William Kienzle - The Greatest Evil

“Strange, isn’t it,” Tully mused, “that’s almost all gone. I took all those steps-but that was before Vatican II.”

“Yeah. I miss them.”

“So do I.”

“’Fifty-nine! We were on the verge of the Council … and we had no idea!” Koesler paused, remembering …

“It all began during Lent. We were headed for Easter-and then, things and plans had to be changed drastically.”

1959

America didn’t know it, but we were about to pass from what many were to call the Last Decade of Innocence. Vietnam would tear our country apart. And the Second Vatican Council was about to do the same favor for Catholics worldwide.

The Delvecchio family, however, had more pressing and personal problems to deal with.

To begin with-something that would test his ongoing relationship with the Delvecchio family-Father Koesler had been reassigned from the very urban St. William’s parish to the very suburban St. Norbert’s in Inkster.

In the Detroit archdiocese there existed a nonbinding understanding that assignments for assistant priests would last approximately five years. Whereas pastors were to work their parishes until either the pastor or the parish dropped.

But after only a year and a half at St. William’s, an emergency assignment had to be made. Such an occurrence usually triggered a domino effect: To keep things in working order, X numbers of priests were bumped and moved to new diggings.

So it was with Father Koesler.

It had been especially difficult in this, his second assignment, to adjust to new faces, new names, and lots of excellent people who were beginning their families. They had just started what would be a bumper crop of babies.

Koesler did not completely cut the cord that connected him to many of his special contacts at St. William’s. Chief among families he continued to visit were the Delvecchios.

They in turn welcomed him-though the only ones still at home full time were mother and daughter.

Vinnie, of course, lived at St. John’s Seminary. After Lent would come Easter and a week’s vacation. After Easter, in one’s final year, a whole bunch of things were no longer doubtful. You knew all the answers. You knew you would be ordained. Of course there were still classes and important things to learn. And there was the final oral examination just weeks before ordination. A time was assigned when the deacons would face three faculty priests who could ask anything they wished in the fields of Moral, Dogma, and Canon Law.

Vincent had no reason to be concerned with any of that; in fact, he was tutoring.

The senior students practiced offering Mass, although since they’d been attending Mass more or less daily for most of their lives, what did they need with the practice? Surprisingly, some needed a lot of help-particularly with the singing. Again, that was no problem for Vince.

He even had the gold-plated chalice he would use as a priest. He had earned almost nothing at the charity summer camp. But his mother and his two siblings had saved up and bought it for him. His mother’s engagement diamond had been set into the cup. It was a dream come true for everyone in the family.

To top it all off, Father Koesler had agreed to preach the homily at Vince’s first Mass.

Anthony was a senior at Western Michigan University in Kalamazoo. Having noted the quality of athletes entering the Big Ten universities, Tony figured it would be better for his athletic career to be a very big fish in a relatively small pond than vice versa.

So he had decided against Michigan and Notre Dame and a few others on that exalted level and accepted the free ride at WMU.

It had paid off.

He did extraordinarily well academically as well as athletically, so much so that the area sports writers felt secure in referring to him as the Bomb with the Brain.

But it was his gridiron feats that sent the writers into spasms of superlatives. His arm was “a cannon.” His eye was “unerring.” He turned the ball into “a bullet with brains.” He was “Eddie LeBaron on a ladder.” He “drank from the same volcanic cup of fiery competitiveness” as Van Brocklin. His scrambling ability, precursor of the dashes that would later make Fran Tarkenton renowned, “flummoxed” the opposing line. But where Tarkenton would gain more yards running east and west than many pro stars running north and south, Tony Delvecchio never heard of east and west; he “ran for daylight.” He “gave 110 percent.” Feisty, with a take-charge attitude, he did not accept plays from the sidelines, but kept the opposition on their toes with his imaginative and “bodacious” calls.

In the autumn of his senior year, as the pro draft loomed, the question was: How high up would Tony be selected? A first-round pick, especially for a quarterback, promised gold and glory. Look at Len Dawson, the Purdue powerhouse who was the Steelers’ first-round draft pick in 1957: He had made it big. All agreed Tony Delvecchio deserved that ranking. But … from Kalamazoo?

Some doubts lingered as to how well Tony would do against professionals. But whether or not well founded, hope was high. And then the roof fell in.

The first four rounds of the pro draft came and went without a nibble. Tony, his coach, his teammates, his family, and his friends, were dumbfounded.

Tony put as good a face on it as possible. Okay, so I didn’t get picked right off. I guess I should’ve expected that; I mean, after all, look at the guys they did pick: all from big-name, powerhouse schools. If I had it to do over, I guess I wouldn’t’ve buried myself in Kalamazoo. But there’s still the other rounds …

The remaining rounds were held in January. But by the time the thirtieth round had passed by without the name Delvecchio being mentioned, Tony was not only having second thoughts, he was devastated.. His entire college career had been predicated on a future in pro football. Now what?

He’d have to make some calls … Coach might have some connections … maybe some pro club out there needed a backup quarterback … and, after all, he did have those press clippings …

Though down, Tony was far from out. He pulled himself together. He was young, he had talent, he had hopes, he had ideals. Never say die!

Lucy was about to graduate from St. William’s high school. Which, due to a pastoral eccentricity, was exclusively for young women.

St. William’s elementary school was coed. But when it came to high school, the pastor volunteered parish money to pay half the tuition charged by all-male De LaSalle Collegiate. It was a deal, as he saw it, where the parish saved money in the long run by not having to spring for expensive coaches and sports programs.

Lucy hadn’t cottoned to the setup. But after tears and a tantrum or two, she settled down and went along with being part of an all-girls school. And had to admit there were distinct advantages in the uniform, in not having to compete for boys, and in maintaining a. longstanding tradition.

Now her thoughts zeroed in on graduation activities: breakfasts, lunches, dinners, caps and gowns, musical and social events, and, as the top priority, the prom.

Lucy had an extra complication that, as far as could be ascertained, no other young lady faced during this graduation hoopla: She had a brother who was going to be a priest. As a matter of fact, her graduation Mass would be his first Solemn Mass. How’s that for being eclipsed?

If that were not enough-and it clearly was more than enough-another brother was graduating, not from high school, but from college. Not only that, but his picture was all over the local newspapers-the sports sections anyway.

Nobody was interested in Lucy’s grade average: 3.8, thank you very much. Everybody was busy conjecturing about her brother Tony’s career.