William Kienzle - Chameleon

“All this from a lady whose sister was a hooker,”

Bash spoke so quietly that only a few heard him. His murmured comment elicited a few feigned chuckles, but nothing wholehearted.

Though she could not make out what Bash had muttered, Sister Joan, aware that he’d said something and probably something shabby, was momentarily disconcerted. “I’m afraid I’ve lost my train of thought,” she apologized.

“Like it or not, look at it as a bad thing or good, it is a matter of money.” Father Bash, who, as chair, did not have to be recognized, picked up the theme. “We understand completely that without the generous sacrifice of teaching nuns the Church would not have had the courage to start the parochial school system. And now, they’re gone. For whatever reason, maybe for the reasons Sister Joan mentioned. They want to be presidents, regents, tycoons, priests ….” He smirked, knowing well that of all the prospects for equality with men, priesthood was undoubtedly the most remote.

“Whatever the reason for their no longer supplying the basic element in parochial education,” Bash continued, “the fact is they’re gone. And it’s simply going to be survival of the fittest. If that means-and I agree it probably does-that eventually the only parochial schools will be suburban-then, so be it. If we Americans can’t understand that, who can? Survival of the fittest. Capitalism. A reflection of our country.”

Archbishops, even when separated from their archdioceses, can develop the habit of speaking without benefit of recognition. “Capitalism!” Archbishop Foley’s shoulders seemed to sag as he spoke quietly and deliberately. “What in the world has capitalism got to do with Christianity?”

“Excellency …” Bash’s tone was that of the adult who deigns to speak from his level to that of a child, “… my point is that we have to face facts and make the best of reality. Realistically, the city of Detroit has experienced ‘white flight’ for decades now. And it was mostly white Catholics who built these huge churches in the city-and white Catholics who supported them.

“For whatever reason-it’s immaterial here-we never have made much headway with the blacks. The Catholic Church endured in the city because Catholics were there. They are no longer there in any significant number. But they didn’t evaporate. They’ve relocated to the suburbs and there they’ve built new schools and they support them. Supply and demand. Demand and supply. Capitalism, Whatever you want to call it, Catholic schools will close in the city because there are too few Catholics there to support them. They’ll be alive in the suburbs because that’s where the Catholics are.”

Bash wore a pleased smile. The archbishop’s teacher had completed his pupil’s lesson.

Those present no longer waited for an official recognition by the chair. Sister Joan spoke up. “That’s simplistic, Father Bash. The core city schools that remain open may have a majority of black and non-Catholic students, and the tuition is high, but the parents are sacrificing tremendously to pay that tuition. They value that quality education easily as much, maybe more, than the people who sacrificed and built those schools.”

“Ah, yes, Sister,” Bash replied, “but it is not only white flight that’s taken place in Detroit: It’s economic flight now. Of course there are a few-a very few-areas in the city that are still fairly affluent, notably the riverfront, but most of the people who still live in the rest of the city are there because they can’t afford to move out.

“Sister, my point is that it’s not only Catholics-white or black-that are moving out; it’s almost anyone who can afford to. As all of these people leave there won’t be any possible support for the high cost of maintaining a parochial school. Parochial schools in the city are terminal.”

Sister Joan regarded Bash. She’d never had the impression that he was particularly effective in the public relations arena and surely he was ineffective as a communicator. With his hubris and his macho facade he might have done well somewhere in the secular world, but, try as she might, she could think of no reason whatever why he should have become a priest. Brash Bash. It was difficult to say. She almost laughed aloud.

“I think there is something that can be done about the schools.” The Reverend Mr. Quentin Jeffrey seemed almost disinterested, as if he were the only speaker so far who had no particular ax to grind. “I’m not sure any of you want to go in this direction, but … we might play on suburban guilt feelings.”

“Guilt feelings?” Monsignor Young echoed.

“Uh-huh. White flight, or the odyssey of white and black affluence to the suburbs has been mentioned. What has not been addressed is that those who have fled-at least those among them who have sensitive consciences-are well aware that in moving they were abandoning the city. In other words, many of them have guilty consciences.”

“That’s true.” Sister Joan nodded in agreement. “Priests who are responsive to social justice and the like preach about the need for Christians to identify with victims-victims of injustice, victims of indifference and abandonment. And many of these priests speak specifically of our literal neighbors suffering in the city. Sensitive Catholics must feel some sort of guilt, especially about the separate and unequal educational opportunities of suburban and city children.”

“Exactly,” Jeffrey continued. “There are precedents galore. Cities ‘adopt’ other cities. Adults ‘adopt’ children in other countries, without ever seeing the kid. They just send money. This would be a case of a well-to-do parish with a parochial school ‘adopting’ a hard-pressed school in the core city.”

“That would never work. Before you came on the scene”-Fadier Bash tried to belittle Jeffrey by insinuating seniority-“there was an effort to link city and suburban Catholic schools by having an interchange of kids,”

“You mean,” Jeffrey said, “having the suburban kids attend the city schools and vice versa?”

“Exactly.”

“Whose idea was that?”

“The core city people.”

Jeffrey snorted. “That’s an idea whose time not only has not come, it’ll never come. A good number of parents with school-age kids moved to the suburbs for the express purpose of escaping from city schools. For good measure, add the fear that their deteriorating parochial schools in the city were likely to close. They’re not going to return to the city or send their kids-not by a long shot.

“But their conscience still bothers them. So they don’t send their kids; they send money. They ‘adopt’ a parish school and help subsidize it.”

“It won’t work!” Bash repeated himself. “If you were a priest instead of a deacon”-Bash tried to diminish Jeffrey by pulling rank-“and if you were in one of those suburban parishes, you’d know that most of those parishes are strapped for money Go on out to the trenches sometime and ask the pastors out there if their people have enough money to support two schools! You’ll find out soon enough there isn’t any money.”

Jeffrey smiled and slowly shook his head. “Father Bash, there’s always more money. Money has a peculiar talent for self-multiplication. How many times do workers go on strike while management claims it’s made its best and final offer? ‘There isn’t any more money anywhere.’ Then the strike goes on, hurting everyone. Finally, management miraculously ‘finds’ more money.

“Or a family wants some luxury-a high-priced car, a summer home, a cruise-but they can’t afford it. Happens all the time. You know it as well as I. When the family gets around to wanting whatever it is badly enough, voila: They come up with it. All it needs is a decent piece of P.R. work.”