Arthur Hailey - Evening News

It was on one of those papal journeys he met Gemma.

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Partridge was often amused at the assumption by outsiders that a papal air journey was an exercise in decorum and restraint. In fact, it wasn't. In particular, in the press section at the rear of the airplane the reverse was true. Invariably there was much partying and drinking—the liquor unlimited and free and during long overnight flights, sexual dalliance was not unknown.

Partridge once heard the papal airplane described by a fellow correspondent as having different levels, ranging—as in Dante's Inferno—all the way from hell to heaven. (While there was never any permanent aircraft earmarked for the Pope's flights, the special interior configuration for each journey was usually the same.)

At the front of the airplane on every trip was a spacious cabin outfitted for the Pope. It contained a bed and two large comfortable seats, sometimes three.

The next section back was for senior members of the Pope's entourage—his Secretary of State, some cardinals, the Pope's doctor, secretary and valet. Then, behind another divider was a cabin for bishops and lower-ranking priests.

In between one of the forward cabins, and depending on the type of airplane was an open space where all the gifts the Pope received on his journey were stored. It was inevitably a large, rich pile.

Finally there was the last cabin in the plane—for journalists. The seat configuration here was tourist, but with first-class service, many flight attendants, and superb food and wine. There were generous gifts for journalists too, usually from the airline involved which, more often than not, was Alitalia. Airlines, astute in public relations, recognized a chance for good publicity when they saw one.

As to the journalists themselves, they were an average group from their profession, an international mixture of newspaper, television and radio reporters, the television people accompanied by technical crews—all with normal interests, normal skepticism, and a penchant at times for irreverent behavior.

While no TV network would ever admit it openly, they privately preferred that correspondents reporting on religious subjects, such as a papal journey, not be committed deeply to any faith. A religious adherent, they feared, would send in cloying reports. A healthy skepticism was preferred.

In that regard, Harry Partridge filled the bill.

Some seven years after his own experiences on papal flights, Partridge greatly admired a 1987 TV news report by ABCs Judd Rose who was covering a visit by Pope John Paul II to Los Angeles. Rose successfully trod a hairline between hard news and pyrrhonism with his commentary.

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For the media capital that is Hollywood, it's a media event that's heaven-sent. All the pomp of a royal wedding, all the hype of a Super Bowl—all this with a cast of thousands and a star straight from central casting . . . Space age technology and dramatic imagery—it's the sort of thing John Paul favors and the camera loves.

[The Pope is] carefully crafted and controlled. He speaks out often but is seldom spoken to. The only time reporters can ask questions is in brief sessions on his plane when he travels . . . Media coverage has been exhaustive. The papal trip has become an electronic extravaganza like Live Aid or Liberty Weekend, and some Catholics wonder if anyone will know the difference.

Theology and technology—it's a powerful union and John Paul's using it to preach his message as no Pope before him ever could. The world is watching, but the real test of the great communicator is whether we're listening too.

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Rose was absolutely right, Partridge reminisced, about that brief opportunity to ask the Pope questions aboard the papal airplane. In fact, if it had not been for one short question-and answer exchange, what developed between himself and Gemma might never have . . .

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It was one of Pope John Paul's longer journeys—to nearly a dozen countries in Central America and the Caribbean, and was on an Alitalia DC-10. There had been an overnight flight and early the next morning, about two hours before a scheduled landing, the Pope appeared unannounced in the rear press section. He was in everyday attire — a white cassock, a zucchetto on his head, and of his feet, brown loafers—which was normal except when specially dressed for a papal mass.

He stopped near Harry Partridge, appearing pensive. Within the press cabin, TV camera lights were coming on; several reporters had tape recorders running.

Partridge stood and, hoping to ease into a reportable conversation, inquired politely, "Your Holiness, did you sleep well?”

The Pope smiled and answered, "Very few.”

Puzzled, Partridge asked, "Very few, your Holiness. Very few hours?”

There was no answer, only a slight shake of the head. While John Paul was an accomplished linguist in several languages, sometimes his English was solecistic. Partridge could have conversed adequately in Italian, but wanted the Pope's words in the language of CBA viewers.

He decided to try a more newsworthy question. For several weeks there had been discussion and controversy about a possible papal visit to the Soviet Union.”Your Holiness, “Partridge asked, "do you want to go to Russia?”

This time there was a clear, "Yes.”Then the Pope added, "The Poles, the Russians, they are all slaves. But they are all my people.”

Before anything else could be said, the Pope turned and walked away, returning to his private quarters in the airplane.

Among the reporters there was an instant hum, in several languages of questioning and speculation. The Alitalia flight attendants, who had been preparing breakfast, had stopped work and were listening intently. Someone in the press group asked, "Did you hear what he said—slaves!”

Partridge glanced at his own cameraman and sound man. Both nodded. The sound man said, "We got it.”

Somebody else was playing back a tape recording. The word "slaves”was heard distinctly.

A reporter from a British news syndicate said doubtfully, "He meant 'Slavs. ' He's a Slav himself It figures.“

“'Slaves' makes a helluva better story, “ another voice rejoined.

And so it did. Partridge knew it too. A literal reporting of the "slaves”description would arouse worldwide interest and discussion, perhaps create an international incident, with accusations and exchanges between the Kremlin, Warsaw and the Vatican. There could be embarrassment for the Pope, marring his triumphal journey.

Partridge was one of the older, more experienced hands aboard and was respected by his colleagues. Some of the others looked to him for a lead

He considered briefly, It was a lively story, something seldom encountered on a papal trip. There might not be another. His inclination, as a skeptic, was to use it. And yet . . . skepticism did not override ordinary decency; andf or some in the business, journalistic ethics did exist.

Making up his mind, Partridge said clearly, so that everyone could hear.”He meant 'Slavs.' It's obvious that he did. I'm not going to use it.”

There was no discussion, no spoken consensus or agreement, but afterward it became clear that no one else used the incident either.

As the reporters and technical crews returned to their seats, the Alitalia flight attendants resumed work

When Partridge's breakfast tray came, it contained something extra, not served to the others—a small glass vase containing a single rose.

He looked up at the young stewardess who, smiling, in her smartly tailored green and black uniform, had brought the tray. He had noticed her several times before and heard other flight attendants call her Gemma. But now he was unexpectedly breathless at her closeness and, for an instant, tongue-tied.