Bishop as Pawn Page 0,3
clenched teeth Carleson replied, “That’s only temporary.”
“Temporary?” Echlin chuckled mirthlessly. “Not if he thinks he can make your life truly miserable.”
Carleson didn’t respond.
But Ernie Bell did. He almost exploded. Seemingly, the mention of the bishop’s name had roused him. “Diego! That bastard! Diego, that goddam bastard!”
“What’s the matter with Diego?” Dempsey wondered.
“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