clubs. And Jake would take a few of us along from time to time.”
Koesler’s narration led him further down memory lane. He silently recalled a time when Jake Keating took Bob Koesler along for a family dinner at the then exclusive Detroit Boat Club on Belle Isle. There were Mr. and Mrs. Keating, Jake-an only child-and a wide-eyed Bob Koesler. They were seated in the elegant and fully occupied dining room. Koesler briefly took in the ambience, the likes of which he’d experienced before only in the movies. Then his interest fell upon the other diners. They all seemed to be talking to one another. But they weren’t making much noise. Nothing at all like what went on in the seminary refectory with a noise level that challenged even the students’ youthful hearing.
Next, Koesler had noticed the bread plate, containing the sole item of food on the table. Nurtured in the prime maxim of seminary dining-he that doth not grab doth not eat-he ripped the heel from the loaf of bread and began eating it rapidly. He slowed to a dead stop when he caught the expressions of the others at table. Mr. and Mrs, Keating were looking at him as if he were Oliver Twist. Jake was smiling broadly. It wasn’t a malicious smile, just amused. Then Jake mouthed words so precisely no lip-reader was needed:
“So,” Tully interrupted Koesler’s daydream, “Keating seemed a lead-pipe cinch to end up in a place like St. Waldo’s?”
“Hmm?” Koesler came back to the present. “Oh, no that’s not what I was getting at. I’m just trying to do what you asked: give you an idea of what made John Keating a special person. The one thing-just one, but maybe a very important one-that set him off from the rest of us, is that he came from considerably more wealth than the rest of us.
“For instance, one of the other seminarians who lived in St. Mary’s of Redford told me something that fits in here. He was talking about his confirmation-that’s a religious ceremony for Catholics, usually when they’re quite young. Anyway, even though he hardly knew the man, he chose Jake’s father as his sponsor at confirmation- because he thought he would get an expensive gift.”
Tully smiled. “Did he?”
“Uh-huh. A hundred dollars-which, in those days, was an awful lot of money.
“Keep in mind, Lieutenant,” Koesler added, “that outside of just a few incidents like that, Jake was no different from the rest of us. He was one of the guys. We played together, prayed together, studied together, pulled pranks on each other. So, on a day-to-day basis, there was no special awareness that …”
“… that John Keating could buy and sell the rest of you guys?”
Koesler could not improve the phrasing. “There’s maybe one more incident that may kind of shed a bit more light on this. When we were ordained priests, there were two items we were expected to provide for ourselves: a chalice and a car.”
“A what and a car?”
Koesler chuckled. “The chalice is the cup that’s used for Mass. It came with a circular plate-a paten-and the inner surface of both was supposed to be gold-plated. It was an expensive item but not nearly as expensive as the car, of course. A few-only a very few-of the fellas were able to do summer work and save enough to buy these things themselves. But for the vast majority of us, our folks stretched their budgets to the breaking point to get these things for us.”
“Everybody had to come up with those?” Tully recalled the financial pinch felt by both himself and his parents when he was in his early twenties. No chance in hell that he and/or his family could have come up with a used, let alone a
“No, no; those things weren’t a prerequisite for ordination. Especially the chalice. There wasn’t a parish that didn’t have chalices that could be used by anyone who didn’t have his own. But, traditionally, each new priest was supposed to have his own.
“You could get along without a car too. But that would be tricky. We had to be mobile-sick calls, Communion calls, meetings, a thousand things that required transportation. You could borrow someone else’s car, but that was awkward at best. Of course this didn’t come as a surprise, either. We and our families saw this coming years before we needed these things, so there was a lot of dedicated saving going on for a lot of years.
“And that’s how it was. Now you’d suppose that the young Father John Keating would have a state-of-the-art chalice and car. Chalices began at a couple hundred bucks. After that, the sky was the limit. The cup could be entirely gold-plated, maybe set with precious gems. I suppose I remember this so clearly because all of us took special interest in what Jake would get from his parents.
“Anyway, his chalice was very nice-ornamental, but not vastly different from the rest of ours. The diamond from his mother’s engagement ring was embedded in the base of his chalice. Not an uncommon thing. And his car- that was very interesting. His dad-a G.M. executive, remember-got him a new Olds. The rest of us were deliriously happy with the lowest-priced Fords, Chevys, or Plymouths. But Jake got an Olds.
“The important thing about this story-in case you’re wondering, Lieutenant-is that Jake’s dad could easily have come up with a top-of-the-line Caddie. But Mr. Keating had some very firm opinions about how a priest ought to live: not in poverty, but not lavishly either.
“There were those of us who felt that Jake didn’t agree with this philosophy at all. And if we were correct, if that was true, then Jake must have been extremely disappointed when his father died and his mother followed her husband a year later.”
“They didn’t leave him anything?”
“Oh, nothing that drastic. But not all that far from drastic by Jake’s lights. Rumor had it that they left him about twenty percent of their estate-enough for him to live comfortably. But not by any means luxuriously. They did it not because they didn’t love him, but because they did.”
“Okay, I think I got it.” They were nearing St. Waldo’s and Tully had plans for Koesler once they reached the parish. “Just one more thing: How would you describe his lifestyle all these years he’s been a priest?”
Koesler whistled softly. “That’s a big order. Let’s see … I don’t see much difference from when he was a seminarian. He was a good companion. I was with him-and, of course, a bunch of other priests-on three or four summer vacations in Florida,”
“
“Summer in Florida,” Koesler insisted. “In those days, at least, the associate pastors took their golfing vacations in the summer. It was the pastors who generally went down there in season. Anyway, I was also with him on a few minivacations to see some Broadway shows in New York.”
“Sounds nice.”
“It was.” Koesler saw no need to apologize for an occasional vacation. “At all times, Jake Keating was one of the boys. With one plus: Vacation with Jake meant a complimentary G.M. car-a courtesy car, courtesy of all the contacts Jake had made through his father’s job,”
“He must have been a desirable companion.”
“He was. Oh, not just because he could get free transportation. He was … as I said, one of the guys. He would have been welcome with or without the car. He just was no stranger to money.” Koesler leaned forward slightly. “I think you turn left at the next street.”
“I know. I’ve been here before. The investigation didn’t start today, Father.”
“Oh, of course.” After a moment, Koesler added, “One last anecdote to kind of spell out his attitude. It was one of Jake’s favorite stories. His first assignment was at St. Robert Bellarmine. The pastor there was scrupulous about accounting for parish money. Jake, the pastor, and a few trusted women would spend much of Sundays and Mondays counting the collection. If they were a penny off they had to start the whole thing over. Almost everyone I know would have gone crazy there. But not Jake. He was right at home with that procedure.
“Then, after five years at Bellarmine, he was sent to St. Martin’s, on the east side. His first Sunday there, there was a double collection. The ushers took up the regular collection at the regular time. Then after Communion there was a second collection for the Pope. It’s called Peter’s Pence. Well, Jake had the last Mass that Sunday morning. When he got down to the rectory basement, he couldn’t believe his eyes. The pastor and the women who helped him had opened all the envelopes, and all the money-from the regular collection as well as Peter’s Pence- was all together in one pile in the middle of the table. Then the pastor sliced into one small corner of the pile and pushed a small part of the collection to one side and said, ‘I think the Pope should get this much.’ It took Jake several days to get over the shock.”
