Sal's Reflections

Two months before ordination I was called to the Dean of Men’s office and informed that my mother was seriously ill. My Father had called to tell me that she had suffered a serious heart attack and the prognosis was not positive. Allowed to go home to be with her I smiled when my father told me on the phone that she insisted walking to the ambulance so none of the neighbors would be upset. So typical of her unending concern ,she even in this dire moment others  came first. My mother was the kindest person on the planet. I learned many things at my mother’s knee but probably the most important was that everyone deserves to be loved and respected. In my entire life I had never met anyone who was totally absent of racial or ethnic bias. As a young child I repeated an ethnic slur at the dinner table and she  immediately sent me to my room without supper. When an Italian mother sends you to your room without food you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to know that you are in serious trouble.

After a few moments she came to my room and lovingly explained why what I had said was offensive and never to be uttered again. Mind you this was a person who had a racist brother that regularly employed the N word. I once overheard  her say to him” Rudy every night before I go to bed I pray that you will wake up tomorrow and be black.”

The ride to Jersey City seemed forever and once home I borrowed a car to race up to the Jersey City Medical Center. Entering the parking lot a cop was shouting at a woman that she could not park in that spot. She was annoyed and questioning his decision. Spotting my collar he waved me into the spot she had vacated and she began to give him grief. Hoping to cover his generosity I rolled down the window and said “Thank you officer I have an emergency.” That may have been the biggest mistake of my life. The cop bolted in front of me and was shouting “Get out of the way Father has an emergency. “When we reached the elevator which was filled with Doctors and Nurses he ordered everyone off so Father could quickly reach his emergency. I was terrified because though I had on a Roman Collar I was not yet a priest. When we reached the Intensive care floor I used my street smarts and said” Thank you officer but I can take it from here.If she sees you she will be frightened.” The cop saluted me and left. I breathe a sigh of relief but now the real concern would begin. Seeing all those tubes in my mother was quite a jolt and watching my father gently speaking to her was tough. She was semi-conscious and did not recognize me. To say I was devastated would be the understatement of the century. The attending physician came in to examine her and we waited outside. I asked my father to go back and hold my mother’s hand but in reality I wanted to speak with the Doctor alone. I asked him not to pull any punches and he told me that today and tonight are critical. If she makes it through this period she has a chance. What he didn’t know was that her heart had been wounded but her spirit was truly larger than life. She made it through that day and by the time I returned to the seminary in three weeks she was cooking up a storm for the family.

One other humorous note was that during that period I went on a series of errands for my father. Losing track of the time I came back to my car and there was a cop writing a ticket. He saw me and said” is this your car Father?” When I replied in the affirmative he said,” Thanks a lot now I have to look for another 67 Chevy.” It could only happen in Jersey City.

One of the difficult times in seminary living was when people you truly admired decided to leave.When Bill Meade left just before taking his vows I was somewhat surprised and shaken. Bill was not only brilliant but he had a generosity of spirit that made you realize what a good person he was. He was in my opinion the poster man for the Priesthood.For a couple of days after he left I began a period of introspection regarding why he left and why I should stay. Doubts started to creep in and when my good friend and classmate Mike Keating also decided that this was not for him I was beside myself. If these good men who certainly were far more religious than I found that this was not the path for them maybe I should bail out now.

The doubts continued to hold serve and at one point I came very close to packing my bags. Reflection caused me to resist the impulse and after considerable days of meditation and weighing all the pros and cons I decided to confide my situation to my spiritual director. For probably an hour I ran through chapter and verse specifically stating all the reasons why I should be on the first bus bound for Jersey City. There was in my opinion a life beyond the seminary grounds that would more fully meet my needs and desires. I began to seriously consider the roles of husband and perhaps Father to a few rather than a Father for many.

I went on and on at times rambling but always getting back to the same issue.I had almost convinced myself that this whole priest thing was a mistake and though I have enjoyed the company and the caring it was the moment to move on.After my complete emotional catharsis my spiritual advisor stated that there has never been anyone on the route to the Priesthood that has not had similar doubts. He personalized his words by stating that there were moments before his ordination when he was absolutely convinced that it was time to throw in the towel. He ended with what appeared to be his knockout argument by telling me that even Camillis DeLillis had serious doubts.I had not heard the name before and surmised that he was an upperclassman or someone who had survived the seminary and now was serving in a parish. My initial impulse was to ask if I could speak to Camillis even though I knew that he was probably not a city kid. No one in Jersey City would ever hang that name on a kid  because he would have more fights than Mohammed Ali.Good thing I did not inquire further. It appears that Camillis was a sixteenth century Italian saint. Somehow the impact of his doubts did little to make my path any easier.

After one year of studying Philosophy I skipped the second year because I had already graduated from college.The new year found me as a student in a new class and I was excited to be immersed in the study of Theology and Church History. It was an exciting time in the church because Pope John the XXlll had opened the window and called a Vatican Council to address the needs of a changing church. It was an exciting and hopeful time because all institutions need revitalization and the church was no exception. The church in the opinion of many had lost touch with the primary reason for its existence, service to others. It was not merely the custodian of a series of dos and don’ts but rather a living organism that needed to hear the voices of the faithful. It was a time of promise that we would live in a world that would focus on the vital opportunities for the church to influence the lives of all people. The seminary was abuzz with the hopeful aspirations that so many challenges would be met and the path to living the “good news “would be refreshed and vital.
The elderly pope was a compromise candidate who had been chosen to safeguard the deposit of faith as though it was some stagnant set of rules and beliefs. Those who voted with that belief had badly miscalculated this pope. He threw caution to the wind and let a fresh vital wind of the spirit to enter the Roman Church. I was thrilled and the Seminary took on new meaning for me.The rigidity of the place seemed to be hopefully becoming more in tune with the times. I had great reverence for tradition but I struggled with the absolute unchanging dogma that was being taught in the Moral Theology class. The professor droned on endlessly reading from “Herve” the textbook that was probably used at the time of Columbus. On the contrary our History Professor was absolutely magnificent. He taught Church History in the context of art, politics music and every facet of life.His classes were vibrant and so telling that when the bell for the next class rang there was always a tinge of disappointment.
The council may have been somewhat radical but those in charge of all seminaries were still holding fast to ancient rituals. In order to send the message that they were still in charge Rome issued a document entitled” Veterum Sapientia”.The meaning focused on the ancient wisdom of Latin and why it should govern curriculum.
The news that all courses would now be taught in Latin in the seminary caused a great deal of anxiety especially for American seminarians.
The day after we were notified of this impending doom the first class of the day was Church History. Being fluent in Latin and Greek we knew our history professor Monsignor Beck would immediately implement the frightening new document that came from the bureaucratic side of Rome .Monsignor Beck came to the next class after the dictum had been received and said”Gentlemen the Holy See has spoken.We will begin immediately. “Nos Habemus bannae hodie. Nos habemus bannae hodie. “For those of you not familiar with the mother tongue I have said twice in Latin we have no bananas today. That will suffice for the semester. If Rome does not like it they can lump it.” We howled with glee and had another reason to love Monsignor Henry Beck.

Whenever a grup of persons are placed into a common environment thetr is almost always a bonging experience that occurs.This was certainly true in the Seminary and my life was certainly enhanced by so many of my fellow seminarians. Name expolode in my brain and the memories of those days bring smiles and gratitude to my heart. I could go on and on but would like to mention just a few of my bthe band of Brothers who stood side by side in common cause.One was rocco Constantino a former politacl

Operative from Bellville New Jersey. Rocco had a personality that could charm th devilhimself and his outrageous behavior brough laughter and acceptance from everyone. Once while we are on vacation at the Jersey Shore we seven of us entered a Pizzeria.Without hesitatation Rocco marched into the kitchedm and aid to the chef”Hey shorty start making pizzs and don’t stop thill I tell you. The chef roared with laughter. I f I had said that I would probably bre running down the boardwalh avoiding a knife weildinf chef.

On aonother occasion early in the morning he laned out his window and shouted to the ocal bakert deilery man that e were being held hostage and would hw please call the state police.Remrakable character with a heart of gold. Learned much about life and people from him.

Joseph Michael Ryan was perhaps the brightest and mosr well read person I had met before the seminary. He was not only my friend but my mentor. He had a range of interest that went beyond what we were sopposed to be reading and had the uncanny ability to teach without ever being patronizing or pedantic. My level of topics that were outside the scope of the seminary curriculum was widwdened and developed through Joe’s loving guidance.

Jim Herbert was another luminary that opened my mind plus he was one of the funnies guys in the seminary. He once said to me that his brother had married a wealthy woman who was into thorough bread horses. He told me my brother is a great guy but out of his league with that crowd. Until he met her he thought every horse had a cop on it.I was fortunate to have my first parish assignment in my second summer with Jim.It was in a poor section of Newark and our job was basically to run a camp for ten year olds.Jim fractured me with his making shoe boxes into altars during arts and crafts. I f I make one more popsicle cross I make become a serial killer.

There were others who influenced me just by their kind and warm nature like John Iggy Ford.

The faculty at Immaculate Conception Seminary would have been a fertile field for someone like Damon Runyon. The Rector was an austere brilliant scholar who would never be mistaken for a touchy feely type.  He was glacially distant and when in his presence one felt like the Spanish Inquisition had been renewed. However, for those who knew him well they viewed his distance as shyness and had a loyalty to him despite the outward appearance. The Dean of students was a former jock who could hit a softball for miles, but was the scourge of anyone who he believed was in any shape or form effeminate. He knew that I was an athlete but I never shared with him that I loved the Opera and classical music. One of the senior faculty was a hypochondriac who when he spoke to you covered his mouth because he had the intense fear that a germ might escape your body and infect him with a death dealing virus.I always believed that he probably had the first constant Lysol automatic spray mist in his quarters.The primary head of the Philosophy department was a true intellectual who was in the finest sense of the words a “space cadet”. There is a story while he was musing about Descartes while mowing his sister’s lawn he allowed the  power mower to ascend up the base of an elm tree. Another member of the philosophy department was a gracious soul who would have a kind word for everyone. Despite his gentle demeanor he had a sharp wit and a great sense of humor. Once taunted by one of the young Turks in the Theology department who asked him to say something stupid he responded immediately with”Ok you say something and I will repeat it.”

The primary Homiletics professor was nicknamed Jolly Jack  who pranced around like a peacock in full Monsignorial regalia every chance possible. The rumor was that he had a Bishops outfit on call in case it ever happened. The book on him was that he was truly a genius because he spread five minutes of prepared material over four courses.

Coupled with this cast of characters was a feisty eighty year old former sailor, tattoo and all who was the primary spiritual director. His great warning to my class was beware because if you put a Roman collar on a broomstick someone will fall in love with it.Talk about deflating the belief that we were all handsome, bright and loveable.

They were different to a man but I always had the sense that as a group they cared about us and had tried to create an environment of warmth and caring.

In the hands of these scholarly and religious men we were to be shaped and molded into what they believed would be pious and dedicated servants of the Church. As one who has always been a private contrarian I bought some of the guidance and dismissed some of it out of hand. Never overtly confrontational or disagreeable but always intellectually challenging their “ my way or the highway “path to the Christian message . For me a lot of the hocus pocus dogma was nice but not particularly relevant to the service I imagined. My anchor then and to this day was the Beatitudes. No one ever lives them fully but I thought if I could pattern my live on them then all else would fall in line.

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” These words of Charles Dickens could certainly have been descriptive of the 1970’s.The nation was embroiled in a war that split families apart, the cities were exploding with racial riots and the Roman Church was struggling with social and moral issues. The parish in microcosm was involved in all of these issues and we as priests walked a fine line. I never liked labels so there was no comfort in defining myself in a particular camp but in essence on most issues that mattered I was progressive. The danger in that is one could get caught up with serving only those of like mind. All of the people in the parish were my responsibility not only those who saw the world as I did.

The changes in the world had mammoth effects on the laity as well as the priests. In an effort to accommodate the need for more involvement the Diocese established parish councils and a priest’s senate. The parish council was to assist the pastor in the day to day operations of the parish. At Holy Trinity despite the fact that Monsignor Murphy was a congenial man who loved the people the council was a paper tiger. We had so many talented business people who would provide valuable council especially in the financial areas but Monsignor did not wish to relinquish the power of absolute financial freedom. Two of the most talented members of the council resigned after a few attempts to change the system.

On the priest side of the equation I was elected by my peers to the senate which was an organization that in theory was to assist the Bishop in policy and practice. The Bishop as always was kind and considerate but without open conflict ignored the senate. Naively I brought to the group three outstanding Human Resource executives to assist us in structure and practice. The meetings were phenomenal but the recommendations were totally ignored by the Bishop.
One area of the Senate that worked well was that any priest without permission could seek the counsel of any member of the structure. One evening about 8:30 I received a call from a priest who was one of the finest members of the club. He had been a priest for over twenty years and was deeply loved and respected. He asked if I could meet him without wearing a collar at a diner on route 22. I agreed and because I was not on duty changed clothes and drove to the diner. It was relatively empty and almost as soon as I sat and ordered coffee my brother priest poured forth his dilemma. For years he had been a compulsive gambler and though his parents had left him and his sister a small fortune he had lost it all. In addition his bookie had no idea that he was a priest and when he found out he was a member of the clergy allowed him one last chance to get even. This as all other bets failed and now the bookie was being pressed by those above him to collect or get heavy .I listened to him and finally asked “How much do you owe” I almost fell off the chair when he said “thirty six thousand dollars. “Regaining my composure I assured him that as a member of the Senate and the personnel board I would not divulge his secret but would arrange for him to get professional help. I also requested that he contact his bookie and set up a meeting with me to resolve the situation. Every nickel I had in this world came to a little over ten thousand dollars and there was no other way of raising the money without making his reputation vulnerable.

Two days past and my priest friend gave me a number to call. I presumed it was the number of his bookie. I called and explained who I was but there was little response. Finally a gruff voice gave me an address in Hoboken where I was to be on the following Thursday at 11 am. I was told in no uncertain terms that I was to come alone and not tell anyone about this meeting. I ignored the second part and sought the counsel of my brother an FBI agent and a Federal prosecutor who lived in the parish. Both insisted that I not attend this meeting. I was conflicted but decided that if I did not my friend might come to harm. I drove to Hoboken and with great effort finally found the address; it was a decrepit old warehouse. I parked the car and walked to the front entrance. There were two huge men at the door and they let me in and then apparently searching for a weapon frisked me. After this they led me into the open part of the warehouse where a man was sitting on a vegetable crate. He motioned for me to sit down on the crate next to him. In an angry voice he said “Do you have the money”? I hesitated and finally said “all I could raise was ten thousand dollars. There is no possibility of anything more.”He stared at me and with great anger in his voice said” I don’t give a s….t that a priest owes this money. I am going to take your ten grand but if he ever gambles again in New Jersey he is a dead man.If you report this meeting to the cops you will join him. “He said those words as if he was ordering lunch. Finally after giving me a death stare he took the envelope from my hands and never looked inside.He stood and with no emotion offered “Now get the hell out of here.”He did not need to tell me a second time. I bolted and drove back to Westfield grateful that I had survived this harrowing morning.The good part of this episode was that counseling helped and to my knowledge my friend never gambled again.

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The first summer at Immaculate Conception Seminary was a transition into a process that was vastly different from what I had known for the first twenty two years of my life.Everything about daily life was new and bound by the Rule. We rose at an ungodly hour and immediately responded to a voice knocking at our door thanking God in Latin for the day. Hurriedly dressing we scurried to chapel for a period of meditation which may have been easy for some but initially for me it was a time to continue sleeping. Eventually I felt more comfortable with the idea and actually could find it rewarding to clear my mind and pray for spiritual growth. Following Mass breakfast was served and the food that was offered would make Denny’s look like a five star restaurant. Back to the room for a quick bit and then off to class.

I anticipated that the studies this summer would be high caliber exploration of St.Thomas Acquinas or some of the world’s great Theologians instead it was a course called “The Gentlemanly Priest.”The premise must have been that we had been in the  deep woods for our prior lives and had been oblivious to basic social norms and customs. The professor droned on about such vital topics like how to hold your napkin on your lap while eating dinner” .The highlight was how to hold your tea cup in case you were invited to high tea. Needless to say this failed to excite my thirst for intellectual and spiritual growth.
The best part of this new found venture was spending time with the class that would be ordained the following year. Their level of maturity and readiness to serve was so apparent and we the new sheep flocked to them for guidance and development. Every few new seminarians were assigned to a Deacon and mine was a warm and friendly image of what I hoped to become.

The last few days before entering the Seminary seem totally different and somewhat filled with anxiety. The realization that for years I will no longer be  free to come and go as I please is somewhat disturbing. Having inherited the perennial Italian distrust of many rules the growing awareness that this will be a vastly different period of my life starts to sink in.My mother makes a special breakfast that I try to enthusiastically eat but my stomach reflects the growing ambivalence of my mind and spirit. My amiable and loving father is supportive but wonders privately why in heavens would a young able male go this route.

Finally the appointed time comes and as my parents chatter on the drive for once n my life I am speechless, and my mouth is as dry as the Sahahra.Approcahing the gates to Darlington Immaculate Conception Seminary I feel an urge to tell my father that this is a mistake and he should make an immediate u turn.
. Resisting the impulse we drive to the circular part in front of the main building. Greeted by seminarians who all seem to have Stepford character smiles we are escorted to my room. I am informed that I should change to a cassock and the first time I don this outfit I feel like Mary Poppins. What is a gritty city kid doing wearing a dress?
The next few hours are a blur of socializing and meeting the faculty and the rector. My parents seem to be enjoying this when all of a sudden there is the tolling of the chapel bell. All the laughter and the conversations cease and we are informed that it is time for our loved ones to leave. I feign joy as I hug and kiss my parents goodbye. Their figures going further and further away bring me to the realization that this is no longer a fantasy. Like a good sheep I enter the chapel to the melodious sounds of a pipe organ. The sensation of panic covers me and in the immortal words of the poet I wonder”what the hell am I doing here.”?

Started sketching out the somewhat autobiographical novel and the memories are exploding.One vivid one is driving to Holy Trinity parish the first time. Nervous and excited I left my family home in Jersey City and drove to Westfield. Once on the Parkway the traffic stopped dead. In the rear view mirror I could see the flashing lights of a police car in the shoulder .As he passed me he came to a screeching halt backed up at great neck speed and rolled down his window. He somehow had spotted my collar.”Follow me Father there is an accident ‘Speeding beyond my driving ability I raced to the scene of the accident. Fortunately it was only a fender bender and once cleared we all went our merry way. In about five minutes traffic stopped dead again and my new found friend came searching for me and with my heart in my mouth I whizzed like lightning in the shoulder to the accident. Again there were no major injuries so my services were not needed .This time I got out of the car and said”Officer I am on my way to my first assignment and would appreciate it if you would let me get there in one piece.” He laughed and said “OK Father but I am putting you on the list for future chaplaincy.”