“Whose idea was that?”
“The core city people.”
Jeffrey snorted. “That’s an idea whose time not only has not come, it’ll never come. A good number of parents with school-age kids moved to the suburbs for the express purpose of escaping from city schools. For good measure, add the fear that their deteriorating parochial schools in the city were likely to close. They’re not going to return to the city or send their kids-not by a long shot.
“But their conscience still bothers them. So they don’t send their kids; they send money. They ‘adopt’ a parish school and help subsidize it.”
“It won’t work!” Bash repeated himself. “If you were a priest instead of a deacon”-Bash tried to diminish Jeffrey by pulling rank-“and if you were in one of those suburban parishes, you’d know that most of those parishes are strapped for money Go on out to the trenches sometime and ask the pastors out there if their people have enough money to support two schools! You’ll find out soon enough there isn’t any money.”
Jeffrey smiled and slowly shook his head. “Father Bash, there’s always more money. Money has a peculiar talent for self-multiplication. How many times do workers go on strike while management claims it’s made its best and final offer? ‘There isn’t any more money anywhere.’ Then the strike goes on, hurting everyone. Finally, management miraculously ‘finds’ more money.
“Or a family wants some luxury-a high-priced car, a summer home, a cruise-but they can’t afford it. Happens all the time. You know it as well as I. When the family gets around to wanting whatever it is badly enough, voila: They come up with it. All it needs is a decent piece of P.R. work.”
Bash hit the ceiling. “Decent P.R.! Are you intimating that my office lacks professionalism? Are you suggesting that we are incapable of carrying on an effective campaign? I resent such insinuation, sir! I resent it deeply!”
In his heart of hearts, Bash was intimidated by Jeffrey. Quentin Jeffrey had been a recognized success in the public relations field. It was awkward for Bash, who had no formal training or experience, to function while a professional looked on and conceivably evaluated his performance. Bash could bulldoze his way through almost any situation. But, inwardly insecure, he was cowed by Jeffrey’s talent, experience, and proven ability. So Bash reacted to his deserved inferiority complex by striking out at the better man.
Quentin Jeffrey was unruffled. He really didn’t care whether or not his suggestion was implemented. He considered it good advice. But he was keenly aware that it would not be easy to make it work. It would require diplomatic and adroit handling. Something the ham-fisted Bash was incapable of.
Cardinal Boyle did not like his people to engage in confrontation. Some carping was unavoidable as he tried to steer a middle course, faithful to the mind of the Church while permitting as much freedom and initiative as possible. But here at a staff meeting was not the place for angry recrimination.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” Boyle said, “Now I am sure that Reverend Mr. Jeffrey did not mean to impugn the abilities and accomplishments of the office of communication. Mr. Jeffrey’s suggestion is worthy of consideration. And I am sure it deserves further examination. In any case, Father Bash, nothing that Mr, Jeffrey said need trouble you.” The Cardinal smiled as he toyed with his pectoral cross. “You must develop a tougher hide, Father Bash. These are troubled times,”
“Yes, eminence.” When it came to the Cardinal Archbishop of Detroit, Cletus Bash was the quintessential yes man.
Larry Hoffer’s hand was raised. Bash thought that a good sign: The meeting was returning to order as decreed in Robert’s Rules of Order.
“Mr. Hoffer.” Bash recognized.
By leaning heavily on his right elbow, Hoffer was able to get his left hand in his pants pocket and jingle coins, “I feel as if I ought to apologize for what I’m about to say, but as director of finance and administration, I must see things in dollars and cents and very little else,”
“I can’t help remembering how things were when I was a boy. The recollection was jogged by Archbishop Foley’s recalling a time when Catholics had to confess a mortal sin if they were not sending their children to a Catholic school. At that time, I was going to a parochial school-so my parents were spared that embarrassment.”
Particularly from the usually dour Hoffer, that was a humorous line. For that very reason, no one laughed. They couldn’t believe he would be treating this matter lightly. They were waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Earlier in this meeting,” Hoffer proceeded, “Monsignor Young referred to the virtual disappearance of the teaching nun. I put that together with what Archbishop Foley said and came up with a picture of the school I attended. And all the nuns. Sisters I still remember. Rarely if ever did a layperson teach in a parochial school. Whoever came up with the teaching nun, it was, indeed, an ingenious idea. She gave of herself completely, selflessly. She is a golden memory for all of us old enough to have attended that kind of parochial school.
“And that is gone. We all know that. Now, I don’t pretend to understand all of the complex reasons it’s gone. I am concerned only with the aftermath, the consequences of the loss of the teaching nun.
“Even if we were able to bring back the nuns in anywhere near the numbers we once had, I doubt that we could keep our schools open regardless. The cost of everything else has risen so much-there’s the age of the buildings, their desperate need of repair and replacement; there’s utilities, insurance, supplies; the cost of attaining a teaching degree now. All that overhead would have to figure into the tuition we’d have to charge.
“Still, if we had the nuns, it might be worth a try. But … we haven’t got them. When you lack food, you lack a meal.
“What we have now is what Father Bash and Sister Joan-from different perspectives-have agreed on: Our city schools are in desperate need of subsidization. Deacon Jeffrey suggests that our suburban schools should do the subsidizing. There’s merit in that approach, except that most of our suburban schools are already draining an increasing percentage of their parishes’ income. Deacon Jeffrey cites the remarkable power of money to seem to multiply. But not infinitely. And that’s what would be needed for our schools to survive: money raised to infinity. Because the cost will continue to rise dramatically, and there is no end in sight.”
Hoffer left off with no attempt to state any sort of conclusion to his argument. There remained a prolonged and expectant silence. Then, for the first time, Irene Casey spoke. “So … so what do you propose, Larry?”
Hoffer did not reply.
“You can’t mean you’re recommending closing all our parochial schools!” Irene pressed. “City
“That,” Hoffer said, “is exactly what I am recommending: Close them before they eat us alive.”
From the reaction this statement received, it seemed evident that no one present had ever considered the possibility of eliminating the entire parochial school system.
In the hubbub that ensued, Monsignor Young finally made himself heard. “You don’t understand! You don’t understand, Mr. Hoffer! You don’t understand how interdependent some of our parishes and schools have become. Some pastors have told me that their parishes were almost inactive-lifeless from Monday through Friday-before they built their schools. Then a real community was formed. You don’t understand this!”
“That’s not my concern,” Hoffer replied. “I have no way of speaking to that point. My job is to deliver to the Cardinal the best advice I can give him as his chief financial resource person.”
Monsignor Young-along with others-was coming unglued. “But … but, Mr. Hoffer, don’t you see, if you close those schools, you might as well close those parishes!”
“As a matter of fact,” Hoffer replied, “there are quite a few parishes that are in the same situation as the schools. They should be closed.”
“What!?” was the reaction of almost everyone, especially Monsignor Young. No parishes, no schools. Superintendent of nothing. Ten years to go and no niche for him. That would not do, That very definitely would not do.
From this point on, the dispute grew heated. Father Bash lost his prerogative of directing this meeting. In fact, with all the wrangling he was shouted down several times.
The feverish dispute ranged widely. Some contended that, after all, without the nuns and the clear-cut dogma and morality of the past, what was the use of having Catholic schools anymore? Or, Catholic schools were needed more than ever today when public education, generally, had been intimidated from teaching religious values by the Supreme Court.
