Bishop as Pawn

“You don’t know?” Koesler said. “I thought everyone knew.”.

“Diego discovered that he could make Ernie’s life miserable,” Echlin said. “And he’s been doing pretty well at it ever since.”

“How come I didn’t know that?” Dempsey asked.

“I don’t know.” Echlin shrugged. “It’s pretty common knowledge, at least among the guys.”

“But Ernie, you speak Spanish. You’re good at it,” Dempsey protested. He looked at the others. “My God, he’s at St. Gabriel’s … right in the heart of the Latino community. Why would Diego give him a hard time?”

“Where’ve you been, Frank?” Dorr asked. “If you’d get out of the Afro ghetto once in a while-”

“And get into your ghetto?” Dempsey interjected.

“At least get out of your own. What Diego’s been doing-and not doing-is famous … infamous.”

“Like?”

“Like he’s supposed to be God’s gift to the Hispanic community.”

“That’s what he was in Dallas,” Dempsey said.

“That’s what he was supposed to be in Dallas,” Echlin corrected. “Turns out he don’t like Latinos very much.”

“Doesn’t like Latinos!” Dempsey exclaimed. “Why, my God, he’s Mexican himself! Why wouldn’t he like Latinos? He is one.”

“I don’t know,” Dorr said. “Something must have happened to him when they made him a bishop.”

“Yeah, it happens. It happens all the time,” Echlin said. “Look at Supreme Court justices. Presidents nominate them expecting they’ll follow the president’s party line. But, often as not, they don’t.

“Or look at our history. Cardinal Montini was a star-spangled liberal until they put a white suit on him and made him Pope Paul VI and he dug his heels in.

“Or take Danielou. As a theologian he was always in trouble. Then they make him a Cardinal and nobody can find a liberal bone in his body.”

“So,” Dorr pursued, “why not Diego?”

“The son of a bitch.” Bell spoke for the first time since his similar blast earlier in the conversation. “Latinos- Latinos who live in this city-live in barrios. Diego ain’t gonna live in a barrio … not again.”

“He came from one, didn’t he?” Dorr said diffidently, trying not to further rile Bell.

“Yeah, he came from one,” Bell said. “And he worked in one when he became a priest. But he wanted out. Best ticket out was becoming a bishop. So, he worked his way into getting the red. He’d just about worked his way into the mainstream in Dallas when he got sent here as an auxiliary to Boyle. So he’s God’s gift to the Latinos here. Back in the barrio. But he’s working his way out all over again.”

“Are you sure?” Dempsey said. “I mean, that’s a hell of an accusation!”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I know how he ticks. I confronted him with the whole scenario. I had chapter and verse. I could tell him the contacts he’s made already. I could even tell him the contacts he’s planning to make.

“He tried to deny it. But he couldn’t: I had him dead to rights.”

“So what?” Dorr said. “What could he do to you? I know he’s a bishop-but he’s only an auxiliary. What can he do to you?”

Echlin shook his head. “Auxiliaries may be daddy’s helpers, but they’re still bishops. They’ve got inbuilt clout.”

“But, how much clout?” Koesler commented. “Who knows?”

“That’s exactly it,” Bell said. “Nobody knows. But if he’s got as much as he thinks he has … I could be in a lot of trouble.”

“What? Threats?” Dempsey said.

Bell was silent for a few moments. Finally, “He wanted to close me down.”

“Close you down!” Koesler exclaimed. “St. Gabriel’s? You’ve got to be kidding … or he is!”

“Bob’s right,” Echlin agreed. “St. Gabriel’s is smokin.’ You’ve got as many programs going-or more even-than any other parish in the city.”

Bell shook his head. “We’re ‘not what we used to be’ … that’s what he said.”

“Who among us is?” Koesler said. “The people who built these city churches are either dead or have moved away. I don’t think there’s a single city parish whose people look like the original congregation-either in color, nationality, or numbers. None of us is what we used to be!”

“There’s one big difference,” Bell said.

“And that?” Koesler asked.

“And that is that a bishop didn’t tell you he was going to do everything he could-everything- to close your parish.”

“I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it,” Dempsey said. “My God, where would all your people go?”

“There’s that giant right down the street,” Bell said.

“Holy Redeemer? Oh, it’s a monster,” Echlin said. “But it’s got its own hands full. Put what you’ve got at Gabriel’s in Redeemer and the giant would be choked to death.”

Bell shook his head. “Not according to Diego. According to Diego, Redeemer would just be what it used to be. Once more, Redeemer’s got enough Redemptorists to take care of the crowd … just like in the good old days.”

“But … closing!” Koesler shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense.” He shook his head again. “That’s just not Cardinal Boyle’s style.”

Bell winced. “That’s where we find out how much clout an auxiliary’s got. All by himself, I don’t think he could shut me down. And maybe that isn’t Boyle’s style. But …” He looked at the others. “… could Diego pressure Boyle into doing it?”

All were silent as they considered Bell’s query.

At length, Koesler spoke. “I see what you mean, Ernie. It’s the club. It’s the bishops’ club. Very gentlemanly, very deferential, very you-scratch-my-back-I-scratch-yours. I hadn’t considered that. That makes it a very good question. It’s not just that the odds are against Cardinal Boyle’s doing anything like that. What happens when a fellow bishop, particularly one Boyle has to work with, wants something? Wants it badly …? I don’t know … it’s a new and different ball game, isn’t it?”

Silence.

Finally, Carleson spoke. “It’s getting kind of late, and I lost my ride. Could I beg a lift?”

“You can go with me,” Koesler said promptly. “Ste. Anne’s and St. Joseph’s are only a few minutes apart.”

Neither Carleson nor Koesler proved to be a bellwether. As the two got their coats and hats, none of the remaining four priests made a move to follow suit.

As he left, Koesler noted Ernie Bell returning to the bar. Koesler feared that Bell might drink too much before his drive home. He had come to the meeting late and slightly intoxicated-although he’d recovered well enough as the evening progressed.

Koesler would simply have to trust the others to be responsible.

CHAPTER TWO

Koesler decided to drive west on Chicago Boulevard to the Lodge Freeway and swing south on the expressway toward downtown Detroit.

He smiled as it occurred to him that the grand inquisition had not fared very well. The “hard core” group of the core-city priests had not learned very much at all about the philosophical and theological convictions of Father Don Carleson.

The well-rehearsed probe had been derailed by Ernie Bell’s somewhat apprehensive tirade against Ramon Diego. In that, either Bell had been quickly convinced that Carleson could be trusted, or Bell was taking an impulsive gamble. If what he said got back to Diego, Bell would find himself in deeper trouble yet.

“If you’re not too tired,” Carleson said, “maybe we could stop at your place for a few minutes.”