Finally, Vincent spoke. “I think I see her.”
“You do?” Wonderment in Tommy’s voice.
“Yes … yes … I see her. She’s saying something. She says … she says you gotta stay here!”
Tears trickled down Tommy’s cheeks.
What could he do? It was his vision against the counselor’s.
Tommy would never forget the day the Blessed Mother failed him.
The Present
Father Tully grinned. “Pretty inventive-on both parts. You think that excuse for going home was unique?”
“As far as my experience and everything I’ve heard-yes. Coming right out of the blue like that, I’d say Delvecchio’s reaction was … maybe inspired. And funny,” Koesler added.
“But it doesn’t sound like the kind of guy I’ve heard and heard about,” Tully said. “It’s like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Are you sure counselor Vinnie eventually became Bishop Delvecchio? It doesn’t add up.
“You did say the two of you were friends …”
“We were. I think we are. We don’t see each other very often, but our friendship goes back such a long way-” Koesler stopped to figure. “Forty-five years!”
“Wow!”
“Just to make sure we’re not building straw horses: What sorts of things have you heard about Vince?”
“Oh”-Tully leaned forward-”I guess the usual things you hear about most bishops: that he’s for whatever the Vatican wants-and against anything that disturbs the Vatican. A company man. Matter of fact, most of the guys seem to wonder how he got to be an auxiliary to Cardinal Boyle.”
“Well,” Koesler said, “our Cardinal is not a crashing liberal.”
“He’s got a reputation that would lead one to believe that he is.”
“I know. His talent is to tolerate people whose opinion he doesn’t share. Which is part of the reason we have Bishop Delvecchio as our auxiliary.”
“Oh? This I haven’t heard.”
“Scuttlebutt, mostly … that and clerical gossip have it that Vince wasn’t even on the list Boyle sent to Rome as bishop material. Word has it that Rome thought Detroit was slipping out of their control. And they guessed correctly that Detroit, in the person of Cardinal Boyle, would not challenge them.
“And by the same token that Boyle tolerates the more aggressive of liberals here-and we’ve got them! — so he will tolerate somebody like Vince. It doesn’t mean that ‘anything goes’ in Detroit; there are limits on both sides. And Boyle will step on toes if he’s pushed or shoved.
“Actually, Detroit is neither liberal nor conservative … just sort of ‘open.’ And that, in this day and age, is enough for me.”
“And me,” Tully said. “But, in the meantime, I’ve got to deal with Delvecchio. He’s my area auxiliary. I’m trying to get to know what makes him tick. And I figured you’d know as well or better than anyone.”
Koesler didn’t speak for a moment. “I’d like to help you, Zack,” he said finally, “but I wouldn’t want you to think that Vince and I are the best of friends. Lots of people are closer to him than I …” He paused. “Now that I think of it, all those who are closer to him are priests. Over the years, he’s separated himself from the laity. And yet … I don’t think he would be considered ‘a priest’s priest.’”
“Well,” Tully said, “maybe I’m getting ahead of this briefing. You said you had a few things-anecdotes-to tell me.”
Koesler smiled. “Oh, there are more than a few. These stories of our time at the summer camp are meant to sort of set the scene. I thought it might be helpful if you got to know what Vince was like as a young man-a seminarian a few years from ordination.”
“I’ll try not to get ahead of the game.” Tully smiled. “Okay, Counselor: Tell me a story.”
3
“Are you even old enough to remember the Requiem Mass?” Father Koesler regarded his successor dubiously.
Father Tully snorted. “You mean the black vestments and the interminable
Catholic laity regularly ask that Masses be offered for their intention. And nine times out of ten-or even more often-the intention is a prayer for a deceased person. For centuries, the Mass offered for a deceased person was the Requiem, with its foreboding music and scary language. And, of course, the actual funeral liturgy was the Requiem, with additional chants at the beginning and end.
Gradually, after the Second Vatican Council, the Requiem disappeared as the Church chose to emphasize the joy and fulfillment of heaven, rather than the sorrow of death. Few parishes even kept black vestments. Few choirs remembered the solemn chants.
Thus Koesler’s questioning Father Tully’s memory of the Requiem was not capricious.
“Okay,” Koesler said. “Well, at camp, fortunately, the chaplain tried to keep down the number of Requiem Masses. Most of the campers gave every indication that they were pretty well bored with daily Mass. The repetition of the Requiem would only have intensified the monotony.”
Tully seemed puzzled. “But what happened to all those Mass intentions for the dead?”
“There weren’t all that many. The camp chaplain was on the priest faculty of the minor seminary-Sacred Heart.”
“So?”
“So, he just did parish work on the weekends during the school year. He didn’t have access to Mass intentions or their stipends.”
“Compared with the other Detroit priests, your chaplain comes out as a poor relation.”
“Not really. Most of the faculty went out every morning-or as often as they wished-and picked up the stipends for the scheduled Masses they offered. The point is, Zack, that at camp we had an occasional Requiem, but not as regularly as in the parishes.”
“What does this have to do with Delvecchio?”
“Just this: Over all those summers we were at Camp Ozanam, I was the organist and choir director.”
“You play the organ?”
“Not very well.” Koesler smiled. “Ozanam couldn’t afford E. Power Biggs. There was an old pump organ in the chapel. That was our Casavant-just like the grotto with its broken noses, missing toes and fingers, was our Lourdes.
“The thing is that Vince also played the piano-and thus qualified on our pump organ. This-nineteen fifty- three-was my last summer at camp-no matter what happened. Either I would drop out of the seminary or I would be ordained. Of course, I was ordained in June of ’fifty-four. My camping days were over.
“And before that summer of ’fifty-three ended, I wanted to pass the baton to Vince. So we kind of relieved each other by the week. I introduced him to the kind of music we used, and he got the practice he needed to go from piano to organ.
“Well, one morning toward the middle of June, Vince directed and accompanied the gang in his first Requiem Mass. Afterward, when I could talk to him privately after breakfast …”
1953
“Vinnie … hey, Vinnie, wait up.”
Bob Koesler trotted to the side of Vince Delvecchio and joined him in walking to the cabin side of the ravine. “What’ve you got this morning?”
“I’m supposed to take squads two and five for boxing instructions.” Delvecchio snickered. “It’d be nice if I knew what I was supposed to do.”
