by Ray Flynn
“Yes, I believe so. You are the only person outside the medical staff that knows now. I pray I’ll accomplish all I want to do. Use me every way you can.”
“Robitelli has no idea you may have a really serious medical problem?”
“I don’t believe so, Brian.” His eyes searched his friend’s face. “When I first came here I thought that was the miracle and I wondered if I was up to the job. But I placed my trust and confidence in God, worked hard, and now I feel good about the Church being on the right course. It doesn’t seem a miracle at all. People’s faith has kept my dream alive. That’s an easy concept if you see it as a Church of martyrs fed to the lions. But when the pain, confusion, and disagreement come from inside, it is hard to comprehend. Yet here we have Cardinal Robitelli, opposed to my way of doing things, against my even being here in the first place, nevertheless willing to obey my commands. And that is what holds the Church together from top to bottom. You can call it ‘loyalty to God.’ That is why the Church has survived all these centuries. We have disagreements with one another within it, but as a Church we are ‘serious.’ Persecutions, wars, or dictators cannot silence the word of God.”
“I expect that we will hold both the Church and Ireland together, and your coming will ensure that. I have built up considerable Catholic and Protestant cooperation and even a certain amount of mutual respect and understanding. But your presence in the country … that’s the key.”
* * *
As the days before the trip to Ireland passed and planning intensified, general excitement also built. Colleen was delighted that Jan Christensen would be part of the pope’s retinue. Roger was happy that Michael Degulis, the big affable Swiss guardsman and the other victim of the skateboard accident who had since become his best friend, was the second guardsman sent along for special security. Bill Kelly realized once again that his commander of the Guard was not only practical, but also knowing.
Before Brian flew back to Ireland, he explained to Robitelli the extreme importance of the pope making the trip at this time. Brian was prepared for a long, drawn-out battle over the timing and the rushed planning, but he was such a clever negotiator that even the skeptical Robitelli shortly realized he was no match for the witty and convincing Irishman. He was also in no hurry to test the pope’s mettle again. Robitelli almost offhandedly agreed and told Brian to work with Father Tucci.
The morning following his meeting with Comiskey, the secretary of state arranged to meet with the pope to discuss the Irish trip. Bill Kelly felt like popping a few Turns pills before the cardinal arrived, figuring he was in for a battle.
As the cardinal seated himself, the pope was somewhat surprised to see a wide smile on the cardinal’s angular face. Robitelli laughed softly. “I can see by your expression that you are expecting our usual confrontation, Bill. Well, as you no doubt are already aware, your friend Comiskey is hard to slow up. He did all the arguing for you. And after we had both calmed down he was able to convince me of the value a papal visit to Ireland could bring to the Church overall. That’s not to say I’m delighted, but…” He spread his hands in front of him. “But I think perhaps—”
His words were suddenly broken off by a bang on the door, which flew open as Meghan came rushing into the office. “Dad! Dad!” she exclaimed, holding up her Bible. “I’ve been reading this like you told me to. Listen to this!”
The pope was shocked by the interruption. “Meghan, what is the matter with you? Don’t you know enough to knock before you enter a room? Especially this office?”
“But, Dad, this is important. Listen!”
“Meghan, I’m happy you are reading your Bible, but can’t you see we are busy here?” He glanced at the cardinal. “Sorry for the interruption, Gino. She should know better.”
The cardinal smiled benevolently and waved his hand. “Take a moment, Bill. Let’s see what Scripture is inspiring her. After all, she discovered St. Paul.”
The reply caught the pope off guard. He suddenly realized he was making too much effort to listen to the cardinal and not to his own daughter. “All right, little dirt digger, what is it that’s so important that you have to interrupt us?”
As if on cue, Meghan flopped to the floor, crossed her legs, and opened her New Testament. “Okay, now listen to this: ‘And the devils seeing the herd of swine begged Jesus to allow them to enter them and he allowed them to do so. Then the herd, about two thousand in number, rushed down the side of the hill and were drowned.’ Isn’t that great, Dad?”
The pope looked at the cardinal, both of them with blank expressions. Meghan immediately sensed their confusion.
“Don’t you guys see? Don’t you know what this means? We could prove that Jesus did miracles. We could go dig up the bones and show everyone that it really happened! You could organize a dig right there, Dad!”
The cardinal and the pope broke into laughter, almost to tears. The pained expression on Meghan’s face caused the pope to regain his composure. He rose from his chair and reached for his daughter’s hand.
“Dad, don’t you believe it? You said the Bible was God’s word. Isn’t that true?”
He recognized her anxiety and pulled her to her feet, giving her a warm hug. “Yes, baby. We do believe it. We were just too lost in other matters to see what you were saying. Now, tell you what. Cardinal Robitelli here is in charge of overseeing any digs that go on here beneath St. Peter’s. I’ll ask him to discuss this with our archeologists and we’ll see what they think.”
Meghan’s hurt expression quickly disappeared as she beamed her smile.
The cardinal hastily assessed the situation and nodded at her triumphantly twitching lips.
“Why, yes, yes, Meghan, I’ll certainly be glad to discuss this with our archeologists and see what they think of this most interesting idea. I’ll get on it as soon as possible.” He winked at the pope as he jotted it down on his notepad.
“Wow! Thanks, Gino.” She dashed from her father to kiss the now blushing cardinal on his face. Then she went toward the door, stopped, and turned, planted a kiss of her father’s cheek, and skipped to the door, heading out with all the gusto with which she had entered. The pope sat down again, and the two men paused to review the new idea.
“Well, Gino, there you have it ‘out of the mouths of babes.’” Bill chuckled. “I’ve read that Scripture many times, but Meghan’s idea never crossed my mind. What do you think?”
Robitelli leaned back in his chair thoughtfully. Then, after a few moments’ rumination, “Let’s say we went and dug up some bones in the Sea of Galilee. What would it mean? To some it would merely confirm the faith they already have in Jesus. To others it would just mean that we found some pigs’ bones. All they need to say is ‘So what?’ Sometimes animals do drown in a lake. Perhaps the Christians heard of some swine drowning and they used that fact to develop a story to tell Jesus’ power over evil. It seems to me that God has left us wide open to act as we please but he always sends his messengers to show us how much nicer life could be if we just try harder to care for each other.” Suddenly he sat up straight. “Here I am rambling along like a preacher instead of discussing our present concern, the trip to Ireland.”
“Gino, I appreciate your being so understanding of my daughter’s extraordinary ideas.”
“Glad to be of some help.” The cardinal stood. “And we must never forget Meghan’s contribution at the beginning of this millennium. The discovery of St. Paul’s sarcophagus.”
As he walked toward the door, the pope could not resist a final comment. “Gino, wouldn’t it be amazing if we did find those old pig bones there?”
The cardinal could only smile wanly and shake his head as he passed through the door, left open by the budding archeologist.
Robitelli, having been convinced by Brian of the wisdom of the ordinary-tourist approach to the Irish visit, had taken pains to push the private trip concept heavily with the media. This was mostly to be a family affair, no special media arrangements except
for the two ecumenical events, one in Dublin’s Phoenix Park, the other in Belfast in the North. The pope would also celebrate Mass at Mary Kelly’s family home in Galway for relatives and friends, and a farewell Mass during a short visit to Our Lady of Knock Chapel in Mayo. The pope’s new car would be utilized.
Brian Comiskey had quietly arranged affairs that would be politically salubrious to all the Irish factions. Thus, on March 15 the pope, his family, Ambassador Kirby, Monsignor Shanahan, and a small contingent of Vatican officials landed at Shannon International Airport. Cardinal Comiskey, the president of the Republic, and the prime minister met them, informally. Officials from Counties Cork and Galway, where Kelly’s grandparents were from, and a large media detail were also on hand. Although it had been made clear that this was a family trip to visit friends and relatives and not an official state function, the press turnout was equal to that for President Bill Clinton a few years before. The crowd, many among it carrying welcome signs, appeared and sounded overwhelmingly joyous. The Ancient Order of Hibernians and the Ladies A.O.H. in America were asked by Cardinal Comiskey to help in the details of the visit, because of their effective work in promoting Irish-Catholic values in the United States.
After an hour of speeches, handshaking, and photos, the three children with the pope proceeded by car to Oughterard, Connemara, Galway. Just about the entire hotel was taken up by the Vatican delegation and members of the press who had been fortunate enough to reserve rooms for the pope’s first visit to Ireland.
The group was checked in by early afternoon, and, after visiting two popular tourist sites, Bill, along with Brian, Ed, and Tim met Father Jim Lane, formerly of South Boston, Massachusetts, and now living in Galway. They drove to Jim Regan’s Pub in Moycullen around six o’clock in the evening. Men finishing work were stopping by on their way home. Brian had arranged everything carefully to give the pope a “regular guy with his family on holiday” ambience. Father Jim was beside Bill and Brian as they walked in for a pint of Guinness stout. Photos going back many years decorated the wood-paneled walls. In one photo, General Michael Collins was shown standing at the bar with a pint, and another was a more recent one of American tourists from Scranton and Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, holding a sign reading FRIENDLY SONS OF ST. PATRICK.
Standing beside Bill, Kirby gave him an important tip on procedure. “The owner, the man with the pipe, will invite you to pull a few pints of Guinness. Don’t make the mistake the United States president made with me at J.J. Foley’s Café back home. You’ve got to have a nice touch on the pump when you pull a pint of beer. Tilt the glass; let the beer go in against the glass, not on top of itself. The more slowly you pull the beer the less foam and the more beer. The president pulled a glass which was one part beer and five parts foam and held it up to the TV cameras. The millions who saw it on TV half joked they wouldn’t vote for a man who pulled so much foam and so little beer.”
“Thank you, Ed,” Bill said. “I’ll remember that.”
“And one other thing, Bill.” Kirbys voice lowered. “For the sake of your mission here, I won’t be seen with you in the North. I made some remarks a year or so ago in Belfast that were thought by some to be anti-Unionist. Particularly Ian Paisley. I called for a united Ireland, which got me in trouble both here and at Foggy Bottom. I don’t need to sic my enemies on you.”
“I appreciate it, Ed.”
The pope and the cardinal, in plain black suits and Roman collars, bellied up to the bar, savoring the cheers of the overflowing pub crowd. “Set the place up,” Billy announced. “The drinks are on His Eminence.”
The patrons roared with delight. The owner, Jim Regan, standing behind the bar himself, called out, “Your Holiness, come back and pull a few pints of stout for the lads. Holy water it will be, and giving the boys and girls something to boast about the rest of their lives.” He winked at the crowd, who cheered the pope on as he sidled along to the hinged section that Regan pulled up. Bill found himself facing a boisterous crowd of thirsty people. The owner proceeded to tie a white apron around the pope, emulating the other bartenders. “We want you to look like the handsome Irishman you are standing next to that Protestant, Dr. Clark, on St. Patrick’s Day in Dublin,” bellowed out the affable Martin Hanley, a pub regular.
Bill was handed a pint glass, which he carefully placed under the pump, tilted so the beer would flow along the side, and pulled the pump toward him, gently filling it with the dark liquid and a very small cap of foam on top. He handed it to Frank Noonan, the oldest customer. Cheers went up and cries of “Jim, keep His Holiness behind the bar. He gives the first fair pull we ever had in here.”
The owner laughed, merrily shouting, “Your Holiness, you’ll bankrupt the house!” TV cameras caught the generous beer the pope had pulled. Bill Kelly, enjoying himself immensely, continued to hand out liberal pulls to Ed Kirby, Brian Comiskey, Father Jim, and the rest of the papal party as well as to the pub patrons, who clamored for more of “the most generous Guinness ever drawn at Jim Regan’s Pub.” Bill Kelly had left the perfect half-inch head on his pours.
Finally, Bill pulled one last Guinness for himself, this time deliberately making it half foam. “I hope this one will make up for the maybe overgenerous ones I pulled,” he laughed, and worked his way out to where Brian and Ed Kirby were standing. He took a long swallow of Guinness, wiped the foam from his nose, and enjoyed himself conversing with the patrons who crowded round, cameras flicking away.
“Well, that was one great photo op,” Tim Shanahan laughed.
“Give us a song!” shouted Mike Foley to Father Jim, who topped the “grand” evening off by singing the traditional Irish ballad, “The Isle of Innisfree,” featured in the movie The Quiet Man starring John Wayne, to whom Bill Kelly bore a striking resemblance.
“Are you ready for some dinner?” Ed Kirby asked. “You’re looking kind of tired. We don’t want to exhaust you on your first day.”
Gratefully, Bill allowed himself to be led through the cheering throng and driven back to the hotel where his family was waiting.
“We’re going to have dinner served upstairs, just the two of us, Bill. Your kids are going to an arcade in Salthill and after to a movie in Galway City,” Comiskey announced imperiously. “Tomorrow is soon enough for you to meet more people.”
“Thanks, Brian. I am a bit tired. See what’s on the television.”
* * *
All evening, as Bill and Brian dined in the suite, they switched television news stations. There was the pope at the pub drawing Guinness stouts and being cheered by patrons. CNN had Pope Peter drawing beers for the crowd every five minutes in its “Headline News.”
“I just hope the Guinness people remember this when they make their contributions next Sunday,” Bill joked wearily before heading off to sleep.
The next morning, the day before St. Patrick’s, Bill Kelly felt considerably better, and he and the family did some sightseeing and shopping in Galway City. They bought Waterford crystal and Claddagh rings at Faller’s Jewelers. After having tea and scones with a delegation of Galwegians, including civic officials and area residents at the Great Southern Hotel in Eire Square, they drove to his deceased wife’s family home in Clifden, County Galway, where they spent the afternoon and early evening with Mary’s parents, John and Lil Dorion, and the rest of the family. Bill celebrated Mass for the family at the residence.
None of the three Kelly children had ever met their Irish cousins before, so this was an exciting visit. Bill presented Mary’s father, John, with a bottle of Paddy Irish whiskey and gave Mary’s mother, Lil, a large replica made of Italian marble of Michelangelo’s Pietà. No allusion was made to the bitterness that had once enshrouded the family when their daughter had married a “fallen priest.” That was how the curmudgeonly old priest, brother of Mary’s mother, for whom Father Bill Kelly had served as assistant, referred to the man who married his niece. But that was all behind them now. This was the first family dinner ever, and it was a time of gr
eat pride and celebration. The smoked shoulder, boiled potatoes, cabbage, and turnips were cooked to perfection. John broke out the bottle of Paddy for a couple of good nightcaps. At eight-thirty, with an hour’s drive ahead of them, Colleen explained, “Dad hasn’t been feeling well lately. He seems to have picked up some kind of stomach virus in Africa.”
They drove back via Clifden Road, to Connemara, where they retired for the evening. Bill spent some time reviewing his ecumenical speech for the service at Phoenix Park the next day.
* * *
Everybody in Ireland had read the morning papers and seen the pictures of Pope Peter pulling a magnanimous pint of Guinness and handing it to their popular cardinal, Brian Comiskey. Suddenly the Irish felt they had their own pope after two thousand years, never mind that Bill had only been to Ireland once before, to claim his bride from a reluctant family.
Brian Comiskey and Tim Shanahan rode in one limousine with Bill; the children and guards followed in a second. Other members of the delegation trailed them in Church-supplied vehicles. As they proceeded from village to village, thousands of people cheered along the road waving signs: WELCOME HOME BILL KELLY! and GOD BLESS THE POPE. The visitors stopped for a few minutes outside St. Joseph’s Church in Athenry, Galway, to bless the famine memorial built in memory of the millions who had perished in the great starvation in the 1840s.
In Dublin City they proceeded to the residence of Cardinal Comiskey’s newly appointed bishop. They had tea and Irish bread with him, and then the pope changed into his long white cassock and a green cape with a gold Celtic cross especially woven by Irish nuns for this occasion. With a white skullcap on his head he was ready to ride with Brian in the glass-enclosed “popemobile” brought over for this day.
They drove up Grafton Street. Many thousands were waving at him. The Vatican vehicle proceeded past Trinity College and thence into Phoenix Park, where many thousands had been waiting since morning.
Catholics and Protestants alike welcomed the pope as he was driven to the back of the outdoor altar specially set up for the event. There the leader of the Anglican Church of Ireland, Dr. Wilson Clark, and leaders of several other religious faiths, including the chief rabbi, greeted him. A Muslim leader and even a Buddhist monk in saffron robes briefly addressed the pope.
