Love By its First Name Page 28

  I still have the love we bred and shared. That can never wither or die. For that I am grateful. That I will never forget!

  Jerry sat there and let the tears flow. He mumbled to himself, “Sy, thank you! I don’t know how I could have inspired you to feel or write like that, I’ve never allowed myself to be that close to anyone.”

  After he read more of the pages and managed to compose himself, he called Sy to thank him and tell him the writings were extremely inspiring and that definitely he should share them with his children. He then asked if he could share some of the pages with Rebecca and Kathy. Sy said, “Sure, please do, if you think they are helpful.”

  Jerry dialed Rebecca’s number. As usual, she picked it up as soon as she heard his voice. After exchanging greetings, he asked about Julie and thanked Rebecca for being so supportive of him over the months since they met. He then said, “I’d like to share something with you.” He started reading Sy’s Love, Death, and Gratitude section. He only got as far as “Moments before Alice drew her final breath…”, before he broke down in tears. “I’m sorry, Rebecca, I guess I won’t be able to read this to you. You have a fax machine don’t you?”

  “Yes. It sounds wonderful. Sy wrote it didn’t he?”

  “Yes, he did. After you read it, give me a call, okay?”

  While he waited for Rebecca’s call, he made a copy of the section to send to Kathy.

  He knew she didn’t have a fax.

  He sat back in the desk chair and knew, perhaps for the first time, what was meant by the words: “God is love.” And he knew he wanted to participate in that kind of intense love.

  CHAPTER 21

  “You are a priest forever...”

  Ordination Ceremony

  Jerry looked over at Ricky Alexander as they approached the city of Aberdeen. Ricky was dressed in clean khaki trousers and a blue plaid, short-sleeved shirt. His arms were quite muscular from years of pushing himself around in his cart. It was not benevolence that prompted Jerry to bring Ricky along with him to Aberdeen. He needed the company and the distraction. He had been more depressed, anxious, and confused since his mother’s funeral than he could ever remember. As he thought about it, he could trace the depression back to around Christmas time. Or maybe Alice Peterson’s funeral or even earlier, to Melanie Kurtz’s suicide. Hell. He really didn’t know, because he’d spent so many years completely unaware of his feelings.

  He only knew that he had been feeling almost low enough to see a psychiatrist but whomever he saw would probably only give him a bunch of pills. Several times he thought of going back to the monastery and visiting Father Augustine. But he hadn’t. He had gone back to anesthetizing his pain with scotch almost every evening. Just last week, he told himself, “Haloran, old buddy, you just have to quit living a lie. What you really want is the kind of love you’ve witnessed between Sy and Alice. You are afraid and that’s okay. You can still learn to love like that.” He quit the scotch that evening, but the depression and anxiety continued.

  He had not told anyone know how torn up he was inside, managing, he thought, to put on a good front even with Kathy and Rebecca. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a full night’s sleep. Marge had finally confronted him about it three weeks ago, saying, “Jerry Haloran, you look like shit!” After she had prodded him to admit some of his confusion and feelings, she said, “A feeling has to grab you by the throat before you recognize it, doesn’t it? And I’ll bet you’re drinking again like you did when you first came to Paris.” He hadn’t responded.

  Singing along with Ricky the past two hours helped lift the depressed feelings and definitely helped reduce the anxiety he felt as he anticipated his talk with the Bishop.

  Ricky’s head moved in his usual fashion as he looked around. “It...it...it sure is... is...is a big city.”

  “A little bigger than Paris, huh?”

  Ricky smiled and spit a little as he stuttered, “Ye... ye... yeah.”

  The young man had never been outside of Paris County until a few weeks ago, when Jerry took him to Manhattan, Kansas. Kathy had arranged for Ricky to meet with the Academic Dean about the possibility of enrolling at Kansas State University. Kathy had taken him back a week later so he could take the SAT exam. Jerry was afraid Ricky would hurt himself when he gave him the news that he had aced the test with a score above l400. It seemed that every muscle in the boy’s body had gone into spasm, but he couldn’t stop grinning.

  As Jerry thought about Kathy, a flood of feelings overcame him. He hit the steering wheel with his right hand, nearly bruising it.

  “Wh ... wh ... what’s th...th... the matter, Fa... fa..father?”

  “Oh, nothing.” He lied, “I just remembered that I was supposed to call someone this morning.” He wasn’t about to tell Ricky about his confusion and anguish whenever he thought of Kathy Olson. He and Ricky were going to stop by Kansas State and visit with her after his meeting with the Bishop.

  As they approached the diocesan chancery office and the church next to it, Ricky exclaimed, “Is th..th..that the ca..ca..cathed..d..d..dral?”

  “Yes. I’ll park around in back and then give you a tour. We have about a half hour before I meet with the Bishop.” Jerry had called the new Bishop, David Scalleti, the previous Thursday to make an appointment. He was surprised when the Bishop himself came on the line and cheerily said, “Father Haloran, I’m glad you called. I was planning to give you a ring soon. I have some ideas I would like to discuss with you.” He didn’t sound like he was ready to kick him out of the priesthood. Jerry wondered if he had read his file. Well, he’d listen to the Bishop’s ideas before telling him his own.

  He got out of the Pontiac, opened the trunk, and picked up the collapsible wheelchair.

  Marge Woerner had managed to obtain both the smaller model and an electric one through the state’s program for the disabled. Ricky’s mother thanked Marge with a loud “hmmmph”, but Ricky was overjoyed and tooled around Paris like he owned the town.

  Jerry held the wheelchair steady as Ricky awkwardly seated himself.

  As they entered through the huge doors, Jerry thought of his ordination day that May, one month shy of twelve years ago. He had been the only one ordained that year and he was treated as if he were king for a day. And, in a way, he did feel like a king that day.

  Ordination was the crowning achievement after eight years of college work. He had been anxious to get into a parish and begin saving souls, as they say. He smiled to himself as he thought of his own naivete at the time. He had endured the many rules of the seminary and had tolerated being treated as a child for eight years because, he believed, after ordination he would be his own man. That illusion ended four months after ordination when he was called into the Bishop’s office for making a comment to a small group of parishioners that he “had trouble with the Church’s position on birthcontrol.” The Bishop had said, “Father, that was a very indiscreet and immature statement you made to your parishioners.” Bishop Gilsennen, Jerry thought, is probably still spinning in his grave after Jerry’s sermon on sex. Now he realized that he had been ‘discreet’ too long and had substituted obedience for maturity and courage.

  He slowly pushed Ricky up the center aisle as the boy gawked at the ornate Romanesque interior. Ricky repeatedly made ‘oh, oh, oh’ sounds as he looked around. As he wheeled the lad over to the Blessed Virgin altar, Jerry said, “You know, Rick, when I was in high school, I would come here and say a prayer every day before classes.”

  Ricky gazed up at the marble statue of the Virgin. The exquisite form made the plaster image in Paris look so pitiful. “Sh..sh..she’s very be..be..beautiful. You kn .kn..know what, Fa..fa..father?”

  Jerry shook his head.

  “I ca..ca..can’t de..de..decide if sh..she re..re..reminds me of Ka..ka..kathy or Re..re..rebecca. Wh..wh..what do you th..th..think?”

  Jerry was glad Ricky didn’t know he was touching a sensitive area. He glanced up at the serene marble face. Rebecca could ha
ve been the sculptor’s model with her thin Semitic nose and high cheekbones. The look on the Virgin’s face, the innocence and softness, would more aptly fit Kathy. Kathy would be flattered and Rebecca flabbergasted at being compared to the image of the Mother of God.

  Glancing at his watch, Jerry said, “Well, Rick, we have eight minutes to get to the chancery building.” He wheeled him quickly back to the entrance. Leaving the relative darkness of the cathedral, the bright April sun nearly blinded them both.

  As he pushed the wheelchair up the ramp of the chancery building, Jerry wondered how, only one year ago, he could possibly have been proud to have an office in the place. The exterior of beige brick had a certain charm but the white-walled interior appeared cold and sterile. He stopped the wheelchair in front of the receptionist’s desk.

  A pretty young woman with honey-blond hair falling to red-jacketed shoulders sat behind the desk. Her outfit and smile certainly warmed up the place. When she saw Jerry, she jumped up and came around the desk and took his extended hand in both of hers. “Father Haloran, it’s so good to see you! We’ve missed you around here. Are you coming back?”

  “No, Paula, I’m sure that I am not. I’d like you to meet a friend of mine: Ricky Alexander. Ricky, this is Paula Evans. She runs this place.”

  Paula graciously bent down and took Ricky’s hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, Ricky. Do you live in Paris?”

  Ricky turned pink the moment Paula took his hand. “Ye..ye..yes.” Embarrassed, he put his left hand over his forehead. He grinned and looked up at Jerry. “Do..do..does sh..sh..she re..re..really run this pl..pl..place?”

  Jerry winked at Paula. “Sure she does.”

  “Don’t pay any attention to him, Ricky, he’s always teasing. Are you here to see the Bishop, Father?”

  He glanced at his watch. “Yes, I’m due to meet him two minutes ago. Uh, Paula, do you suppose the Bishop’s secretary would mind if Ricky waited in her office?” The old battle-ax Bishop Mazurski had employed wouldn’t have even considered it; and Jerry hoped Bishop Scalleti had the good sense to get rid of her.

  “Father Haloran, you’d know better than I would, she’s Sarah Johnson, your old secretary.”

  “Sarah! Hey, that’s great. Thanks, Paula. See you soon.” He quickly wheeled Ricky down the hall toward the Bishop’s office. This new man must be okay if he re-hired Sarah, Jerry thought. For five years she was the only African-American employee in the building and, in his sometimes humble opinion, the best secretary.

  Sarah immediately stood up at her desk and ran around the side and gave Jerry a hug. She even bent down and embraced Ricky. She was in her mid-fifties and the widowed mother of three boys—all college graduates. Sarah was nearly as tall as Jerry and had a beautiful dark complexion that made her look ten years younger. She wore a nicely tailored cream-colored suit and beautifully embroidered red blouse. She looked elegant, as usual. As she stood in front of Ricky, Bishop David Scalleti, emerged from his office. Jerry guessed him to be in his late forties or early fifties, thin, athletic-looking, and about six feet tall. Salt and pepper hair, more pepper than salt. He had an open, confident, and handsome face. He extended his hand. “Father Jerry Haloran, good to see you. I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk much at my installation.”

  Jerry returned the Bishop’s firm handshake and was glad he didn’t extend his hand in a way that indicated he expected his ring to be kissed, as had his predecessor on their first meeting. “Nice to see you again, Bishop. I’d like you to meet a friend and parishioner from Paris: Ricky Alexander. This is Ricky’s first visit to Aberdeen.”

  Scalletti took Ricky’s shaky right hand in both of his. “Welcome, Ricky. I haven’t been here long myself.”

  Ricky seemed to be awe-struck as he said, “N..n..n..nice to m..m..meet you B..b..bishop.”

  Jerry addressed the secretary, “Sarah, would it be okay with you if Ricky waited out here while I talk with the Bishop? He’ll not be any trouble, right Rick?”

  Ricky smiled and nodded.

  The Bishop said, “Would you like something to drink while you’re waiting, Ricky?”

  Ricky looked a bit confused as he glanced at Jerry. Jerry nodded and Ricky said,”Co..co..Coke, pl..pl..please.”

  His excellency, Bishop Scalletti, glanced at Sarah. “Sarah, would you mind getting this young man a Coke, or would you rather I did?” Jerry’s mouth dropped open. This man wasn’t kidding, he’d do it himself if Sarah hesitated just a bit.

  “No, Bishop, I’ll run and get it—no problem. You want one too, Father Jerry? Bishop?”

  “I’d prefer coffee, Sarah, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  “No trouble. Black with a little sugar, right?”

  Bishop Scalleti smiled. “That’s right! You two know each other. Well, Father Haloran, one thing I do know about you is that you know how to pick good secretaries. I’ll have a coffee too, Sarah, if you don’t mind.”

  Sarah blushed as she raised her hand in a dismissing way and left to get the drinks. Jerry was willing to bet that she had given Scalleti some ideas about the kind of priest she thought he was. He had often felt that she was his greatest fan and supporter.

  The Bishop invited him into his office. Before closing the door, Jerry smiled at Ricky and gave him a little wave. The Bishop seems to be the kind of fellow I could work with. The office looked warmer and more inviting but it couldn’t just be the Bishop’s personality, surely. Jerry looked around. The window blinds were open, and the maroon drapes had been replaced with a pleasant and warmer off-white. He was sure the two potted plants on each side of the walnut bookshelves were new. Scallleti had a rather worn manila file about an inch thick on the left side of his desk. Jerry could just barely make out his name on the tab.

  “Well, Father Haloran, you called for this appointment and I told you I had some ideas I wanted to discuss with you. So do you want to start, or would you prefer I started?”

  Just then Sarah lightly knocked on the door and Bishop Scaletti got up and opened the door for her. She sat the coffee down on the edge of the desk and each man picked up his cup. Scaletti thanked Sarah and then said, “Now where were we?”

  “You were asking which of us would start sharing his ideas. I would like to hear your ideas first, Bishop.” He noticed that Scalleti didn’t wear the traditional Bishop’s gold cross across his chest. Wayne Cameron once joked that Mazurski probably wore it to bed.

  The Bishop folded his hands on top of the desk. In a relaxed and conversational tone of voice, he began, “Okay. I’ve read through your file and am quite impressed with your record as a priest. You’ve shown dedication, hard work, leadership, and original “thinking. Perhaps too original, considering the sermon you gave that apparently landed you in the small parish in Paris.” He smiled a little, as if what he was saying was somewhat amusing. He seemed to await some kind of response.

  Jerry did not know what to say, so he didn’t say anything.

  “Well, as you know, Father, we have a shortage of priests, like every other diocese in the world. I personally think that your talent is wasted there in that small parish. The people could easily be served from Whalen, I understand.”

  Although he was sure that whatever the Bishop had in mind would not change his own ideas, he asked, “So what are you considering, Bishop?”

  Scalleti sat back in his chair and studied a pen he had been holding. Looking at his hands and then at Jerry, he said, “Father O’Brien has been at the diocese-sponsored parish in Guatemala for five years. His health is not good and he needs to return to the States. I understand you have learned some Spanish since you’ve been in Paris.” He hesitated a moment and Jerry could guess what he was going to say next. “I would like for you to take over the parish in Guatemala for at least three years. One thing Father O’Brien suggested is that we send down a priest who has some knowledge of construction. I understand that that, too, is one of your skills. What do you say?”

  Jerry was more than a little stunne
d. The parish in Guatemala had over two thousand families, about ten thousand people. More than the entire population of Paris County. At one time, the Diocese of Aberdeen had sent three priests down there. Twelve years ago it was reduced it to two and four years ago to one. It would be a big challenge. He had volunteered right after he was ordained and again five years later but Bishop Gilsennan, Mazurski’s predecessor, said he needed and wanted him in Aberdeen. Over the years he had re-evaluated the entire mission system and decided that it was a kind of spiritual and intellectual colonialism. It only continued the paternalism of the Church that he increasingly detested. Perhaps he could do some good but they could do well for themselves without him. Rebecca called his work in Paris “paternalistic,” but to him it was nothing compared to the built-in paternalism of the mission system.

  Bishop Scalleti, aware of his hesitancy, said, “I honestly thought of asking you to become the director of Catholic Charities but, well, as I’m sure you know, there would be a bit of resentment among some of the priests because of your sermon and subsequent exile.”

  Bit of resentment? That is quite an understatement, about half the priests of the diocese would be enraged and another fourth would be disapproving at least. Very few would be co-operative with him in that position. If he went to Guatemala, he would be his own boss, maybe. He had met a Maryknoll priest who had been ousted from Guatemala for attempting to set up co-ops for the farmers there. He had been labeled a ‘communist’ and sent back to the States. “Thank you, Bishop, for the offer and the confidence.” Jerry did not let the Bishop know how much his offer bolstered his confidence at the moment. How could he tell this good man that he no longer believed in the missions? He honestly believed that the people of the United States and other developed countries should help the people of the developing world. But they should go down there with aid only if they were asked for some kind of specific assistance. David Scalleti seemed like a very sincere and kind man and Jerry decided to keep his ideas to himself.