“So what was the worst part of the procedure?”
“There wasn’t no wors’ part. They treated me good. Course, I was only six weeks along.”
“Okay …” That sort of quote would not interest the reader or, more important, please the editor. “What was the best part of the procedure?”
Loretta brightened. “Oh, the doctor. She was so nice. She stayed with me all the way through. She kept telling me what was gonna happen and that I wasn’t gonna suffer none. And I didn’t!” she finished triumphantly.
“What was this doctor’s name?”
“It was Dr. Delvecchio. Bless her.”
Delvecchio … Delvecchio. Why was that name familiar? There was a Delvecchio way back in the original six- team pro hockey league. For Detroit. For the Red Wings. In the Detroit Red Wings’ dynasty years. Gordie Howe, Ted Lindsay, Sid Abel, and Alex Delvecchio. Could this doctor possibly be a relative of Alex?
Wait … there was another Delvecchio who was famous for something or other. Yeah, a football player. A pro. Some years back. Let’s see … he had a brother, didn’t he? A Father-no, a monsignor. A Catholic priest whose brother was a pro football player.
And they had … a sister … yeah, a sister who was … a doctor! A Catholic priest and his sister the abortion doctor-oh, please, God, make Dr. Delvecchio be the sister of Monsignor Delvecchio!
His prayer, of course, had been answered retroactively.
Then, the good times rolled.
The editor was ecstatic. Forget the pro-choice rally. Forget Russia and nuclear bombs. Go get the priest and his sister.
The archdiocesan director of communications held news conferences. The archbishop referred questions to the director of communications. Monsignor Delvecchio returned barely two of every ten calls. Lucy Delvecchio used the language of her conversation with Koesler to respond to questions. Monsignor Delvecchio, putting two and two together, guessed that Lucy had spoken to Father Koesler. Delvecchio promised himself that he would even that score one day.
Meanwhile, PR expert Merl Goldbaum sat back, read the papers, watched TV, listened to the radio, and shook his head. He should’ve taken the lead-cut them off at the pass.
The story played itself out over a five-day period. But the media made the most of it while it lasted.
The Present
“That’s why I have a hard time imagining that you didn’t hear about this at the time,” Father Koesler said.
Father Tully shook his head. “It does sort of ring a bell now that you mention it. But if I heard about it at all, I probably passed it off with something approaching relief-sort of, There but for the grace of God go I.”
“Well, it was no picnic for the brass of this archdiocese. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if that ‘scandal,’ if I may call it that, might have further delayed Delvecchio’s promotion to bishop. And it could be what’s keeping him from becoming an Ordinary.”
Tully, having called the shot, sank the eight ball. He won. “Another game?”
“Why not?”
Tully racked the balls and motioned Koesler in for the break. Once more, balls were spread all over the table, but nothing fell.
Tully sank a solid and another game was under way.
“I’m in the same position as that reporter who broke the story about the monsignor and the abortion doctor,” Tully said. “I know Delvecchio has a brother. I remember Tony as a player-but he’s more familiar as a sports commentator. But I didn’t know about his sister. What’s happened to her?”
“Oh, she’s still in town. Still working in the ER at Receiving Hospital.”
“How about the clinic?”
“She had to give that up. Before the story broke, no one paid much attention to the little building. It helped the anonymity of the place that it was located in a nondescript neighborhood near downtown.
“But after the news got out, a whole team of protesters and pickets descended on the clinic. It wasn’t safe for Lucy to go down there.
“But Lucy and I are still friends. Maybe sometime we can have lunch,” Koesler suggested, “just the three of us.”
“That would be nice.” Tully chalked his cue. “We could have it here at St. Joe’s … that is, if I can get by her brother and take over this parish officially.”
“Oh, I’m sure you will.”
Actually, after dissecting Vince’s personality and MO this evening, Koesler was not all that sure of a happy outcome.
Tully, on a run, was now studying his shots more carefully. “I was wondering”-he straightened up-“as you were telling that story: Do you think Delvecchio knew his sister had talked to you?”
“I don’t know. Not for sure. He’s never brought it up. And there have been occasions when he could have. But he’s never mentioned it.”
“You’d think he’d have tumbled to it. I mean, you’ve been so close to that family; it would have been natural for her to turn to you.”
“I guess.”
Tully laughed. “Maybe he’s taking it out on me instead of you.”
Koesler did not laugh. On the contrary, he grew more thoughtful.
“That,” Tully continued, “leaves only Delvecchio’s brother to be accounted for.”
“And his aunt Martha.”
“Oh, yeah, the aunt. But the brother … that relationship fascinates me. I mean, I get the impression that they were never very close … were they?”
“Not to my knowledge. But compared with the space between them now, they could have been the best of buddies as kids.”
“Deteriorated, has it?”
“Disintegrated,” Koesler said emphatically. “It’s really a shame what’s happened between those two. And it’s almost totally Vince’s fault.”
“Really?” It was Tully’s turn to shoot. Instead, he sat on the arm of one of the chairs. Evidently, he would rather hear the story of the brothers Delvecchio than shoot pool.
Koesler laid down his cue. But instead of being seated, he began to pace. “We’ve already talked about Tony’s big plans. A pro football player, retiring from that into broadcasting.
“Then came reality. No team took him in 1959. So he followed the example of a few other players and joined the Canadian Football League. He was sensational in his first year. His performance grabbed the interest of the NFL. He went to the Chicago Bears. He and another quarterback alternated, and while Tony didn’t set any records, he held up his end.
“Eventually, he was traded to Detroit, where in his waning years he was the backup quarterback.
“With the Lions, the big thing was he was the hometown kid come home. He was a native Detroiter and the fans loved him for it.
“By the time Tony retired from the field, the number of teams had mushroomed: Television was using more and more former players for either play-by-play or as color announcers. That’s when Tony got his big chance. First the networks and then the sponsors discovered how articulate and funny he could be. One thing led to another and Tony also became a high-priced pitchman for a whole bunch of products advertised on TV.
“It was as if Tony’s ship had come in: Everything seemed to be going his way.”
“Sounds good to me,” Tully said.
“Yeah, it does. But when it came to Vince and Tony, fate played some funny tricks. This, I think, was the most tragic relationship of them all.”
“I remember Tony’s playing days,” Tully said. “And I see him on TV during the season, but I don’t really know anything else about him. You mentioned a young woman-when he was about to graduate from college. Did they marry?”
