them.

  It is the one great idea that is indispensable to realizing our full potential as a people.

  This is true whether we are considering the sharing of the wealth in the economy of the richest nation on Earth; deciding what we must do to relieve the economic and political oppression of people all over the world; or deliberating over how to join in protecting millions of Africans against the ravages of AIDS or the barbarism of warlords.

  Each of us is presented with a choice to act or not to act in a way that will move the world in a different and better direction. A brilliant agnostic, Chief Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes, echoed Teilhard’s call for the vigorous involvement of all of us in the management of the world around us and added a warning. He said, “As life is action and passion we are required to share the passion and action of our time at the peril of being judged not to have lived.”

  Teilhard would have augmented Holmes’s remarks with his promise of glorious attainment. “The day will come when after harnessing the wind, the mind, the tides and gravity, we shall harness for God the energies of love and on that day for the second time in the history of man we will have discovered fire.”

  I wish I had a recording right now of a lot of people’s one favorite piece of music.

  Reflecting on Teilhard’s vision and importunings, it’s easy to hear in the background Beethoven’s wonderful message to humanity which was his ninth symphony.

  With its unforgettable ending . . . .

  The single moral principle he wanted to share was the need to see the world as a family. Listen to it again. It begins dark and threatening; disaster and confusion loom because of clashes of will, misunderstanding and alienation. It moves into the frenetic hunt for resolution seeking an answer that will comfort and reassure humanity.

  Then in the final movement it swiftly presents again the initial picture of disunity and discord, only to dissolve into the “Ode to Joy,” using the words of Friedrich von Schiller’s poem, ending in ecstatic jubilation—the chorus rejoicing at the convergence of the world’s people through maturity, brotherhood . . . and love!

  Simple, and simply wonderful!

  So, “Who or What is God?”

  I have grown old enough to understand the vanity of trying to define fully the infinite and eternal.

  But I also understand that I’m not required to eliminate any possibilities just because my intellect is not acute enough to make them irresistible.

  In the end, I can choose to believe—and call it “faith” if I must—if that promises me meaningfulness.

  So, it may not be easy to understand Teilhard or believe that God commits us to the endless task of seeking improvement of the world around us, knowing that fulfillment is an eternity away.

  But it’s better than the anguish of fearing futility.

  Better than the emptiness of despair.

  And capable of bringing meaning to our most modest and clumsy efforts.

  That’s a useful consolation for any of us still struggling to believe.

  Wow! A few days before the governor delivered this stunningly brilliant homily (and that’s what it was), I received a copy of the working transcript with a “What do you think, Bill O’S?” note attached. As I’ve acknowledged, I would occasionally take pen in hand to weigh in with my brilliant two cents, which he usually—and wisely—ignored. However, after reading this riveting talk that literally took my breath away, all I could do is write, “Wow!” Wow . . .

  As governor, Mario Cuomo had many formal speechwriters and self-styled “communications specialists” on the public payroll as would-be ghostwriters. They included Bill Hanlon, Stephen Schlesinger, Harold Holzer, Peter Quinn, and the estimable Tim Russert.

  But the great man rarely used the product of their considerable genius, except in the case of Harold Holzer; their Lincoln book relied heavily on Holzer’s scholarship and genius. My own meager contributions over the course of thirty-eight years rarely, as I’ve indicated, made the final cut. Mario’s soaring and thoughtful speeches were from his own heart and mind. The governor himself famously said, “I am not capable of delivering an important speech even reasonably well unless its content, style and language are mostly my own. I’ve discovered over the years that as long as I am strongly committed to the message I am trying to deliver, my mind and voice and body will find ways to help people understand what I’m trying to say.”

  In More Than Words, a stunning collection of Mario’s most memorable speeches published by St. Martin’s Press, the governor of course included his famous and soaring “A Tale of Two Cities” speech at the Democratic National Convention in San Francisco in 1984. That speech, as I just mentioned, mesmerized a nation and catapulted him to a worldwide reputation as an iconic liberal champion.

  But perhaps because it was a purely political speech, it was never one of his favorites, and that’s why I have not included it in these pages. Also in the same beautiful collection of his speeches was the thoughtful, soul-searching Chubb Fellowship Lecture delivered at Yale University on February 1, 1985, which he titled E Pur Si Muove.

  The speech dealt with the counterproductive tendency we have to exalt glib ideology over good, time-tested ideas. In a packed New Haven amphitheater, Mario reminded Yale’s best and brightest and many New England political and civic leaders that “while programs and policie
s change, our principles don’t.”

  In its most memorable passage, Mario begged the audience—and the nation—not to abandon its principles, even in the face of the sweeping national Republican victories in the previous year.

  He reminded the scholars, students, and politicians there assembled on that winter night that “the great Italian astronomer Galileo faced a similar situation as he questioned abandoning his own long-held belief.” The audience paid rapt attention as Mario reminded them:

  Galileo described the world as he saw it, a world that circled the sun in constant orbit. But many people had trouble accepting this for they were taught that the Earth was the very center of the universe and never moved. Galileo had challenged their perception of the universe, which came dangerously close to challenging the very basis of their faith. This occurred during the terrible time of the Inquisition and Galileo was actually forced to kneel before a high tribunal of elders, royalty, scholars and theologians and renounce and retract his ridiculous assertion, bordering [on] heresy, that the Earth moved. With the elders of the tribunal looking down, they made him say that the Earth was stationary because God had created it that way.

  Galileo knelt and with great pain and reluctance spoke the words they forced him to speak: He denied [that] the Earth orbited the sun. But . . . as he arose . . . those around him heard him say in a quiet voice, “E pur si muove.”

  “But still . . . it moves . . .”

  Just as Mario uttered these words, a student in the upper balcony, unable to contain himself, leaped to his feet and shouted: “Bravo, Mario!” The stunned audience froze for a moment and again cast their eyes on the lectern, where Mario, without missing a beat, screamed back, “Thank you . . . Bart Giamatti!” Giamatti was president of Yale at the time and later commissioner of Major League Baseball (a position the governor himself was widely rumored to have been at least “considering” or “interested in”). The audience erupted with laughter and cheers!

  I’ve also not included in this memoir the governor’s famous and controversial (to this day) “abortion” speech, “Religious Belief and Public Morality,” delivered at Notre Dame in 1984. Mario worked on the Notre Dame speech for more than a month. The governor had been invited to tackle the difficult question of Catholics in the public arena, which had been put to him by the great modern theologian and Notre Dame scholar Father Richard McBrien. The point he was trying to make is simple: “I think it’s already apparent that a good part of this nation understands—if only instinctively—that anything which seems to suggest that God favors a political party or the establishment of a state church is wrong and dangerous.” As he said on another occasion, “I protect my right to be a Catholic by preserving your right to believe as a Jew, a Protestant, or nonbeliever, or as anything else you choose.”

  Incidentally, little known is the backstory told by the governor and confirmed by Matilda Cuomo about the harrowing trip out to South Bend, Indiana. Almost from the moment the small jet carrying the governor, Matilda, columnist Jimmy Breslin, and Tim Russert lifted off and headed west, the plane encountered rough air. As Mario sat alone polishing the speech, the jump jet took a sudden dive and plummeted for several minutes before the pilot regained control and found some smooth air. At which point Jimmy Breslin said, “Mario, maybe God is telling you something. Maybe he doesn’t really want you to give the damn speech!”

  The governor never acknowledged the sudden jolt and kept concentrating on his speech and polishing his prose. But Matilda well remembers that as a result of the sudden turbulence a large glass of orange juice on the governor’s tray table was up-ended, spilling all over Mario’s master copy of the historic speech.

  When the intrepid flyers arrived in South Bend, they were taken directly to the president’s residence, home of Father Theodore Hesburgh. As soon as they were alone in the guest room, Matilda retrieved the soaked original master copy of the famous speech and dried it with a hair dryer as she held it aloft.

  Controversial though it may have been, Mario always felt that the Notre Dame speech on which he labored for many, many weeks helped turn the abortion discussion toward a more constructive and reasonable phase.

  THE IONA SPEECH

  Another speech that brought Mario great personal satisfaction was his 1984 Commencement Address at Iona College in Westchester. One of the graduates that year was Mario’s luminous and beloved daughter Maria, now married to the designer-philanthropist Kenneth Cole. But the governor didn’t aim his remarks at Maria or her classmates. Instead, he addressed himself to the parents: “How do we tell our children not to be discouraged by the imperfection of the world and the inevitability of death and diminishments?”

  His Catholic faith meant a great deal to him in every season. But the governor never had quite the same kind of relationship with John Cardinal O’Connor that he enjoyed with the present archbishop of New York, Timothy Dolan.

  And yet despite some public contretemps and an oft-reported “tension” between Cardinal O’Connor and the governor, Mario had enormous respect—and considerable affection—for the outspoken prelate.

  As John O’Connor lay dying, Mario wrote this beautiful piece reminding New Yorkers to look beyond the labels and headlines when assessing the whole canon of the cardinal’s life work.

  Greeting marchers from the steps of St. Patrick’s Cathedral in his bright red skullcap and cape, or delivering a homily from its lofty pulpit, John Cardinal O’Connor is an instantly familiar face, a figure who exudes charm and grace.

  Most New Yorkers, however, have little knowledge of his complicated and nuanced character as a priest and as a religious leader.

  As a Catholic public figure who has felt the force of Cardinal O’Connor’s strong advocacy on the subject of abortion but who knows the rest of the cardinal’s work as well, it seems to me a sad irony that at a time when we have grown accustomed to learning more about most of our public figures we should know so little about this distinguished prelate.

  Throughout fifteen years of indefatigable public ministering and advocacy he has carried the Church’s banner in high-visibility campaigns against abortion and homosexuality. In the process he has earned a reputation as one of the Vatican’s favorite conservative dogmatists and attracted a host of strident critics.

  But his equally vigorous efforts on behalf of the rest of the Catholic agenda have received less attention. Over the last decade and a half the archdiocese he leads has educated, housed, cared for, comforted, and counseled hundreds of thousands of Catholic and non-Catholic New Yorkers. None of the great American philanthropies have done more for the most vulnerable among us. And in some cases the archdiocese has led the way for the rest of the private charities. One example in particular comes to mind.

  In 1983 when HIV and AIDS suddenly struck New York like a plague, our great city nearly panicked. Frightened and confused New Yorkers began attacking “homosexuals” as the cause of the problem. People thought to be HIV-positive or suffering from AIDS were treated as pariahs. It was difficult to get bed space and doctors and nurses to accommodate victims as patients. With no need for prodding from government, the cardinal made St. Clare’s Hospital in Manhattan a haven for AIDS victims. His example helped relieve the anxiety of the caregiver community and encouraged its aggressive response to what was then our most severe health crisis.

  The cardinal has also advanced classic American Catholic social policy by being one of the last undiluted and proud advocates of the union movement, committed to assuring dignity and economic equality to all working men and women. And his gentle but insistent importuning has advanced ecumenism significantly, particularly with the Jewish community.

  Altogether, his attempts to repair and strengthen the social fabric should have earned Cardinal O’Connor a reputation as one of the Vatican’s favorite social progressives, as well as one of its premier conservative dogmatists, especially since the course he chose was such a difficult one. Both in his conservative theological approach and his
more liberal position on social issues, the former admiral found himself constantly sailing against the prevailing winds in a nation that has become more material, more sexually permissive, and less willing to offer collective support for social needs.

  All of this can be found in the public record, but only his advocacy against abortion and homosexuality have been memorialized in the headlines.

  And there are many things not published anywhere that tell us even more about this extraordinary American spiritual leader. Things like unpublicized visits to AIDS patients and others to comfort them in their last hours; long personal letters to Catholic leaders filled with humble admissions of his own imperfection, and gentle attempts at saving people in authority from committing what he believed to be grave and dangerous errors of judgment; scores of homilies to small groups of communicants at daily Mass in the “Lady Chapel” at the rear of the great cathedral. All of these were private acts of conscience and compassion by a “Prince of the Church” who has always been a priest first.

  Speaking of dying, here is how Mario thought of it. His words are also a fine tribute to his mother:

  My mother was a magnificent woman. She came from another place and faced this tough new world defenseless, except for the heart of a lioness protecting her cubs, and the shield of her deep, unflinching faith.

  She lived nine decades through two great wars and a number of smaller ones, through depression, recession, and several personal calamities. And then, she left us. Exhausted, wanting not to leave her children, always the lioness.

  Someone saw a different picture of this kind of leaving and sent it to me and I found it to be both moving and consoling.

  Here is the picture as my mother saw it:

  “I am standing on the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty, and I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sky and sea mingle in the mist. Then someone at my side says, ‘There! She’s gone!’ ”