Paul I. Murphy 1983 w/R. Rene Arlington. Warner Books ISBN 0-446-51258-3
--[2]--
Upon becoming archbishop, Spellman immediately went to work to clear up not only the New York archdiocese's financial plight but that of the Church throughout the United States. Unknown to Catholics and even to many within the hierarchy in the United States, near chaos characterized the Holy See's financial affairs in America. Long-overdue debts had accumulated to almost $200 million nationally, in addition to the $28 million owed by the New York archdiocese. Spellman named as his financial adviser his longtime friend John A. Coleman, one of Wall Street's ablest and most influential brokers. From then on the Holy See in America was into big business in a big way.
In their successful drive to turn the heavily debt-ridden New York archdiocese into the richest in the world, the ambitious pair began by playing upon Spellman's "amazing capacity for getting things done by the give-and-take of favors through powerful people." Day after day they staged luncheons and dinners with bankers, industrialists, Wall Street traders, corporate executives, labor leaders, real estate brokers, financial editors-anyone of influence in any field.
Titles in the Knights of Malta, the Holy See's most prestigious organization of laymen, were offered as bait to the wealthy and powerful who sought personal gilding in exchange for funds and favors. The title of knight became so eagerly sought after by Catholic laymen that it was not uncommon for an aspiring applicant to give Spellman from $50,000 to $100,000 for the honor. Some Catholics were known to have paid the New York archbishop as much as $200,000 to be named a knight.
Spellman became so greatly indebted to Coleman and trusted him so implicitly that he eventually appointed the financier to the top post of the Knights of Malta. From then on Coleman was known as "The Pope of Wall Street."
The archbishop took Knights of Malta funds and sums from another of the Church's secretive male organizations, the Knights of Columbus, to use as seed money for investments. The New York archdiocese also established its own bank, the Archdiocesan Reciprocal Loan Fund, to borrow and lend money. Soon the high-pressure team of Spellman and Coleman began making deal after deal-huge multimillion-dollar transactions-principally with the Catholic establishment's elite in big business, industry, and commerce.
In one deal alone during Spellman's reign $30 million was invested through Coleman in the purchase of stock in National Steel, Lockheed, Boeing Aircraft, Curtiss-Wright, and Douglas Aircraft. Large Church investments also were made in other leading U.S. corporations, including Goodyear, Firestone,, General Foods, Procter & Gamble, Standard Oil, Westinghouse, and Colgate-Palmolive.
A considerable interest in the Lambert Pharmaceutical Company, manufacturer of Listerine Antiseptic, was bequeathed to Spellman by the firm's founder and later sold by the archbishop for $25 million.
Spellman was rarely one to let personal feelings or ethics stand in the way of opportunity. He heatedly denounced from the pulpit certain motion pictures that he considered unfit and immoral. Forever Amber and Baby Doll, both made by Paramount, were loudly condemned by him. Spellman nevertheless viewed Paramount, despite its Church-censored movies, as a particularly wise investment. Just how heavily the Holy See invested in the motion picture company in later years has never become known, since the stock was traded through disguised channels.
Almost all Church investments have been made through dummy corporations, or in the names of those commissioned to act as straws. The negative image of a religious organization being into big business in a big way has been the chief consideration for its coverture.
Spellman even drew upon his personal hobbies in considering investments. An avid baseball fan and even a fairly good player himself while in high school and college, he thirsted for the glamor of owning a part of the New York Yankees. Though the team was not for sale at the time, Spellman-using Knights of Columbus funds settled for the purchase of the Yankee Stadium grounds and the surrounding parking lots.
Always the pragmatist, morality stood second to money on Spellman's list of priorities. His attacks were frequent on show business people for what he considered the entertainment industry's "loose morals," yet that did not stop the archbishop from building a close relationship of his own with Broadway showgirl Mabel Gilman Corey. When Corey became widowed from her wealthy steel- magnate husband, William E. Corey, Spellman persuaded the former dancing beauty to turn over to him her entire $5 million inheritance.
In a handwritten letter to the Chase Manhattan Bank, Corey directed the transfer of all her wealth to Spellman's New York archdiocese. She wrote:

GENTLEMEN:

I desire to transfer my bank balances and all securities and property belonging to me, of which you are custodian, to the Archdiocese of New York. Will you please deliver to His Eminence, Francis Cardinal Spellman, or his representative, a current statement of my assets and give your cooperation in promptly effecting the transfer of title.
Very truly yours,
MABEL GILMAN COREY

Another show business personality-the famed Major Edward Bowes, who made millions in the 1930s and 1940s introducing future stars on his hit Amateur Hour radio show willed $3 million of his $4.5 million estate to Spellman.
Even the Mafia bent to kiss Spellman's ring. New York mobster Frank Costello, who along with Lucky Luciano dictated the U.S. underworld's illicit drug and prostitution operations, was particularly taken by Spellman's Church authority and charm. Through Spellman's connection with Costello the magnificent bronze doors of New York's Saint Patrick's Cathedral were presented as a gift to the Church.

Though Spellman was by far the greatest business head the Church has ever had in America, he was not the first U.S. churchman to connect the Holy See with commercial ventures. Perhaps the biggest undertaking in earlier years was its important role in the establishment of the Bank of America. Though this was long before Spellman's time, it remained for the coming of the Spellman era for the Holy See to reap the profits of its early investment, a mere $150,000 for which the Church received 51 percent of the bank's stock. During the Spellman years the bank built its assets to over $25 billion.

According to Father Richard A. Ginder, a well-respected writer and priest specializing in Catholic financial affairs, the Holy See's influence in America's financial life grew to staggering proportions during the Spellman years. Writing in the Catholic publication "Our Sunday Visitor" in 1960, Father Ginder described the wealth of the Holy See in the early 1960s in these terms: "The Church is the biggest corporation in the United States ... and our roster of dues-paying members is second only to the tax rolls of the United States Government."
At one point in Spellman's career Fortune magazine reported that the revenues of the New York archdiocese alone exceeded $150 million annually, and his parochial schools were worth another $22 million. But it was Spellman's financial wizardry that proved to be the archbishop's greatest asset.
In one deal alone the archbishop got New York's City Hall to pay him $8.8 million for land and some old buildings valued at a fraction of the amount. The site and its structures, located in upper Manhattan, belonged to Manhattanville College, owned by the New York archdiocese. Spellman then quickly turned around and bought 250 acres of far more preferable property in the rich estate area of Purchase, New York, which he picked up for a mere $400,000. There the prelate built a new and ultramodern Manhattanville College, largely with the millions from his deal with New York's City Hall.
Without doubt the Holy See's interests in gambling-particularly bingo-also contributed considerably to its wealth. Legalized in New York State on January 1, 1959, nearly nine years prior to Spellman's death on December 2, 1967, Catholic organizations in New York realized nearly $90 million from bingo operations alone in the decade ending in 1969.
The additional advantage to the Church remained in its unique nonprofit designation, which enabled the Holy See to earn its fortunes without payment of taxes.
A staunch believer that "money makes money," Spellman spent huge sums as fast as the funds came in. He frequently invested as much as $90 million a year in construction. The money went into the building of 130 Catholic schools, 37 churches, and 5 large hospitals, along with numbers of other institutions.
Within just a few years Spellman had created a cash surplus for his archdiocese of about $182 million. As time went on he was to rule a real estate empire for the Church in New York that has been estimated in the billions of dollars.
"Is it any wonder that some of the hierarchy in Rome were so envious of Eminence Spellman?" Pascalina recalled with a wry smile. "Eminence Tisserant, who was least appreciative of all the good work being done in the New York archdiocese, would refer to Eminence Spellman as 'Cardinal Moneybags.'"
On one occasion Tisserant's derision almost got the nun in trouble. She told the Holy Father that a special friend was arriving the next day with a sackful of money. Pius at first was only half listening, but before all of her words were out, he abruptly looked up from his desk, and in a tone of great interest he asked: "Who is this special and generous friend?"
"Cardinal Moneybags," she blurted out without realizing), What she was saying. The Pope's look of amazement caused her insides to quake with embarrassment, and she felt the hot flush on her face swiftly rise to her temples. She was sure that the Holy Father was incensed with her, but Pius's face quickly relaxed. With no sign whatsoever now of what he was thinking, he said in calm voice: "When referring to Excellency Spellman, you mustn't call him 'cardinal' while he's still only archbishop." Pascalina thought she saw a faint smile on the Pope's lips as he nonchalantly returned to his paperwork.
The next day the nun felt even more regretful of her words when Spellman himself arrived, acting his old jolly self again. He first planted a warm kiss on her cheek, then, while beaming a broad smile, he handed her a big black satchel stacked with American currency and checks. "This is for His Holiness!" he exclaimed in his old effervescent manner. Spellman bent close to her ear, and like an errant youth-the picture she so often had of him in her mind-he whispered: "There's a million dollars inside!"
"And how much is there for me?" she asked jokingly.
The archbishop reached into his pocket and pulled out a quarter. Handing her the coin, he retorted playfully, "It's all I have left." He broke into laughter, and she laughed heartily too. It was wonderful seeing Spellman again as his "old and lovable self."
Loyal Spellman never failed Rome in his generosity. Throughout his reign as head of the New York archdiocese he dutifully remembered Pius every year with his customary $1 million donation.
Nor did Spellman fail Roosevelt. Early in World War II the U.S. President put the clever archbishop's special talents to important use in behalf of the nation. FDR's problem was a very real one, with serious consequences for the Allies. In the three months after Pearl Harbor, Nazi sabotage had been wreaking havoc with U.S. and other Allied troop and supply ships off the Northeast coast. Hitler's German-American Bund, comprising large numbers of German-American Nazi sympathizers, was largely responsible for the destruction of vessel after vessel critical to the war effort. Twenty-one ships were torpedoed in January, another twenty-seven in February, and fifty in March, causing what was described by historian Rodney Campbell as a naval disaster approaching that of Pearl Harbor. The most humiliating and devastating of the attacks by the Bund was upon the huge French luxury liner the S.S. Normandie, which the German sympathizers on February 9, 1942 set aflame and capsized at its Manhattan berth. The Normandie said to be able easily to outrun the fastest U-boat was being converted at the time into a major troop carrier, capable of transporting an entire division overseas.
Spellman was called to the White House for an emergency meeting with the President. FDR confided his utter frustration to the archbishop, who by then had become military vicar of the U.S. armed forces. Spellman was told that the Germans "are winning the battle of the Atlantic." In spite of America's great resources, control of the Eastern Seaboard was in the hands of the German- American Bund and Nazi submarines, the archbishop was told. Not only did the Germans have accurate information long in advance of sailing dates of the carriers and cargo ships, but a deadly cordon of U-boats lurked off the U.S. coast. The Nazis, according to the President, were sinking U.S. and British ships almost at will.
Roosevelt was convinced that only the Mafia, with its control of the docks along the East Coast waterfront, could stop the sabotage. FDR's thinking was that Mafia leaders, who sprang from Catholic heritage, could be inspired by a prelate of the Holy See to take countermeasures for the sake of their country. The President was sure that Spellman, because of his manipulative power and devoted patriotism, was the prelate of choice for the job.
Spellman was stunned for the moment by the President's startling request, but the priest was too experienced to display his feelings. The idea of a prominent leader of the Holy Roman Catholic Church approaching a crime boss of the underworld for a favor, even one in behalf of the United States government, seemed unthinkable at the time to the archbishop.
Yet Spellman felt certain that the President was all too aware that Frank Costello, the underworld's "prime minister" and a member of the Mafia's national council, was a regular churchgoer. Costello was occasionally seen praying at Saint Patrick's Cathedral, Spellman's own church, and the archbishop was known to have at least a speaking relationship with the mobster.
"I shall first have to confer with the Holy Father for permission," Spellman told Roosevelt. The archbishop was secretly praying that the Pope would say no; that would still leave  Spellman in a good position with the President.

Noting Spellman's hesitation, FDR chewed on his cigarette holder during a moment of serious thought; then, pulling it from his lips in a gay gesture and with head smugly cocked and a roguish smile, he said: "There is no substitute for victory, my dear Bishop. Tell the Holy Father for me what my good friend Winston [Churchill] so wisely said in defining wartime morality. 'If by some strange stroke of fate the devil came out in opposition to Adolf Hitler, I should feel constrained, at least, to make a favorable reference to the devil in the House of Commons.'"

Pascalina had never seen Spellman so distraught as the day he arrived in the Vatican in late March 1942. He paced her office in circles and was wringing his hands as the words tumbled out nervously. "The President wants me to seek a deal with the underworld for the United States government," the archbishop told her in confidence. "How am I to present such a horrible idea to the Holy Father? And how can I afford to turn down Roosevelt?"
The archbishop had always seemed so in control of himself that the nun was more surprised by his emotional undoing than by his words. "Nothing that any politician says or seeks surprises me any longer," she replied matter-of- factly, trying to avoid answering his question directly.
"Would you please broach the subject with the Holy Father before I speak with him?" he asked in near-pleading manner. "I will then be guided by your advice."
Pascalina hesitated, then agreed reluctantly. "I did not think it fair to be placed in the center of such a controversial matter," she said later. "I went along with His Excellency's request only because of the respect and friendship I had for him."
But she got no further with the Pope than if Spellman had tried himself. The Holy Father was too experienced in diplomacy to personally turn a deaf ear to a president so powerful as Roosevelt. The United States, with its huge Catholic population and vast wealth and resources, had been steadily opening its arms to the Vatican, and Pius was as anxious as FDR to keep their relationship rosy.
She found Pius equally anxious to avoid facing Spellman directly on the issue- to the archbishop's own relief. "Mother Pascalina, you are such a splendid diplomat in such matters," the Holy Father said smoothly when they were alone in his office. "Whisper in our American friend's ear that he has no need to bring up such talk with me. It would be far more pleasant if His Excellency and I confined our private audience tomorrow to a brief prayer." The Pope smiled and tapped a loving touch on the nun's shoulder. As he opened the door to let her out, Pius added softly, "I have full confidence in Archbishop Spellman's discretion. The decision is his."
And so began what the United States government code-named "Operation Underworld." Spellman, as military vicar of the U.S. armed forces, was advised to meet with Lt. Commander Charles R. Haffenden for his instructions. As commander of the Third Naval District, Haffenden was responsible for the safety of all U.S. troopships and cargo vessels along the Eastern Seaboard.
The naval officer instructed the archbishop to contact Mafia boss Frank Costello and talk with him at a clandestine rendezvous.
The unlikely pair met in a lower Manhattan tenement house. When Spellman arrived, Costello rushed forward to greet him. The mobster knelt and kissed the archbishop's ring.
"We all have a patriotic duty to perform for our country in time Of war," Spellman told Costello.
The gangster professed his patriotism and assured the archbishop of his good intentions.
"I am both honored and overjoyed to be of service to my church and to my country," Costello replied.
Weeks later Spellman again met with the President. This time, the prelate exuded great confidence. Costello's promises had already produced results. The swiftness of the Mafia attack was startling even to the President. Word had gone out from Lucky Luciano, with whom Costello had conferred, ordering the immediate halt of all sabotage of U.S. troopships and cargo vessels. Luciano, boss of bosses of the U.S. underworld, though serving thirty to fifty years behind bars in New York State's prison at Dannemora, had the power to do what the U.S. government had consistently been unable to accomplish.
Even as the President and Spellman met, Mafia lieutenants and soldiers in charge of the docks were countering the Nazi saboteurs all along the Eastern coastal ports. Within weeks the entire waterfront was quiet.
The U.S. government rewarded Luciano handsomely for his efforts. After he had served only a fifth of his fifty-year term, the federal government pressured the state of New York to release the gangster. In 1946, a year after the war in Europe ended, Luciano was set free and deported to Naples.
Luciano's release would have been effected earlier but for a dilemma in Washington. The White House feared public reaction at turning the mobster loose and allowing him to remain in the country. Yet Luciano could not be returned to his native land while Mussolini remained alive. Il Duce had fought the Mafia for years and would not permit any compromise. It was only after the fascist dictator was assassinated in 1945 that the U.S. government moved to free Luciano.
Pascalina was later asked if Pius XII's papacy had collaborated with the White House in helping Luciano obtain sanctuary in Italy. The nun refused to comment.
If the Church did participate, it would be difficult to explain its actions in lending a helping hand to a hardened criminal, especially one under sentence of up to fifty years for heading a prostitution ring. Then there was Luciano's crime record after arriving back in Italy, where, following months of boring idleness, Luciano was back in the rackets. This time the Mafia's boss of bosses was directing a narcotics syndicate, illegally transporting drugs from Sicily to the United States.
Luciano died of a heart attack on January 28, 1962, at the Naples airport. He had gone there to meet a film producer interested in doing his life story. His death at sixty-five, Italian police said, occurred just as they were about to arrest him for running a huge international drug ring that had smuggled $150 million worth of heroin into the United States during the previous ten-year period.
"It was a blessing when he [Luciano] passed away," Pascalina recalled. "I remember saying a prayer to Jesus for the repose of his soul."

When Spellman himself died in 1967, the Church in the United States, which he had found debt-ridden twenty-eight years before, had assets exceeding $80 billion.
The Holy See also reached the peak of its spiritual influence in America during Spellman's twenty-eight-year reign. Church membership in the United States showed an impressive rise. From about 21 million in 1939, the Catholic population grew to over 45 million at the time of Spellman's death.
Never before in the new world was the faith of Catholics in their Church more apparent or less challenged than during Spellman's golden age of Catholicism. The communicants were prompted by his autocratic regime to think in terms of the absolutes of right and wrong. They were fired as well by preachings of self-denial with no room for compromise. In the United States, at least, it was an unequaled period of both "blind faith" and remarkable generosity toward the Holy See.
In the early days of Pius XII's reign, when Spellman's appointment as archbishop of New York was so bitterly attacked by the Church hierarchy, blame and condemnation were heaped upon Pascalina for pressuring in his behalf. But even though Spellman proved himself in exemplary fashion, doing better than the papacy dared dream, not once did anyone within the Vatican or elsewhere throughout the Church acknowledge that but for the nun's intercession for her friend, the Church in America might well have remained where Spellman found it-in dire straits.
pps. 181-191
=====
XI
World War II ended with the formal surrender of the Japanese on September 2, 1945. Eight days before, Pascalina had turned 51. The Pope was then nearly seventy, and at times as much a mystery to the nun as when she had first met him twenty-eight years earlier.
The world had no sooner settled down amid its hopes and prayers for a lasting peace, than Pascalina detected ominous new clouds gathering on the Vatican's own horizons in the form of rumored crimes and scandals within the Holy See. If true, the allegations could be devastating to Catholicism, all the more so were they to become public.
It was claimed that the Church in Sicily had fallen into corruption, the accusations made in an anonymous letter that was slipped under the nun's office door late one night. The unsigned correspondence said further that Catholic priests and monks were agents of the underworld. Confessionals were allegedly being used by the clergy as spy centers to gather information on persons opposed to the Mafia. The clerics were charged with making notes of what they heard for underworld figures.
The Sicilian peasantry, living in pathological fear of the Mafia, would never have dared to talk had they not trusted their priests. The people chose to obey the Mafia's code of omerta and suffered in silence rather than face the terrible wrath of organized crime. Whole communities bowed their heads in pathetic resignation, their ignorance and poverty fueling the Mafia's crimes. In one place alone, the town of Mazzarino, the Mafia's reign of terror was hurled at everyone who spoke in the confessional of their hatred of the underworld. Catholic men and their wives and children became the horrified victims of the hooded Franciscan friars, or witnesses to their brutal crimes. Mazzarino was under siege by brown-robed clerics who had taken vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience in the Order of Saint Francis, one of the most respected religious bodies within the Holy Roman Catholic Church. Their leaders were Padre Carmelo, Friar Agrippino, Friar Vittorio, and Friar Venanzio. There was murder by hanging or beheading, there was attempted murder, there were sexual assaults and orgies, there was extortion. There seemed no end to the crimes.
"I am afraid!" were trembling words heard whispered everywhere by the cowering peasants. The people grew all the more terrified with the awful realization that their trusted priests had turned upon them and had squealed their secrets to captains and soldiers of the Mafia. Though they had taken vows of poverty, the bearded Franciscans were shrewd businessmen, too, buying and selling property and pocketing the sky-high profits. They were even into loan sharking, lending money at exorbitant rates of interest.
Even some of the kindliest of friars carried guns and cooperated with the worst criminals. One group of priests eventually confessed that they themselves committed all sorts of crimes. "The Mafia exists," Friar Vittorio said as he stood accused. "We had to come to terms [with the Mafia] to avoid the worst in the village." Another priest, Friar Agrippino, declared, "If we don't obey, they'll kill us."
It was not surprising that Pascalina. was first among the upper echelon of the papacy to be alerted to these crimes. Since she was confidante to the Pope and his closest friend, it was well known in the Vatican that anyone hoping to reach Pius's mind or heart would find the virgo potens (powerful virgin), as she became known, the best pathway. Letters by the hundreds addressed to the Holy Father, many in care of the nun, poured into her office each week. At his request she screened scores of them, until her eyes were blurred and red.
She would also listen for hours almost every day to lines of people, nonclergy as well as priests, bishops, and even cardinals, hearing their "endless ideas, speculations, and grievances." Once she became so exasperated that she complained to the Holy Father: "It seems that everyone has a complaint, or secret information, or plan that supposedly offers better ways of doing everything!"
Pascalina said nothing to the Pope about the letter of clerical indictment, nor hinted of its charges. She felt that he had enough on his mind, and she did not want to trouble him with what might well be baseless speculation.
As time passed the tales of the Sicilian crimes were more frequently heard by her and came from a number of reliable sources. Still, she continued to cup her ears whenever anyone as much as touched upon what she termed "baseless scandal." She even refused to be moved by a young priest who came to her with substantially the same charges, telling him that it all sounded like "such preposterous nonsense." The nun was sure that prejudiced persons, out to destroy the Church, had "concocted the stories in their entirety" from the start, and now "unfortunately even those who love the Holy See believed the ridiculous claims."
"Except for Jews, there were many non-Catholics in those days who would manufacture any sort of wild charge to discredit Holy Mother Church," she later recalled. "I've never known a Jewish person who attacked the Holy See in vile manner. It is not in the Jewish character to behave that way. But, unfortunately, there were those who still clung to the sad memories of pre- Reformation days. It was persons of such bitter mind whom I first blamed for the atrocious attacks on the Church in Sicily."
After several months Pascalina grew so troubled by the increasing frequency of the attacks upon the character of the Sicilian clergy that she finally decided to reveal everything to the Holy Father. Fearing the shock and drain it would have upon him, and not wanting to spoil his Christmas holidays, she waited until early January 1947.
Yet the Pope was not as moved as she had expected. After hearing her out, he remained as unconvinced as she herself originally had been. "Mother Pascalina!" he said as he shook his head in amazed disbelief, "how could one as brilliant as you be so easily taken in?" He paused and stared at her, pretending to be ashamed of her naivete. "Do you really believe that our dear, devoted clergy would take to sin and crime?" he asked.
It was obvious to her that Pius could not conceive that any of his priests were capable of such wrongdoing. Nor would he permit himself to dwell for a moment on such horror. He arose, his deliberate sign that the subject must end. "I am tired," he said with emphasis. "I am going to get some rest." He turned and coldly walked out, leaving her with mixed feelings of astonishment and depression.
"I kept asking myself, 'Did you do the right thing by telling him?"' she said years later. "For the moment, I was convinced that I had made a big mistake.
But several days later Pascalina had a change of mind, and she came to realize the wisdom of confiding in the Holy Father. This was confirmed when His Eminence, Ernesto Cardinal Ruffini, the highest ranking churchman in Sicily, arrived for a private audience with the Pope. Apparently, during the intervening days, Pius had had second thoughts and summoned Ruffini for a talk. For years the archbishop of Palermo had been held in rather low esteem within the Vatican, some clerics even disparagingly referring to him as "the king of the two Sicilies, the religious and the political."
Now the Pope was about to conduct his own private investigation. He made his intentions clear to Pascalina by his severe tone and actions, especially when he himself pointedly closed the door in her face once Ruffini was seated within the papal inner sanctum. She could not remember when Pius had previously excluded her, except during deliberations that would prove too delicate for her ears, in his estimation, or when something was taking place that he knew she would not tolerate.
Until that day Ruffini had always been shown favored status by the Pope, but for what reason, Pascalina was unaware. The previous year, when Francis Cardinal Spellman was in Rome to receive his red hat, she had hoped he might shed some light on Pius's unusual affinity toward the Sicilian archbishop. "Holiness is more considerate of Archbishop Ruffini than of any within the Sacred College of Cardinals," she had said in wonderment to the American prelate. "Even Eminence Tisserant, whom we know is destined to become Dean of the Sacred College, does not receive Holiness's respect to the degree shown Ruffini."
But Spellman, like Pius, had refused to touch even slightly upon anything connected with the Church in Sicily.
Later she had learned, with some shock, that Cardinal Archbishop Ruffini was an intimate of Don Calogero Vizzini, the mayor of Villalba, Sicily. Vizzini was said to run the Sicilian Mafia and was spoken of as "the most powerful man throughout the Italian province."
It was not altogether strange, in her mind, for the Church to have at least a nodding acquaintanceship with the Mafia. The two shared certain common beliefs, as viewed by Norman Lewis, a respected journalist who spent many years investigating Sicily's secret crime organization. In his book The Honored Society, Lewis points to the Mafia in feudal Sicily as having an "iron morality of its own." Accordingly, says Lewis,
The Capo-Mafia considers himself a lawgiver concerned with the welfare of his people, and prides himself on watching over the advancement of deserving juniors in the organization with the assiduousness of the master of novices of a religious order. In his own eyes, he never steals from the community, but he can see no objection to exploiting his power over men to enrich himself.
Pascalina, as sophisticated and experienced as she was in the political intricacies of the Holy See, understood the advantages to the Mafia in allying itself with the Church, if only as a matter of expediency. But what were the benefits for the papacy in such an alliance, if one did indeed exist? This was what troubled her most.
Since neither the Pope nor Spellman would discuss the Mafia matter with her, the nun, strangely enough, had looked to Cardinal Tisserant for enlightenment. The French prelate may have appeared loud and crude to her, but she appreciated his outspoken honesty.
"Ruffini is a powerful man in Sicily," Tisserant once told Pascalina without hesitation. "Even Vizzini, who runs the Mafia there, bows to him. Vizzini not only kisses the ring of the archbishop of Palermo, but he kisses his ass as well," Tisserant said, and roared with laughter. "Pius is afraid to take action. Afraid that any stand the papacy might take would lead to widespread governmental investigations and prosecutions. With our clergy involved, the publicity alone could wreck the Church. Besides, Ruffini is too powerful for Pius to tackle."
Tisserant again burst into laughter. He apparently saw the link between the Church and the Mafia in Sicily as a tragicomedy to be enjoyed thoroughly. "How do you suppose Pius's hypocritical papacy can wiggle out of this dilemma, dear Mother Pascalina?" he asked, his leering face only a hair's breadth from hers.
The nun knew there was more to the cardinal's words than mere banter. Tisserant, whatever his shortcomings, would never imply wrongdoing without basis of fact. Yet nowhere in her mind could she conceive that Pius would condone the commission of sin or crime by the Catholic clergy in Sicily. She was equally convinced that the Holy Father himself was innocent of any misdoing.
When Cardinal Ruffini emerged from his command audience with the Pope, she asked Pius if the Sicilian situation had been discussed.
"It is none of your business!" he angrily retorted. "Tend to your own affairs and whatever work remains to be done!"
Understanding him as well as she did, Pascalina knew that Pius was not as angry as he appeared. It was obvious to her that he found himself in a corner for the moment, and was squirming. She knew too that it was wise for her to retreat for the time being, and she did. But as the days passed she became increasingly insistent that Pius explain his reasons for evading her questions. Though she always waited until he was in the right mood, he remained as noncommittal as ever. Her fears increased every time he adamantly refused to discuss the matter.
The Pope's mistake, in her mind, was in taking the same track he had followed during World War 11 in his failed stand on the Nazi atrocities. Pius's silence had hurt him severely in the eyes of world Jewry. Failure now to act boldly in handling the Church-Mafia connection could destroy the credibility of the Holy See. To her way of thinking, the Pope could not go on wrestling with his confusions and evade forever the mounting corruption and crimes on the island off Italy's boot. He had to act decisively, she was convinced, and cut all existing ties between Holy Mother Church and the Sicilian underworld.
She became even more certain of how right she was after her encounter with a terrified citizen of Mazzarino, Sicily, who had come to the Vatican pleading for his life.
"He was Signore Angelo Cannada, a fragile little person, nearly eighty years old," Pascalina recalled. "His life, like that of many other people of Mazzarino, had been threatened by Franciscan priests and monks who demanded huge amounts of extortion money. Signore Cannad was the only victim who refused to pay, and stood up to the Franciscans."
The old man begged to talk with the Holy Father and lay proof before His Holiness of the ongoing crimes by the Catholic clergy. But despite Pascalina's pleas Pius's doors remained closed. She was so disappointed and upset by the Pope's coldness that she took matters into her own hands. She asked the old man to return, and she heard him out fully.
At the time, it mattered little to Pascalina that she'd have an angry Pope shouting at her afterward. She was learning, through the pathetic-looking Cannada, who spoke explicitly of crimes by the Franciscans, of the powerful grip the underworld had upon the Church in Sicily.
"When one understands the full philosophy of the Roman hierarchy, it is not surprising that the nun, despite her long and intimate place at the very top of Pius's papacy, could have remained unaware of certain goings-on," observed Father James Rohan, a Jesuit historian.
The Franciscans had been among the holiest and most dedicated of religious orders within the Holy Roman Catholic Church. Founded in 1209 by Christ's great and loyal follower, Saint Francis of Assisi, the Franciscans were so well regarded by the Holy See through the centuries that several of their members were made popes.
Large-scale corruption and crime did not seep into the order until the turn of the twentieth century. In 1901, for reasons that remain unclear, bands of Capuchin*[*Known officially within the Church as the Order of Friars Minor Capuchin, they are one of three autonomous branches of Franciscans.] Franciscan friars of Mazzarino began roaming the rural Sicilian countryside, waylaying and robbing travelers and the local peasantry. Terror tactics thereafter grew steadily within the order in Mazzarino and became a part of everyday life. Priests blackmailed peasants and extorted money and goods. Women were brought to the monastery at night, dressed in Franciscan habits to disguise their identities. The Franciscans' ancient monastery in Mazzarino became the scene of debauchery, orgies, and pornographic activities.
Perversion was only part of the evils. Cannada told Pascalina of a pitched battle he had once witnessed between the peasants of Santo Stefano and monks of a local monastery. He spoke of seeing a priest behead his own abbot on a refectory table.
"Only as recently as 1945, the bishop of Agrigento was shot and nearly killed by a monk who was also a Mafioso," the old man related. "The Franciscan monastery in Mazzarino, at this very time, shelters bands of robbers who share the proceeds of their crimes with monks and priests living there."
Cannada begged Pascalina to ask the Holy Father to send a commission of Vatican clergy to Sicily for a full investigation.
The nun told Pius everything the old man had said, and the Pope thought the whole story so incredible that he refused to take action.
Four days after Cannada's return to Mazzarino, a band of masked men called at his home, just as he lay down from his long and disappointing trip to the Vatican. Holding rifles at his head, the men dragged the terrified Sicilian from the house to his vineyard, where they shot him.
Pascalina was infuriated by the news of Cannada's murder, and she told the Pope exactly how upset she was.
"Holiness, how can you justify your place as Holy Father when people cry out for help, and you do nothing?" she cried. "When are you going to rid yourself of your appeasement -mentality and stand strong and brave for what is right?" She expected him to become angry and defend his failure to act. But he remained calm, saying only in a somewhat placating tone, "Mother Pascalina, you are right. You are always right." Pius knew that mere words weren't enough at this juncture to convince the nun of his sorrow or immediate intentions. What she took as his insensitive manner only incensed her all the more. Were it not for her vow of obedience, she would have lashed out with fierce anger, even though he was the Holy Father.
Fortunately she held her tongue. She was later to learn that Pius had already set machinery in motion to rid the Church of crime and corruption in Sicily. Cardinal Ruffini had been called back to Rome by the Pontiff for a dressing down and an order to end at once the Mafia connection in Sicily.
The next day, when the archbishop of Palermo was seated for the closed-door confrontation, Pascalina was present at the Holy Father's elbow, upon instruction by Pius.
"Eminence Ruffini, I have been given a sad account of the alleged behavior of the Franciscans who are serving in Sicily," the Pope began in a quiet voice. Pascalina sensed the control he was exercising in containing his anger. "Is there truth to these rumors?"
The Sicilian prelate looked aghast at the Pope's candor. "Holiness, the Franciscans are the most numerous of all the orders of Holy Mother Church. Their followers throughout the world are said to number between four million and five million Catholics," Ruffini replied, his tone one of injured pride.
It was plain to Pascalina that the cardinal was trying to influence Pius's thinking by pointing to the Franciscans' numerical strength and the weight they carried internationally.
"I am fully aware that there are many good and holy priests and monks among the Franciscans," the Pope retorted, an obvious bite in his words. "I believe the Franciscan order is as fine as anyone will find anywhere. It is the behavior of some of our sons serving in Sicily that concerns me." Pius abruptly came to his feet and glared down at Ruffini. "What do we know of the murder of that old man, Cannada?" he demanded in a tone seething with anger.
The cardinal looked horrified. "I do not know what you are talking about, Holiness!" Ruffini replied, trembling. The nun was uncertain as to whether or not the prelate was telling the truth. It appeared to her that the Pope was equally unsure.
"If you are unaware of what is transpiring in your own diocese, Eminence Ruffini, then it becomes the responsibility of the Holy Father to find out for himself!" Pius shouted.
Turning then to Pascalina, the Pope spoke in a calmer tone. "I understand the funeral of the old man, Cannada, takes place tomorrow. Mother, you are to attend as my observer. I trust your eyes, your ears, and your words," he said with pointed emphasis. "I shall also send along a representative of the Holy Father to show the Franciscans of my sincere sorrow for Cannada. My observer will appear as a symbol to all Sicilians of the Holy See's deep displeasure at the manner of the old man's death." The Pontiff turned back to Ruffini. "Eminence, you may leave now," Pius said, his manner still severe. "The Holy Father suggests that you go directly to the chapel for meditation. Afterward, return to your province and tell the Franciscan priests and monks serving in your diocese that they too should meditate. There will be many questions to be answered by everyone in the near future!" The Pope raised a pointed finger at the cardinal. "If there are further crimes in your diocese and any of our clergy are accused, I will hold you, Ruffini, personally responsible!"
Pascalina had never been more proud and overjoyed as she was at that moment by Pius's strong and honorable stand. She felt humbled and ashamed, too, of her own earlier lack of faith in his character.
The instant Ruffini closed the door behind him, she rushed into the Pope's arms, tears of joy filling her eyes. Pius bent and kissed the nun on the forehead. It was the first time that his lips had touched her skin with such intense fervor.
"Holiness, I am so very proud of you!" she said, looking fondly upward into his eyes.
"I should have acted sooner in this instance," the Pope said sadly, the sorrow of Cannada's murder evident upon his face.
"Only a great Pontiff has the strength to admit his mistakes," she responded tenderly.
"A true Pontiff of Christ rectifies his past mistakes," Pius added, releasing her. "He does so by taking affirmative action in the future."
She felt sure then that the Holy Father meant to do everything possible to clear the horrible state of Church affairs in Sicily.
Upon Pascalina's arrival in Sicily she found much of the province still living in the eighteenth century. Violent death was commonplace. The homicide rate in Palermo, the seat of Cardinal Ruffini's power, had reached the highest in the world with as many as fifty murders in fifty days. The Italian province, a Mediterranean island of 9,925 square miles, had become the international center for heroin traffic, regular shipments pouring in from the Middle East for processing and shipment to foreign countries, principally the United States.
Many of the Franciscans were indeed as sinister as the nun had feared. "It was grotesque!" she said, recalling with anguish the crimes she discovered. "A Franciscan priest, Padre Carmelo, came to Signore Cannada's widow after the funeral and demanded three million lire. He was acting in complicity with Mafia extortionists. The priest told the widow to sell her property in order to raise the money. If she refused, the same tragic fate her husband had suffered, he warned, would be met by her son. I begged the woman not to comply," Pascalina added. "But she was too terrified to listen. Like most peasants in Sicily, she ended up giving the Franciscan priest everything she owned."
The nun was so angered by the actions of the Franciscans that she stayed on in Sicily, with the Pope's approval, to gather all the evidence she could find. She spoke with numbers of sources, mainly Sicilian peasants, whose lives had been made intolerable because of the Church-Mafia connection. She learned of the sufferings imposed by the Franciscans from the family members of the victims of murder and debauchery and extortion.
With Pius's approval Pascalina presented her evidence to the newly appointed chief of police of Mazzarino, which had become the center of the Franciscans' operations. The police official, Maresciallo Di Stefano, had been checked out by the Vatican and found to be honest and dedicated.
"I explained to Signore Di Stefano that the Church's holy vows were receiving scant attention from Franciscan priests and monks in his town," Pascalina said. "I told the police chief that His Holiness implored his help in bringing the criminals to justice."
"But why doesn't the Holy Father himself act?" Di Stefano asked. "All the Pope need do is strip these clergy of their vestments and excommunicate them."
"The Holy Father wants justice to be rightfully served," she replied. "Arrest these clergy! See that they receive a fair trial! If the priests and monks are convicted, Pius will mete out punishment. They will be defrocked and excommunicated. You have my word! You have the word of the Pope himself!"
It would be years before the police chief had enough evidence to bring the Franciscans to trial. No one, in the meantime, had dared come forward to serve as a witness at the pending proceedings. All who had spoken up were terrorized afterward by the Sicilian Mafia.
Di Stefano had seen enough to be certain of the crimes. "The Franciscans were clever operators," he said.
They were the shrewdest of businessmen, and many carried loaded guns, some even had submachine guns for protection. Their interests ranged from loan sharking to pornography. Their personal wealth was enormous. Even though they had taken vows of poverty, most of the priests and monks had millions of lire stashed in various banks throughout Italy.
As the investigations increased and evidence against the Franciscans mounted, the Pope grew fearful that their crimes and scandals would shatter the faith of Catholics and bring terrible disgrace upon Holy Mother Church.
Yet he urged Pascalina to continue her collaboration with the Sicilian police in helping to bring the criminals to justice. Pius's unrealistic hope was that everything could be quietly accomplished with no leaks to the outside world.
"The press must never be allowed to publish these diabolical acts by the Franciscans!" the Pope insisted to the nun. "The faithful everywhere would be horrified. Their faith in Holy Mother Church would be greatly threatened. Our dear Lord must not suffer the loss of souls because of the devils among us." But Pius was to learn that there was no way effectively to silence the world press if the Franciscans were brought to trial. The papacy had been spoiled over the years by Vatican correspondents and other religious writers who took their direction from Church higher-ups, publishing nothing that might anger Rome.
It was quite another story, however, when it came to sensational court testimony. Not only would such news be in the public domain, but the papacy feared an onslaught of visceral attacks by anti-Catholic journalists who'd like nothing better than to discredit Catholicism. Pius and Pascalina were all too aware of this significant sector of the press that remained alert to "humiliate Holy Mother Church and drag down the House of God."
After weighing all the potential dangers, Pius apparently thought the Holy See would be better served by a complete about-face on his part. The Pope considerably toned down his righteous stand and turned the full force of Vatican influence toward delaying prosecution of the Franciscans. "In the remaining years of Pius's papacy, Mother Pascalina did everything she possibly could to have the Holy Father uphold the papacy's pledge to support the Sicilian authorities in their investigations of the Franciscans," Archbishop Richard J. Cushing noted at the time.
But her hands were tied in many ways. Even though Pascalina was very close to
the Pope for most of her life, she was still looked upon as a mere nun at times, even by Pius himself. On any issue as explosive as the Franciscan crimes in Sicily, Church clergy maintain an inbred, prejudiced mentality which is entirely convinced that the male mind is right in the final analysis, and must never yield to female pressure. Pius was certainly a pope with that kind of intellect.
Cushing further blamed Cardinal Spellman as being largely responsible for putting the brakes on the prosecution of the Franciscans. The prelates had known each other for many years. As young priests, they were roommates at the rectory of the Holy Cross Cathedral in Boston. Upon the death of Cardinal O'Connell in 1944, Spellman used his influence with Pius XI I to have Cushing named O'Connell's successor as archbishop of Boston. A falling-out between the pair occurred shortly afterward when Cushing, a towering, roughspoken Boston Irishman who once worked as a laborer building streetcar rails, refused to knuckle under to Spellman's seniority and authority.
"Spellman saw the Catholic mind, especially in the United States, as exceedingly fragile in matters of faith," Cushing explained.
He dealt largely with the upper crust, those we used to call 'lace curtain Catholics'; rich executives who lived up in the clouds, and, like so many Catholic women, had as much touch with reality as a Persian cat. Spellman's fear was that if most Catholics thought their priests did anything worse than forget to say the rosary every hour on the hour, they'd drop dead of shock.
It wasn't until four years after Pius died in 1958, and when John XXIII reigned as pope, that the Franciscans were brought to trial in Sicily. Even under the beloved and holy John, the power of the papacy was clearly at work. Though a number of the priests and monks were charged with a variety of serious crimes, including murder, attempted murder, and extortion, all were found innocent. The world press, with few exceptions, entirely ignored the sensational trials. When news did appear, the Franciscans attempted to be made out as scapegoats and innocent victims of persecution.
"John had a far more effective way of dealing with the news media than Pius," Cushing explained. "In many ways, John was the shrewder of the two. His humble, rather beguiling manner won people over far more effectively than Pius's cold and direct authoritarian words.
"Misguided liberals, especially those of the news media, hated Pius for his silence on the Nazis' persecutions of the Jews," Cushing continued.
They looked upon Pius as a devil, while they were quick to make John a saint, often simply because he seemed just the opposite to Pius. They were wrong in both instances. Neither pope was as good nor as bad as he was painted. In many ways, they differed only slightly, except in style. But the liberal news media could not see this. I can't say that Pope John muzzled the media, because I -have no such evidence. But it was certainly strange that such sensational crimes by the clergy were so ignored. At no time did Pascalina lose sight of the continuing crimes by clergy of her own faith. In 1963, a year after the Franciscans were exonerated, her prayers were finally answered. Each of the previously indicted priests and monks was hauled back into court on appeal by the prosecution. Their earlier verdicts were overturned. This time they were found guilty of all charges, and each was sentenced to serve thirteen years in prison.
When asked to comment on the shocking crimes and the conviction of his priests, Father Sebastiano, the provincial of the Capuchin order in Sicily, took a calm, philosophical view. "Even among us, somebody sometimes makes mistakes," he said.
Throughout the years Pascalina kept trying to fathom the seemingly imponderable mysteries of Pius's mind; particularly why he had made such a complete about-face during the Church-Mafia connection. "At times, Holiness would be fully dedicated to a cause, as he first was in his desire to end crime by the clergy in Sicily," she recalled. "Frequently, he would then procrastinate; he would dwell upon the harm that might result from some bold stand on his part. Sadly, he would often alter his whole course of action." As she reflected on the long-gone past, Pascalina paused to weigh her own thoughts. "Pius was a holy man," she resumed with a nod of positive assurance, "but unfortunately, like so many of us, he, too, was misguided on occasion."
pps. 231- 243
-----