The Pope Came to Town
Pope John Paul II
Philadelphia, PA
October 1979
There was been so much talk about his visit but it just
seemed as if he was never coming. The plans were larger-than-life. The city and
outlying areas braced itself just like people do for bad hurricane. We stocked
up on food. Businesses shut down for the day. The mayor’s office released
warnings to the general public on a regular basis.
Extra buses and trains were added to the daily commute
schedule. Portable stadium bleachers were brought in and assembled up and down
the street. Hundreds of Porta-pottys were scattered around town. Barricades
were put up. Streets are blocked off. As there was excitement in the air. The Pope
was coming to Philadelphia. It was October 1979 at that time of year when the
days were starting to be shorter but they were still glorious. The sun still
hit on your back in midafternoon. At a dusk a light jacket would do the trick
keeping you warm.
I was 23 and working in town. I worked for a Jewish firm so
I didn’t get the day off. But we did close at noon as most companies did. The
mayor’s office had declared the day at the state of emergency and ask that only
essential workers stay in town. So in essence the whole city was shutting down
at noon so that those people who have no interest in the pope could get the
hell out of town. And then those who wanted to see the Pope had enough time to do
so. At least that was the projected plan; the exit and entrance into the city
that day was chaotic.
On the morning of the great visit I arrived at the train
station at 8:10 to catch my usual train to work. Usually 50 of us would board
that train. Today the station was mobbed. Over 200 people lined the tracks,
mostly nuns in full habits and long rosary beads. Some of them mumbled the
rosary as they waited.
The train pulled up and it was already overflowing to
capacity. No one got off and four or five people were stuffed on and the train
took off without me which meant I was going to be late for work.
Another train came by a few minutes but it didn’t even stop.
And then another train and another train passed us without even stop stopping.
Finally, around 840 my sister showed up at the train
station. She was on her way to Temple University to take her first exam in her
MBA program. She was surprised to see me and I conveyed the bad news: we were
in a battleground with these nuns.
A train pull-up and there was a glimmer of hope. The door opened
and people were allowed on. But clearly we could see that not enough people
were going to be allowed on. Sharon panicked because she sensed she was going
to be late for her exam. So being the older sister I made a general plea: “Okay
all you good Christians, please let my sister on first. She has an exam at
Temple at 9:30”.
Well I wasn’t expecting the parting of the seas, I did think
a few people would take pity on her and let her on. But no, that didn’t happen.
No one took pity on her. But their indifference did give me the chutzpah to go
toe-to-toe with the nuns. We did get Sharon on and she was not late for her
exam.
I finally made it to work an hour late. But so, did
everybody else. And we spent the rest of the morning talking about and worrying
about getting home. My boss tried not to say anything negative about the pope
even though he clearly was not pleased with this Catholic moment.
In addition to no effort on anyone’s part to work that day,
we were filled with family visitors. Anyone who planned to go to the Pope’s
mass was there for the rest of the day and most of them brought their entire
family with them. So, children and elderly aunt and cousins sat on our desks
and windowsills. They encumbered our restrooms and they photocopied words to
hymns and prayers.
Those few co-workers who did not want to go to see the Pope
found all this to be distasteful. Those who wanted to see the Pope fed on their
enthusiasm like an infectious disease which was becoming more and more
contagious with every hour.
Most of our visitors had piles of food. But there wasn’t a
whole lot of sharing, outside of the immediate family. There was a sense the
city was going to run out of food, clothing and shelter by the end of today. So,
food had to be distributed judiciously.
It was noon and everyone charged out of the office with the
same chaos as the running of the bulls. Those who weren’t interested in seeing
the Pope got the hell out of Dodge. The rest of us strategized on how to get as
close to the altar as possible.
The Pope’s alter was circular and it was built right in the
center of Franklin Boulevard, the main road through the city. Color-coded
tickets were issued via a Catholic Caste the system to everyone the prior month.
The white tickets, pure as snow, were given to the nuns and priests. The blue
tickets were given to those Catholics who made big donations to the church. The
green tickets were giving to the parish administrations who held lotteries for
lucky parishioners. And then there were those of us who have no tickets. It was
suggested that we just go home and watching on television.
I was with my co-worker Trudy and her daughter Valerie.
Trudy had to green tickets and was about to make her way to the green section
when I told her not to be so ridiculous. I just knew that there would be no way
to control the ticket system with this larger crowd. I convinced Trudy to come
with me as I attempted to make our way to the blue section. Trudy was hesitant
but she appeased me. I felt a great sense of victory. But that was short-lived
as the security force was able and did monitor the ticket holders. Now I was
sunk. Trudy was just about to leave me when a man walked up to me and asked if
I needed a blue ticket. He had a stack in his hand. I brazenly asked for three.
I figured if he only gave me one I would still take it and then join Trudy in
the green section. He gave us three tickets and we were allowed in with the
Catholic heavy-hitters.
We found perfect seats:
right on the steps of the Franklin Institute. And everyone there shared
my enthusiasm for our good fortune. We had a seat with the backrest. We were
out of the sun. We could see the altar without any obstruction. I was feeling
smug and Trudy was overjoyed with her good fortune.
It was only 2 PM and Mass wasn’t to start until five. But
that time went quickly as everyone had a story to tell. One woman bragged about
her daughter who was at the airport holding the L in the sign Viva
La Papa. One man had a nephew who is going to be one of the dozen alter
boys. A mother bragged about her son who
worked as a US marshal and was going to provide security for the pope. There
were stories about how everyone got into town this morning. And we talked about
how we got our blue tickets.
Then we all reviewed and discovered who we knew from each
other’s parishes. And then food came out and people shared what they had. And
we saved each other spot as we needed to make our way to the long lines of the
porta-potty. We were community.
Someone had a portable television and announced the arrival
of the Pope’s plane. We cheered and cheered and cheered. And then this man
served as the play-by-play announcer for the next hour.
“He’s coming out of
the plane.”
“He is waiting to the
crowd.”
“The Mayor’s greeting
him. They’re shaking hands and laughing about something.”
“He’s getting in the limo.”
“There seems to be
some sort of delay.”
“Okay the limo took
off. The motorcade just left the airport. He’s on his way.”
This man filled us with so much detail that I could just see
the Pope coming up Broad Street, waving to the crowd. Any minute now he was
going to enter Logan Circle and I was going to see the Pope for the first time.
In addition to the man’s commentary, the cheers of the crowd
announce the Pope’s arrival. I could tell he was coming from the left because
there was so much commotion, so much excitement. That shiny black limousine rolled
down the parkway. I could see the pope standing up in the back, waving and
giving the peace sign. And the crowds cheered and cheered and cheered. We were
all overjoyed. He was just a little white specs in his white cassock and
skullcap. But the magnitude of his presents overwhelmed all 250,000 of us.
His car stopped at the foot of the alter and he got out. He
slowly ascended the stairs as if he was floating up into heaven. It was
becoming dusk now. The sun was starting to set and the air was becoming crisp.
But everything felt warm and loving.
The Mass was like a Broadway show. Everything was
orchestrated and executed as planned. When the pope gave his homily, his words
reverberated and boomerang around us. His comments filled our space. And when
the Mass ended and he slowly made his way down the stairs, we were all
exhausted. And as his cars pulled away from us, we sat in silence trying to
take it all in. it had been a wonderful, exhilarating moment.
Getting home was much easier than I had anticipated. It
seemed as if there were hundreds of trains available. People were ushered on
like cattle at the slaughterhouse. I got home in no time.
When I arrived home at my parents’ house, I noticed there
were lots of cars parked in the street. This was very unusual. My brother
informed that the Pope was having dinner at St. Charles Seminary, right around
the corner. He was expected to leave there in an hour and then go up to the
Cardinal’s house. I wanted to go see him again. I had become a pope junkie. I
needed another fix.
My brother decline my
offer to join me. “I’m tired of all this pope shit. Enough already”.
I went next door to see if my friend, Helen, wanted join me.
Her mother informed me that Helen hadn’t made it home yet. And then she
informed me that neither had her husband. Apparently as the head of the city parking
authority, he was holed up in a hotel with his co-workers and they all gotten
drunk in honor of the pope.
So now Mrs. Dougherty
was annoyed and she was making herself a tall Manhattan.
“Do you want one?
Want a Manhattan?” she offers.
“No. I want to go to
the Pope. Do you want to come with me?” I asked her.
“No.” She is adamant.
“Please”, I beg in a
sweet voice.
“No.” She didn’t
waver.
“I’ll drink a Manhattan
with you if you come with me”, I tell her in my manipulative voice.
We had a Manhattan together which was trying for me because
I don’t like to drink hard liquor. I’m a beer drinker. So, I gulp my Manhattan
the same way I drink beer. And that I firmly placed my glass on the table.
“Okay, let’s go,” I
tell her.
“Wait. You aren’t
supposed to gulp like that. You sip Manhattans. Have another one”.
My glass was filled again and she topped her drink off for
good measure. I finally convinced her that we had to get going. But she
insisted that we take our drinks with us. So off we went to see the Pope with
our Manhattans in hand.
When we got to the seminary, people were lined up on either
side of the street patiently waiting. Everyone was filled with excitement and stories
of the day. Someone with the transistor radio announced, “He just left. The
news reporter said he just left”.
Less than minute later I heard the crowd announce his
arrival. we cheered and clap and sang as he came into our line of vision. I was
standing no further than 5 feet away from him. I could see every jester, every
muscle in his face. It had been a long day. It must’ve been around 9 PM but he
didn’t look the least bit tired. It was almost as if we were energizing him.
There was a magnetic force between him and us. I was drawn to him.
His car slowly rolled down Lancaster Avenue which was
blocked off for him. The driver turned left on to City Avenue. As his car took
that left turn, some inner voice call to me. I heard it in my head, “go get
him. Don’t let him getaway”. I
spontaneously call to Mrs. Dougherty and told her to join me. And she did. The
two of us begin to chase the Pope, Manhattan glasses in hand. Suddenly I saw
Greg, my neighbor. He joined us in the chase. He didn’t ask me any questions. I
offered no explanation. Greg just seemed to understand we could not let this
man and this moment get away from us.
But it did get away from us. The driver picked up speed and
left us in a cloud of exhaust. We ran for about a quarter mile before we
realize that it was over. The pope was gone and this magical day was
finished. Viva la Poppa.
After-Six Formal Wear
After-Six Formal Wear
