“There are a few memories, over the years,” Foley said, “that are so entertaining I hope I can recall them on my deathbed. I’d like to go out laughing. And Del Young’s flight to safety is one of them.”
“Then you’ll have to have a prodigious memory. You’re going to go on for ages.”
“Not so sure about that. Though … why not? Live to a hundred and fool the actuaries.” He paused, brow knitted. “But, more seriously, Mark, this whole incident, in my mind at least, seems to go back to the latest staff meeting, when so much anger and hurt feelings poured out as Larry Hoffer suggested closing schools and-save the mark-parishes too.”
“I know what you mean, Larry. My mind plays the same trick on me. It all seems to have stemmed from that. I think it is because, at the time, we did not know that Sister Joan, and not her sister Helen, was the first intended victim. It is difficult to realize that whoever killed two innocent people had been planning the crimes long before they were committed.”
Foley shook his head. “There’s a lot of anger out there, Mark.”
Boyle snorted. “Tell me about it.”
“No one needs to tell you. You’ve felt it. And it hasn’t come to an end by any means. There are decisions yet to be made that are going to bring out a very emotional response.”
Boyle’s mood matched the somberness of Foley’s. “I know that. But … decisions must be made, no matter how painful they may be. And, unfortunately, no matter how much pain they may cause.”
“Then what will you do, Mark? I need to know for my own peace of mind. I know I’m on the shelf now. I’ve got no responsibility in this diocese-or any other, for that matter. But I feel as if I’m a part of what’s going on here. And I know full well that this is only due to your kindness in including me in the decision-making process. I know the arguments pro and con closings.
“Emotionally, people treasure their spiritual roots. Even those who have taken the place of the people who sacrificed to build these churches and schools feel they would be lost without them.
“On the other hand, they were built to answer a need. Immigrants, ethnic groups, converts-there were so many that they built these huge ornate churches and gigantic schools. Now, most of them are gone, moved out to the suburbs. Those who are left to maintain this heritage are so few in number that it makes no financial sense to keep alive buildings meant to serve thousands but occupied now by less than a hundred. Indeed, for all we know Larry Hoffer may have given his life for taking a stand on this issue.
“But he couldn’t have made a final decision. No one can make that but you. Have you made it? Can you tell me?”
Cardinal Boyle regarded his friend carefully. Bushy eyebrows pressed so closely together they seemed to form a single line, he seemed to be debating with himself whether to answer candidly.
“I have reached,” Boyle hesitated; he usually spoke slowly as he searched for just the word or phrase he wanted, “what might best be termed a tentative conclusion.”
“Tentative?” Foley repeated.
“Tentative, in that I have not closed my mind to cogent arguments from either side. Arguments that, if not changing my decision radically, might cause me to modify my approach to that decision.
“However, I don’t want to communicate to my staff that I have reached a decision. Who knows how they would react? At very least, they most probably would cease contributing their thoughts on the matter in the belief that their opinions could have no effect. And, as I have suggested, I want their continued input. Their thoughts will, I feel, very definitely affect the manner in which we will proceed. There will be repercussions to my decision that I simply cannot foresee. One or another of the staff very likely will pinpoint such consequences and we will be able to address them before they descend on us out of nowhere.”
“I understand,” Foley said, “and I agree with your approach completely. But, Mark, will you close the parishes? The ones too poor or underpopulated to support themselves?”
Boyle hardly ever answered a complex question with a single word. He saw too many sides of every issue to, in effect, over-simplify his response.
“Parishes may close,” he said thoughtfully. “Some are dangerously close to collapsing in upon themselves-much as matter disappears into a black hole. But …” He paused for emphasis. “… I am not going to close any parishes or schools. Not in the core city nor in the suburbs. In any case, certainly not in the city.
“Some years ago, under enormous pressure, I agreed to close severed parishes in a section of the city called Poletown. The ramifications of that decision have haunted me ever since. It may have hastened the death of a very fine priest. And, undoubtedly, it caused grave pain to many trusting people. And all for a will-of-the-wisp financial benefit to industry and the city. I vowed then that I would never repeat what I now consider a grave error.”
Foley leaned back into his chair, smiling as if relieved of a burden. “I applaud your decision, Mark. But not everyone will. Lots of people, mostly in the suburbs, will think you very foolish. Your decision will make no sense to them at all. And I fear they will make their disapproval known by withholding contributions.”
“I’ve thought of that,” Boyle responded. “That is, of course, possible. But I hope not. And this is precisely where the input of yourself and the others on the staff is so important. We are faced with a massive challenge to give witness to the suffering Christ. Somehow we must make it crystal clear that Jesus identifies with the poor.”
“‘He had nowhere to lay his head,’” Foley paraphrased Scripture. “The first homeless Christian was Christ himself.”
“Exacdy.” Boyle’s spirits rose. “Our approach to our brethren in the city cannot be the threat of eviction or foreclosure. We must come to them with open arms and the simple question, ‘What do you need?’”
The intercom buzzed softly. Boyle’picked up the desk phone, listened for a few moments, then hung up and turned to Foley. “You have an appointment with Father Koesler? He’s waiting in your office.”
“Is it that time already?” Foley glanced at his watch, then struggled stiffly out of his chair. “Appreciate the time you gave me, Mark.” He clasped the Cardinal’s extended hand in both of his. “And appreciate being associated with you.”
“Not at all, old friend. It is our privilege to have the benefit of your experience and wisdom.”
Foley nodded, smiled gratefully, and shuffled out of the Cardinal’s office. As he slowly made his way through the vestibule, the two female secretaries smiled at him. For them it was an unaffected reaction. Some in the archdiocese thought Lawrence Foley an anachronism. Others had discovered the richness of his wisdom and spirituality. Almost everyone liked him to some degree or another.
He took the elevator to the fifth floor where he and the auxiliary bishops had their offices. As announced, Father Koesler was waiting.
“Excellency.” Koesler rose to his feet as the archbishop entered the office.
“Oh, you don’t need to go to all that trouble.…” Foley’s waving hand motioned Koesler to be seated. “I’m not the Pope, just an old man on the shelf.”
Koesler waited for Foley to be seated behind his desk before lowering himself into his chair. “I knew you weren’t the Pope,” he said. “But you’re certainly much more than a casualty on the shelf.”
Koesler had to admit the older man in some ways did resemble a drifter, albeit a clerical one. Foley’s black suit always had a rumpled look, trousers that couldn’t remember a crease, food stains here and there on the jacket. He wore a black shirt with a white tab insert at the collar to mark his clerical status. Only his bishops’ ring and the small segment of gold chain showing beneath his jacket identified his rank.
“Well, Father Koesler, good of you to come in on such short notice.”