“See, he didn’t even want to hurt a con man.
“The point is, Pat,” Mulroney continued, “that people like Clem Kern seem to be just what this Pope is looking for. And if the Pope is looking for something specifically, you can bet the Congregation for the Causes of Saints is looking for the same thing. And what the Pope wants-along with the traditional martyrs and the like-are individuals that ordinary people can identify with. And Clem Kern, with his smoking, his tardiness, and his lousy driving habits was a person a lot of people could identify with.
“Then, on top of that, you’ve got a guy who practically invented the corporal works of mercy. After his wake, at his funeral-altogether attended by some twenty-five thousand people, all of whom considered themselves personal friends of Clem-Frank Angelo, late of the Detroit Free Press, said that Clem Kern made Detroit a sweeter place to be. What could be a better tribute! Personally, I think he’s going to make it!”
They ate in silence for a while.
“Wait a minute …” Marvin had evidently experienced a sudden doubt; his fork was suspended between plate and mouth. “I haven’t got any solid evidence or proof-only hearsay-but, isn’t it kind of expensive? I mean, the whole process. I’ve heard that there are a lot of expenses. I can’t pin it down right now, but I know I’ve heard somebody say that. In fact, if memory serves, that is supposedly why so many religious order priests and nuns have been canonized and so few diocesan priests make sainthood. The religious orders can commit funds from their conglomerate treasure-which in large orders like the Franciscans or the Dominicans or the like can be a considerable fortune.
“But diocesan priests have-what? — a relatively small territory like Detroit or Chicago or even New York or L.A., where money is always tight. Isn’t that so? And if it is, what chance has Clem Kern got? I can’t see this archdiocese throwing a whole bunch of money at a process of canonization. For Pete’s sake, the outcome isn’t even certain. And on top of everything else, Clem Kern managed to stay rock bottom poor. Does anybody know? Is this expense thing true?”
There was no immediate response. Finally, Koesler said, “I don’t really know. But I’ve heard the same thing.”
Mulroney, making ready to address the question, laid his fork on the plate. “It’s true. It is expensive by almost anyone’s measure. In Rome, the talk is it’s in the ballpark of fifty to a hundred thousand dollars. And that doesn’t even take into consideration the significant cost of the celebration at the end of the whole process.
“But, to come up with an actual figure, you might be interested in another American, Mother Elizabeth Seton. The final tab on her canonization, from initiation to conclusion-including the whole formal process, renting fifteen thousand chairs from the Vatican, printing the souvenir programs; tickets, flowers, an official painting, and so forth-the bottom line was in excess of $250,000. And if you think that’s breathtaking, Katharine Drexel’s bill was $333,250!”
McNiff couldn’t help himself; he whistled, softly, but enough to turn several heads at nearby tables. “Where would we ever get that kind of money!”
“Not from the archdiocese of Detroit!” Koesler said without fear of correction.
“No,” Mulroney agreed, “not from the archdiocese. Not in a million years. But-and I’m not sure whether to be surprised or not-but it is coming in. Some in dribs and drabs-nickels and dimes from the ‘gentlemen of the road.’ And some thousands of dollars from the better-heeled downtown executives and firms-the very people Clem used to hit up for the cash that flowed from them through Clem to the poor.
“No, money, oddly enough, may not be as big a problem as we might think. If you recall, money was never a significant problem for Clem: He never had any. But it never was a problem. Example: One day a woman came to him with a seven-hundred-dollar gas bill that she couldn’t pay. Clem didn’t have a penny. But he told her to go home and he would take care of it. A little later that same day, some people from Grosse Pointe gave him a check for $750. And that’s the way it went for him. He was indifferent about money personally. But he always got it and he always gave it away.”
“Just a second …” McNiff was gesticulating with his fork. Happily there was no food on it. “Has it dawned on any of you that Mo has one hell of a lot of familiarity with the process of canonization and Clem Kern’s chance for it?”
“Yeah,” Marvin agreed. “We know you come up with an awful lot of arcane information, but this is out of the ordinary even for you. I mean, knowing how many saints have been canonized in the past thousand years, the A.D. 1234 date when Popes took over, how many saints were named by the present Pope in a given year, and-save the mark-how much it cost to make Drexel and Seton saints … did you bone up on this just for tonight’s conversation? And how in hell could you know we were going to get going on Clem and sainthood?”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Koesler interjected. “It was Mulroney who got us started talking about Clem. We were discussing the play we saw tonight and Mo shifted the conversation.” Koesler beamed as if he had won a contest.
Marvin shook his head in disbelief. “Even then …”
Mulroney smiled. “Both charges are true. I did steer the conversation and I did hit the books, but not just for tonight’s get-together.”
“So what’s up?” McNiff wanted to know.
Mulroney couldn’t help showing pride. “I’m part of the process. I was named about six months ago but it wasn’t to be announced until now-or, rather, next week. But I wanted to tell you guys before it hit the news. Just keep it to yourselves until the beginning of next week when the announcement’s made.”
“No kidding! No kidding!” McNiff seemed unable to get over the news. “I can’t believe it. I never thought I’d know somebody who worked on a canonization. What happens next-you go to Rome? Are you the devil’s advocate?”
Mulroney laughed. “No, I don’t go to Rome. And I’m not advocatus diaboli. As a matter of fact, along with a lot of other streamlining, they did away with the devil’s advocate.” Although, thought Mulroney, from all that had been said during this dinner, McNiff easily could qualify for the position naturally. “What they’ve got now, instead of lawyers, postulators, and devil’s advocates, is a relator, who gets a lot of help composing what is in effect a biography of the individual-the servant of God-containing the good as well as the bad. The relator picks a collaborator to actually write the document, called a positio.
“The collaborator’s usually from the same diocese as the candidate and is supposed to be trained in the historical-critical method and also in updated theology. And …” Mulroney paused. “… the collaborator in the case of Monsignor Clement Kern is Father James Mulroney.” He finished with a vocal flourish.
“No kidding!” McNiff was very impressed. “You’re a … a …”
“Collaborator,” Mulroney supplied.
“Sounds like a role out of World War II,” Koesler said. “Are you going to be involved in some sort of war crimes trial after the canonization?”
Mulroney chuckled. “Only if Clem doesn’t make it.”
McNiff was so impressed he seemed to have forgotten all about his dinner, which was only half-eaten. “You’ve been a collaborator for months? What have you been doing? Do you get to talk to the Pope?”
Mulroney kept smiling. He’d anticipated that McNiff would be most bedazzled by the news. “No, I don’t get to talk to the Pope. Maybe someday but not yet. And what have I been doing? Just going about my job very, very quietly. We’ve got to gather everything we can find that Clem wrote. That’s important to the process. We’ve got to put together anecdotes, like the ones you guys were telling tonight. Thank you very much.”