Sal's Reflections

My first real awareness that Jack Murphy could be as zany as me occurred in November of his first year at Holy Trinity. He knew I loved the opera so he decided to treat me to dinner in New York for my birthday. The restaurant he chose was famous for having good food and the waitresses and waiters were all opera singers. It was a bitter cold night and dressed in normal suits and ties we were at the end of a very long line to get into the restaurant.

Jack was very impatient and out of the blue he walked past everyone and entered the restaurant. After about five minutes he reappeared  and motioned for me to join him. In a whisper he said “take off your overcoat and drape it on your shoulders the way Italians do in Rome. “Knowing that something was off the tracks I asked”Ok lunatic what have you done?” He smiled and said”I  merely told the owner that it was embarrassing that the famous Italian heart surgeon Dr.Tagliareni from Rome had to wait on line.”With those startling words he ushered me into the restaurant where the owner was rushing to greet me. Now I speak Italian but Signor Asti will know that I am not native born Italian. He greets me with a flurry of Italian and I answer in English with a very heavy Italian accent.”Mr. Asti when I am in America I only speak English.” He embraced me and led me to the finest table in the front of the room. He then announced what a privilege it was to have me and I am forced to stand and wave to the standing ovation of the crowd.

I am now hopeful that there will be no further notice of me but almost immediately a soprano and a tenor dedicate the next aria to Dr.Tagliareni. By this time I am in full blown terror that I will be discovered as a fraud. Meanwhile jack is sipping his drink and savoring the coup he has successfully employed. I lean over and ask” What happens if someone in this place has a heart attack?”He never missed a beat with his response”Just jump on his or her chest and start pounding away.”

We were blessed in Holy Trinity to have many persons committed to social justice. Not everyone was rich in Westfield but by and large it was an upscale community. However, some of our brothers and sisters were marginalized and lived in poverty. One such blaring example of this was Cacciola Place.The housing was scandalous and literally people whose families had spent decades in this community were being fleeced by unscrupulous rents. I brought this to the attention of my informal kitchen cabinet and they immediately responded. One was General counsel for a major corporation, another the managing editor of the Herald Tribune, one a chief financial VP for a multinational and a host of other professional women and men. Together we decided to change the culture of poverty on one street by providing decent and affordable housing. The Federal government had an outstanding program which was home ownership with a forty year mortgage at one per cent. The requirements were community involvement of those who were to benefit from the program and private personal or foundation money as a down payment.

The group generously ponied up the seed money and we were fortunate to solicit the aid of Mary Withers a resident of Cacciola Place. She was dynamic, fearless and a natural born leader  and with her assistance the project seemed headed for success.

The first challenge was to build the homes one at a time so that none of the current residents would be forced out of the community. The second was the necessity of the town’s administrators permission and buy in. Public hearings were arranged and at one of the meetings a gentlemen stood up and said he thought it was a foolish program and should be denied permission to build. In the middle of his plea for rejection he said”Let’s face it the properties will not be cared for and will become dirty eyesores. Mary Withers stood faced the gentleman and with no venom in her voice said’We have been doing a pretty good job of keeping your houses clean. I am sure we can keep ours clean too.”

The administration voted unanimously for the program thanks to Mary’s words.

As the first year progressed Jack and I had conversations deep into the night as to what we could do systemically to make a difference in the lives of others. The topics that we focused on beyond the ordinary functions that we were required to meet daily were Adult Education,Social justice and developing better relationships with the Temple and the Protestant Churches. The first of these ambitious goals was relatively simple considering the depth of talent we had in the parish.You could not name an occupation or a skill that was not only resident in our community but openly willing to volunteer their time and expertise. In a years’ time we had an outstanding adolescent and adult education center that had a positive impact on the parish. Jack and I both taught in the adult classes and we literally created a school hierarchy for the CCD end of the venture. Due to the overwhelming resources at our disposal tactics were quickly replaced by strategy. It would have been foolish to ignore the women and men who wished only to serve and contribute to the welfare of others.

Jack and I performed a lot of these programs under the total secrecy program and we used the expertise of anyone who could contribute extra curtains to block out the lights in the school which could be seen by the rectory binoculars. Putting on lights unnecessarily was a capital sin in the pastor’s eyes. As things progressed it appeared that Jack and I drew energy not only from the volunteers but also from each other. I watched him grew in leaps and bounds and it was obvious how much he was already loved and respected.

One of the parts of his magnetic personality was that those who marched to the sound of a different drum found him to be a welcome port for listening and understanding. One night while I was on duty the phone rang and the caller asked for Father Murphy. I inquired “is this an emergency” because it was 3 o’clock in the morning.? The woman on the other end said “whenever I have a problem I talk to my psychiatrist, my husband, my boyfriend or Father Murphy. Tonight I could not choose which one so I put their names in a hat and pulled out Father Murphy’s name.” I asked her to wait and walked down to Jacks room. He was sound asleep so I shook him and said “wake up Jack you just won a raffle.”

I can still see him standing in the hallway of the rectory, cigarette in hand and perfectly dressed with Clark Kent glasses. It was my first impression of someone who was to become a major influence in my life.I hardly knew Jack Murphy in the seminary because we traveled in different circles. I tried to float from one diverse group to the next but spent most of my free time in the intelligent jock circle. I always loved sports as well as the opera and ballet and many of my closest friends were of like minds. Jack’s primary group never participated in extramural sports and my overall opinion was that it was a closed circle and difficult to enter. In hindsight I was dead wrong at least about Jack.

Jack and I were city kids but I thought we had vastly different views of the world and certainly different approaches to ministry, I was fearful that with Gene McCoy leaving I was losing a trusted friend and comrade in arms. John Flanagan was always gracious to me but we were opposite poles regarding almost everything. The pastor viewed me as public enemy #1 and he was shocked that I was not the one transferred. My biggest fear was that I was to become isolated and absent from the friendship and security that every person needs.

Despite my initial fears they evaporated almost overnight and there was a bonding that was hard to believe.Jack’s innocent Irish face gave no hint to the wondrous sense of dry  humor and the little boy that could cause raucous mayhem. He had a pervasive humility but I was struck by his steel trap mind and insatiable curiosity. His kindness to others was on duty twenty four seven and he was available without reserve.His laughter was legendary and when I informed him of the dos and don’ts in Holy Trinity he threw back his head and roared. Our life stories to this point were vastly different, and yet in a short period of time we became best friends. When September rolled around and the parish went into high gear we were inseparable.

There are two lines from Broadway shows that stuck with me as I began my teaching career in the parish.One was from the King and I.It said”When you are a teacher by your students you will be taught.The other was from A Man for all seasons the play about  the life of Thomas More. A teacher was begging Thomas More for a position in the King’s Court. Thomas replied to the request” but William you are a wonderful teacher. William scoffed at the remark and said “who will know if I am a good teacher. Thomas said’God will know, you will know and your students will know and that is a  wonderful audience.”

My assignment at Holy Trinity High was to teach Religion to high school juniors. There were three groups and for some bureaucratic reason they were labeled as the a b and c groups. This system could not have been driven by any true evaluation of their intelligence or capabilities because there was not one iota of the difference in the three groups.For me it was the highlight of the day and in hindsight I put so much time into developing a curriculum over the summer that the classes were rigorous and high level. I never bought into the old teaching adage that you should not smile until Christmas and found the students to be not only bright but engaging. High school juniors are a separate breed because a great deal is at stake in this year regarding their futures. They have matured past the sophomore year and have not retired on the job like many of the seniors.

One of the major benefits to teaching was that the personal bond between teacher and student often led to the building of trust relationships where students would confide all sorts of issues. I was privy to personal as well as family issues, and also what was going on in the community. At the end of the day I was leaving the building when one of my students was hanging around with no apparent reason and I realized that there was something serious on his mind. After ten minutes of interesting but not relevant information he shared that there was going to be a robbery at Dewey’s Pizzeria over the coming weekend. He would not give me the names of the robbers but assured me that they were not students in Holy Trinity. That information did not matter as much as how I could warn the proprietor of the Pizza place without causing a panic.

That evening after another ghastly meal in the rectory I visited the Pizza parlor and engaged in small talk with the Italian owner while eating pizza. We covered a host of questions like his interest in my father’s Italian village. Finally I asked ‘Do you have a security system in the restaurant?” The tone immediately changed and at one point I shared that I had some information that he needed to take seriously.

What had been a casual conversation had become quite electric and he pressed me for my source. I assured him that I would convey to my source that he had been warned and decided it was time to go.

I was back at the rectory for no more than five minutes when a local detective rang the doorbell and asked to see me. He pressed hard for my source but I told him if I give you a name I will have no credibility with these kids in the future. He kept up the pressure but at the end graciously said” I understand father. Thanks for tipping the owner off. “The good news is that apparently the word made the rounds and there was no robbery then or ever in the pizzeria.

One of the primary responsibilities of a parish should be to concentrate on the growth and development of all of the children not just those that attend the parish schools. Much to my amazement there was a negative perception at Holy Trinity toward children who attended the public schools. In many respects there was a second class citizen approach to them and in Holy Trinity parish there was an additional challenge. The parish had no youth organization and though Gene McCoy and others did yeoman work with the children there were no formal activities geared toward the youth.

Marvelous parents like the Dirnbergers, McGlynns and the Kileys to name a few were relentless in asking the pastor to start a CYO. Grudgingly he finally agreed but put a strict limit on what resources the program could utilize. Gene McCoy was the logical choice to head up the program ,but I was assigned probably with the belief that I was new and would be less of a problem.

The first thing I put in place was to have the organization led by one student from Westfield High and one from Holy Trinity High. It was critical that all of the kids in the parish knew that we cared about them. My two choices were such great leaders that the program immediately took off .One of the key benefits was that there was now a structure where kids could not only enjoy social activities but have contact with a group of caring adults. One of the off shoots was a rotating weekend drop in service run through the synagogue and the churches where any child could drop in and seek counseling and guidance. I became convinced that slowly the work of the Rabbi ,the ministers and priests would send out the welcome sign and it would bear fruit.
One night a young man dropped into one of the centers and asked if was to be there that night. It so happened that I was out of town but he was told I would be back in two days. When I returned the young man called me and informed me that he was going to kill himself but wanted me to give him absolution over the phone. I needed to stall for time but told him that it would not be valid over the phone, but if he gave me his address I would personally give him absolution.

Arriving at his home I was aware of two things. One was that there was no one else in the house, and the second thing was that he had a loaded forty five revolver in his hand. It took me over two hours to convince him not to kill himself and I thought now I could get him help. Instead he pointed the gun at me and said “Father I changed my mind I think I will kill you.” I knew that if he hit me anywhere with a forty five it was curtains but for some reason I was calm. After another hour of talking him down he broke into crying convulsions and gave me the gun.
I was immediately able to contact his parents’ and had him hospitalized. In a few short months he was back in school and able to work on all of the issues that had led him to the decision to end his life.
I did not realize how traumatized I was until I returned to the rectory and slept for sixteen hours,

For years as children growing up in the Catholic tradition we read story after story about the lives of the saints. They were noble people from all walks of life who embraced the total dedication to God. Many gave even their lives as witnesses to the beauty of the life of Christ. I would never dismiss the value of these stories but they seemed so distant and far from the life I was experiencing in the parish. However, I did not have to hunt high and low to see the heroic lives being led in the fullness that Christ promised in the Sermon on the Mount. One of the clearest examples of this spiritual fulfillment came through the lives of the Mount family.  They at one point appeared to be the all American family. Five healthy children and the  economic benefits of a thriving automotive business Then without warning tragedy struck, Their eldest child Aldine lost her sight and was plagued with seizures and every conceivable side effect from the illness and the medications. Each day Aldine lost more and more of her physical and mental abilities and only a parent who has been there can understand what Jeanne and Chet were experiencing. When Aldine should have been enjoying the wonder of being an adolescent she succumbed to her illness and died. This tragedy  as awful as it was occurred two more times in the Mount family. Neal and Tommy lost their sight and all of the horrors of the illness again were heaped on the Mounts. For some reason Chip the second oldest was spared the blindness but not from the suffering of watching his sister and brothers wither and die. Peg the youngest had not reached the dangerous age when blindness would strike so that was also hanging over the family.

Despite this unbelievable series of tragedies Jeanne and Chet Mount lived their lives to the fullest and the love in that family was a magnet, I never once heard them complain and whatever those children could experience the Mounts supported. Tommy was a love who lived his live with all of the zest that every child wishes to experience and his parents supported every opportunity that he wished to explore.  You would think that the Mount home would be off limits for the squeamish but not only adults were inspired by them, but also teen agers flocked to their home to participate in the care of those who needed help. In reality many came to help but also their living room was always filled with persons who drew strength from the Mounts.The word saint is rather other worldly but in my life I had never found more spiritual and loving persons. Almost every Saturday night after confessions I would go to the Mounts and play cards,sing songs but most of all to bathe in the beauty despite all of the hardships left had left at their doorstep. My life was  so
enriched by the love and beauty that lived in the Mount home.

The population f Westfield  in the 1960’swas rapidly changing  and what once had been predominantly a Protestant community had a growing  influx of Catholic and Jewish citizens. Due to this fact many of the marriages performed in Holy Trinity Parish were referred to as “mixed marriages”, The Roman Church required that the non Catholic party be interviewed by the Priest and  had to sign a document  regarding the conditions for a “mixed Marriage”. Many of those involved in these marriages had never had personal contact with a priest, and unfortunately as with most human beings had been exposed to a lot of myths.

In all honesty I thought that there was a degree of arrogance on the part of my church insisting on certain agreements; for instance that any children of these unions must be raised as Catholics. It seemed to me that there was an infringement on someone raised in other cultures and religions.However, initially I had already rocked the boat as one who did not play by the rules, so  despite my convictions went along with the game plan.
In order that the person being involved in the process feel less threatened I usually began the session as far away from the problematic areas and tried to establish  human rapport. Talking about where they group up and what schools they attended were very non threatening and hopefully would at least take away from some of the apprehension that existed with someone who had no or little contact with a catholic priest.
One cold and windy night I was to go through the forms with a young woman whose fiancée was a graduate of the Naval Academy and due to his assignment at sea  could not attend the meeting. He was to return in two weeks and the wedding was planned for the following May. The young woman was extremely nervous and I gathered she was initially surprised that I was not a Devil with horns. My attempts to break the ice regarding her background were met with basically one word answers regarding her  family and upbringing in the South. I thought perhaps she would feel more comfortable speaking about her intended. I began with a simple question by asking “How long is your fiancé’s furlough?” She seemed startled and somewhat embarrassed.” I think it’s about seven inches.” I almost fell off the chair and when I gained my composure  I tried to clarify the question but I am sure that when she arrived back in Tennessee the rest of her family had another reason to distrust Catholics.

Diversity is a wonderful gift in a parish rectory because no one size fits all. In our rectory at Holy Trinity there were four different approaches to ministry and life. The Pastor rapidly gaining on ninety years of age was primarily concerned with squeezing every nickel until the buffalo coughed and ranting about Kleenexes that were found in the church after the Sunday masses. I am sure that at one point in his life he was vibrant and caring but at this stage he was the prov…erbial Dr. No. The sin of having any light on was far more a capital offense than fornication or even murder. The Lord may have said “let there be light” but Monsignor W chose to ignore that guidance. He also had a spy network that would rival the CIA. Regular phone calls reporting any forbidden activity by the young curates was fodder for a scolding.
Father John was a priest for many years when I arrived and was out of the mold that spent a good deal of his pastoral life telling people what they did wrong. He was in fairness always kind and gracious to me despite the fact that we had vastly different views of ministry. Also he was an extraordinary cook which was a blessing. Our regular cook was an angel but a calamity in the kitchen. The food was so bad that many times I hid a large manila envelope on my lap and filled it with the atrocity of the day. At Thanksgiving she served a turkey that appeared to be hit by a Trailways bus.
Gene McCoy was totally devoted to people and was respected and loved by many. He had weathered the storm of living with Monsignor No and had carved out significant ways to make an impact on many parishioners. He was not only a good model to emulate but a friend that I could lean on .The parish was growing in leaps and bounds and without someone like Gene it would have been overwhelming.
In essence parishioners had a choice as to who they would go to for all sorts of services and the days were filled with ordinary and extraordinary experiences. Despite my initial fears that this post was going to be the first of one difficult assignment after another I quickly realized that being in Westfield was a singular blessing.