Authors: Patrick Abbruzzi
“Do you think I cannot finish telling you my story?” he asked quietly. “I have lived this and seen so much more that I have not even begu
n
to tell you yet. I sometimes speak of this to my congregation and the
y
listen in awe and wonderment but are also shocked. I know they cannot comprehend such brutality and cruelty unless they have als
o
experienced it for themselves.
“An entire race of people was almost entirely snuffed out and people everywhere are beginning to forget it ever happened. There are those among us who g
o
around and say that it never happened at all. Instead of embracing and believing the stories they have been told, they insist it was a
n
exaggeration.”
He shook his head, patted my hand, and said, “I know that, as police officer, you see and experience things th
e
average person does not witness or cannot even imagine. We both know that man’s own inhumanity to man is the totality of all evil on this earth. This is why I will tell you in the weeks ahead everything I saw and fel
t
and experienced. You are younger than me, but it is my hope that you will also know, no
t
forget, and believe what I say. I, and other survivors like me, need to keep the memory alive by having you tell others wh
o
would also believe,” the old priest said with a tear in his eye.
“I swear to you, Father, I will,” I said.
“Charlie, I swore I would do whatever it took to do what this man wanted. As I sat there with him, listening to his countless memories of a time long gone, I couldn’t help but wonder how it was possible that he could be filled with such lov
e
and wonder after all the pain and misery he had experienced in his life,” said Lt. A.
“Father, how did you finally get out of the camp?
”
I asked, hungry for any information he was willing to share.
“My son, I told you before about the scattered resistance in my camp. There were one hundred prisoners who devised a plan for escape.
A
locksmith who had worked on the Nazi arsenal first created a wax impression, then a key for a lock.
“The planned escape was to take place in the summe
r
of 1943, but it wasn’t totally successful. The phone lines were never cut an
d
many of the prisoners were not told what was happening. Of the 800 people who partook in the uprising, more than 400 were killed in the camp while the other half escaped to the forest where 300 of them died.
“Surprisingly, there were only about forty soldiers killed in the battle. When it was over
,
the Germans took 100 prisoners and shot them all in the head in front of the remaining prisoners as retribution. It wasn’t long after this that the camp was completely dismantled. I was one of the lucky ones who made it to the forest and escaped. I knew if I wanted to survive the war, I had to go into hiding. I continued to work with the resistance units and was eventually joined by three fellow human beings that I shall never forget.
“The first was Father
Urbanowicz of Brzec-on-bul, and he had been helpin
g
Jews long before I ever met him. The second was Roman Archutowski, the rector of the clerical academy in Warsaw. He was also tortured t
o
death by the Germans in a camp somewhere that I still do not know the location of, even to thi
s
day. The third became the best of my friends and we still keep in touch as long as we live. His name is Karol Joseph Wojtyla,” explained the priest.
Although I recognized the name, I could not place it at the time.
“Karol was, and still is, a lover of life. Maybe that is why I am the way I am today. He was a wonderful mentor to me. To this day I have never met anyone in my lif
e
such as that man,” the priest went on.
“Karol wanted to be a professional actor but the Nazi occupation of our homeland changed all of that. Instead, he became very active in the Christia
n
Democratic Underground, aiding Jews to escape the Nazis. Before World War Two ended he decided to become a priest like me.”
“I think that maybe your friend Karol learned to love life and too
k
after you,” I said. “Where is he today, Father?”
“Karol is in Rome. He has been elevated to Cardinal and is assigned t
o
Vatican City. In fact, in just a few weeks I will be flying there to partak
e
in the celebration of Mass which will elevate my friend Karol to Pope,” the priest said with a smile.
It was then that I realized this priest’s best friend was soon to become Pope John Paul 2
nd
.
“That’s amazing, Father,” I said. “Your best friend is going to become the Pope!”
Father Josef nodded with pride as I added, “That’s like my partner becoming the Police Commissioner! Do you thin
k
you will want to serve in another capacity now that you’re goin
g
to have a Rabbi?”
“What other capacity? I serve God here and with the people that need m
e
and love me, as I love them and God. No, I shall remain here,” the priest answered simply.
Somehow I knew Father Josef would give me this answer. I also suspected that he was the main reason the Pope had become a priest in the first place.
On my way out I told him I would stop by to say goodbye before h
e
embarked on his journey to Rome.
The weeks that followed were busy ones for the men of the 120
th
. It was also a time when my partner Frank called out sick more than he had ever done in his career. He decided to take a few weeks off and came bac
k
fit as a fiddle.
Frank and I did manage to visit Father Josef before he flew t
o
Rome to attend the celebration Mass for his friend, Cardinal Karo
l
Wojtyla. However, our plans to visit hi
m
socially were interrupted by a police call which sent us instead to the rectory o
f
Father Josef’s church. Our orders were to respond to a past robber
y
where the victim was a priest.
Although neither of us knew which one of Father Josef’
s
staff had been robbed, we responded there at break neck speed with lights flashing and sirens blaring. When we arrived we knocked on the front door of the rectory and, to our surprise, Father Josef greeted u
s
sporting a bump on his forehead the size of a golf ball.
“Father what happened?” asked Frank.
“Come in, my friends. Let me get you a drink,” said the priest.
Neither Frank nor I could believe that this man who had just been mugged was more concerned with getting us
a
drink than attending to his bleeding head.
“Father, sit down. I’m going to call for an ambulance,” I insisted.
“No, I will be alright, but I do have a favor to ask of you, if you don’t mind,” he said quietly, practically pleading.
“Anything, Father. Just name it,” said Frank.
“I promise you that I will be alright. Mrs. Powerski, my caretaker, sai
d
she called her brother to come look at my head. He is a doctor and
I
promise you that I will do whatever he tells me,” Father Josef said.
“Tell us what happened, Father,” said Frank with a nod of his head.
“Well, I was walking down York Avenue just a short time ago. I had gone to visi
t
Mrs. Dziergowski who has not been able to come to mass lately because sh
e
has been ill. I went to her house to give her the sacraments of the mass.
“I carry the Lord’s Host in my attaché case and as I was walking home,
a
young man hit me and grabbed the case then ran down the hill toward
s
Jersey Street. I want to know if you can help me look for the case,” h
e
pleaded.
Both Frank and I knew the chances of recovering the case were slim, if at all.
If a young, black punk from the Jersey Street projects stole it, the case woul
d
probably wind up going down the garbage chute. We had no doubt that whoever took it would go through it looking for cash, checks or whateve
r
could be fenced for easy cash. The thief would then dump it as soon as possible so he wouldn’t be caught with it on him.
“Why do you want the case back, Father? Were there any other Lord’s Hosts i
n
it?
”
I asked.
“No. It’s not that. My plane tickets for tomorrow’s flight are in the case. I also placed my special gift to Karol inside,” Father Josef explained.
So that was it. This priest is going to Rome and his tickets and gif
t
get stolen the day before.
“We’ll do the best we can, Father,” my partner said.
Both Frank and I made every effort to assure this man that we would do the best we could do in recovering his property, even though we felt it was a lost cause.
First we went back to the station house and spoke to the bos
s
who was working the 3
rd
platoon with us.
Michael
Delehanty, a young Captain, was considered to be
a
rising star in the department. He had worked busy houses both as a sergeant and lieutenant before getting promoted to captain and transferring into the 120
th
. He had a good working relationship with th
e
men and knew the job. Frank and I decided to visit him and explain ou
r
dilemma, or rather Father Josef’s dilemma, to him.
The Captain listened attentively and seemed very much interested in the story of this miraculous priest.
“What suggestions do you fellows have?
”
he asked.
“We would like to change into our civilian clothes so we can search the entire wooded area around the church and Jersey Street,” said Frank.
“I’ll tell you what. It’s almost 6:00 P.M. now. I’ll give you the rest of the 4X12 tour to see what you can come up with. I wish you and Father Josef luck. Please give him my regards,” said Captain Delehanty.
With that, Frank and I changed into our civvies and notified the desk officer that sector Eddie would be out of service for the remainder of the tour. Then we went back to the church and began our search. It began t
o
rain and all we had were our flashlights and cigarettes.
“We have to find that briefcase. If we don’t find it, that man will think we never even tried to find it,” I said.
“Look, John. It’s not as if he won’t be able to get another ticket for Christ’
s
sake.”
“It’s not the fucking ticket but the gift he wanted to give hi
s
friend,” I argued.
“Well, what the hell is it that’s so important and valuable?
”
aske
d
Frank.
“You know that every once in a while I have been going to visi
t
Father Josef, right?” I asked.
“Yeah, so what about it?”
“It was Father Josef, and the kind of human being that he is, that probably led to the new Pope becoming a priest in the first place. They both worked together in Poland aiding Jews to help them escape from the Nazi regime. When Father Karol was ordained, Father Josef gave him a gift, which remained in Poland for a while but somehow found its way back into Father Josef’s hands. That gift was Father Karol’s first Holy Grail and now Father Josef is going to return it to him. You can’t place a value on something like that. The Holy Grail is in his briefcase and out there waiting for us to find it,” I explained.
“And what if it’s in the furnace of 80 Jersey Street?
”
asked Frank. “What then, John?”
“What’s the matter? No faith? We’re going to find it. I feel it,” I said, offering him a confident smile.
We began our search where the young kid first approached the priest on the street. There were older houses on this section of York Avenue and on the sam
e
side of the road as the church. The other side was a very steep and grassy hill which led up to back yards belonging to houses on the street above. The homes o
n
the church side of the road also had back yards but were separated from Jersey Stree
t
below by a section of extremely dense woods. It would be much easier fo
r
a mugger making his getaway to run down the hill instead of up.