Body Count

into heaven. Or, absent all these things, how you get into hell.”

“Besides,” Marvin added, “Clem wouldn’t let anybody refer to them as bums. They were ‘gentlemen of the road.’ At least mat’s what Clem insisted on calling them.”

Somehow, everyone seemed to be zeroing in on McNiff. Which is how most of these priestly outings usually ended.

“Frank’s right,” Mulroney said. “Clem didn’t just give his ‘gentlemen of the road’ a good word and a pat on the back. He had an arrangement with some of the local motels to house the gentlemen and send the bill to him.”

It was cottage industry time for Clem Kern memories. The harvest of stories had begun. Koesler approved. Monsignor Kern had been so much an embodiment of the Gospel message that it was helpful to remember his goodness. It was, indeed, the memory of this compassion that had motivated Guido Vespa to provide Clem with a companion into eternity. If only these guys knew what I know!

But of course they never would.

“Remember,” Marvin said, “when Clem figured that though there were lots of places to send recovering alcoholics in the AA plan, there weren’t many places for just plain drunks? So he began the process of buying a flophouse in the neighborhood. Some of the small-time merchants in the area objected. So they went to court. And the judge asked Clem, ‘Does anybody in your facility have a history of venereal disease?’

“Clem thinks about that for a while. Then, in that droll drawl of his, he says to the judge, ‘Well, Your Honor, I don’t believe we include that question on any form we asked the people to fill out. But I suppose in any facility that takes care of a large number of men, you could probably find some history of venereal disease. Perhaps in the Detroit Athletic Club, for instance.’

“And the judge says, ‘Father Kern, I am a member of the Detroit Athletic Club,’ And Clem says, ‘Yes …’”

“Then there was the time,” Mulroney jumped in, “when there was a Playboy Club in Detroit and the bunnies went on strike against the club. In the next day’s papers, there was Clem Kern, clerical suit and all, bundled up against the cold, walking the picket line and carrying a strike sign right along with the bunnies.”

“Now,” McNiff objected, “you can’t think it’s a sign of high virtue to be picketing for the rights of naked” — he always pronounced it “nekid” — “women to wait on tables!”

“He wasn’t campaigning for nudity, Pat,” Koesler said. “The girls claimed they weren’t getting a fair share of the tips. Clem was campaigning for justice.”

“Justice!” McNiff snorted. “That’s not what the people think. They think he’s just parading with naked women.”

Everyone but McNiff was laughing.

“First of all,” Koesler corrected, “they weren’t ‘nekid.’ It was the middle of winter and everybody was pretty well covered up. And everybody knows Clem was virtually the patron saint of labor. My God, he was practically the chaplain of the Teamsters.”

“Weren’t you tied up in the middle of that once?” Marvin asked.

Koesler smiled. “Happened while I was at the Detroit Catholic. Our one janitor, who also drove a truck, joined the Teamsters. All of a sudden I found myself bargaining with the Teamsters.

“Now, I’ve got nothing against the Teamsters, but the Detroit Catholic newspaper versus the Teamsters was David and Goliath all over again. Except that we didn’t even have a sling or a stone. So, in a sort of desperation, I called Clem and asked if he could intercede for us. He asked who I was bargaining with and I told him the guy’s name. And Clem said, ‘Oh, I know Claire very well. He always has me say Mass daily when he’s negotiating.’

“So I asked Clem how many Masses he was going to say for the Teamsters so I could say the same number against them.”

Even McNiff joined in the laughter.

“Needless to say,” Koesler concluded, “Clem didn’t ask them to call off the hounds and we didn’t win that one.”

The waitress brought their entrees. She more or less plopped the plates before each of them. It was not an encouraging presentation. However, having taken on faith the presumption that she had saved them from watery soup, leatherish meat, and greasy potatoes, her absence of charm did not foreordain a diminished tip.

As they began eating, Marvin said, “He didn’t take his monsignorship seriously. That alone should argue for his heroic virtue.”

That brought a smile to everyone.

“I’ll say,” Koesler added. “At his own installation ceremony, he arrived at the cathedral late, and he was wearing borrowed monsignorial robes.”

“I don’t get it,” McNiff complained. “All these qualities that you guys seem to think were cute as well as virtuous, were flaws in character. Sure he was late for his own investiture. But he was late for everything. He was late all the time. He smoked too much. And he was a terrible driver. In fact, that’s what killed him: a traffic accident.”

“Well, you’re right about one thing, Pat,” Mulroney said, “you don’t get it. Sure he died as a result of a traffic accident. But no one else was injured. How typical of Clem Kern; he wouldn’t hurt anyone else for the world. Remember the time the con artist hit him up until Clem gave him some money? Another priest who had witnessed the guy’s performance-which was so implausible even the visiting priest could see through it-couldn’t figure why a priest as streetwise as Clem would fall for something so transparent. And Clem just lit up a cigarette and grinned and said, ‘I didn’t want him to think he was losing his touch.’

“See, he didn’t even want to hurt a con man.

“The point is, Pat,” Mulroney continued, “that people like Clem Kern seem to be just what this Pope is looking for. And if the Pope is looking for something specifically, you can bet the Congregation for the Causes of Saints is looking for the same thing. And what the Pope wants-along with the traditional martyrs and the like-are individuals that ordinary people can identify with. And Clem Kern, with his smoking, his tardiness, and his lousy driving habits was a person a lot of people could identify with.

“Then, on top of that, you’ve got a guy who practically invented the corporal works of mercy. After his wake, at his funeral-altogether attended by some twenty-five thousand people, all of whom considered themselves personal friends of Clem-Frank Angelo, late of the Detroit Free Press, said that Clem Kern made Detroit a sweeter place to be. What could be a better tribute! Personally, I think he’s going to make it!”

They ate in silence for a while.

“Wait a minute …” Marvin had evidently experienced a sudden doubt; his fork was suspended between plate and mouth. “I haven’t got any solid evidence or proof-only hearsay-but, isn’t it kind of expensive? I mean, the whole process. I’ve heard that there are a lot of expenses. I can’t pin it down right now, but I know I’ve heard somebody say that. In fact, if memory serves, that is supposedly why so many religious order priests and nuns have been canonized and so few diocesan priests make sainthood. The religious orders can commit funds from their conglomerate treasure-which in large orders like the Franciscans or the Dominicans or the like can be a considerable fortune.

“But diocesan priests have-what? — a relatively small territory like Detroit or Chicago or even New York or L.A., where money is always tight. Isn’t that so? And if it is, what chance has Clem Kern got? I can’t see this archdiocese throwing a whole bunch of money at a process of canonization. For Pete’s sake, the outcome isn’t even certain. And on top of everything else, Clem Kern managed to stay rock bottom poor. Does anybody know? Is this expense thing true?”

There was no immediate response. Finally, Koesler said, “I don’t really know. But I’ve heard the same thing.”

Mulroney, making ready to address the question, laid his fork on the plate. “It’s true. It is expensive by almost anyone’s measure. In Rome, the talk is it’s in the ballpark of fifty to a hundred thousand dollars. And that doesn’t even take into consideration the significant cost of the celebration at the end of the whole process.

“But, to come up with an actual figure, you might be interested in another American, Mother Elizabeth Seton. The final tab on her canonization, from initiation to conclusion-including the whole formal process, renting fifteen thousand chairs from the Vatican, printing the souvenir programs; tickets, flowers, an official painting, and so forth- the bottom line was in excess of $250,000. And if you think that’s breathtaking, Katharine Drexel’s bill was $333,250!”