The Greatest Evil (12 page)

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.

Agony!

Had any other young woman ever been relegated to so much obscurity on one of the most important days of her entire life?

Lucy’s doubts to the contrary notwithstanding, it was a triumphant time for the Delvecchios.

Vinnie would make a central casting priest. So tall that, later, one of the school children referred to him as the “high priest.” Pencil-thin and ramrod-straight, he had plenty of room to expand and still be every inch the ascetic—a tall, dark, and handsome ascetic.

By general consensus Vinnie was headed for great things. No one could quite figure out why he had not been sent to Rome for his theological studies. It might have been politics: One of the two seminarians sent to Rome from Vinnie’s class was nephew to the bishop of Grand Rapids.

Still, the smart money was on Vinnie’s climbing the hierarchical ladder. Not a bad endorsement, considering that he was not particularly close to anyone in his class.

It was almost as if Vincent and Anthony might have had different fathers. Oh, there were similarities, of course, but in physique they were worlds apart.

Tony was listed as a six-footer. A slight exaggeration; he was more like five feet eleven. Where Vinnie appeared to have come fresh from forty days of fasting in the desert, Tony seemed never to have missed a meal.

Lucy was the prize—as close to flawless as a young adult could get.

Several inches taller than her mother, but as fine-boned, Lucy had her late father’s surprising strength.

Girls’ sports had not yet come of age. But in an all-girl high school, somehow the varsity basketball team became the big game, and the members of that team were the BGOC—Big Girls on Campus.

Besides holding one of the top academic grades in her class, Lucy was also a standout in theater, dance, and on the debating team. In almost any other family, Lucy would have been the noteworthy member. But among the Delvecchios, particularly at this point, she came in a distant third.

It wasn’t fair! That she knew. But her day would come. Would it ever!

This was still the era, especially in parochial schools, when young ladies (at least those with no thought whatsoever of entering the convent) were pointed at the vocation of finding a man, having his babies, and answering to the sublime name of homemaker.

Lucy had paid close attention when the nuns spelled all this out—with, nonetheless, of course, a word or two on religious vocations. Realistically, the nuns knew that, of the two life vehicles, wife and mother would draw far more applicants than the religious calling.

Lucy, early on, had set her sights on the medical profession. It mattered not that there were precious few female MDs. Determination was Lucy’s middle name. Had the priesthood been her goal, it would not have mattered that her Church did not ordain women. But Lucy didn’t crave ordination. One priest in the family seemed enough. Of course, if she were offered an immediate bishopric …

Things were rolling for the Delvecchios.

But more and more Louise was able to participate in the fulfillment of her children less and less.

There was a nagging pain that would neither be relieved nor identified. With some frequency, she visited the physician who had treated the family for many years.

Lucy, mostly because she was the only child still living at home, was the only one who knew—or at least had some glimmer, since Louise did her best to mask her condition.

Lucy urged her mother to seek other medical opinions. “After all, Mother, things have changed since scalpels replaced leeches.”

“Don’t be disrespectful, Lucy. Don’t forget: Dr. Schmidt brought you into this world!”

Actually, Dr. Schmidt agreed with Lucy. It was he who sent Louise to a series of specialists. One of whom called Dr. Schmidt. “Werner, I got Mrs. Delvecchio’s biopsy.”

“And …?”

“It’s bad. Doesn’t get much worse. Pancreatic cancer.”

“I feared as much. I don’t suppose we’re in time to save her.”

“It’s inoperable, Werner. Sorry, old man. I don’t envy you now—or her.”

“Nor do I.”

Schmidt phoned Louise, told her he had news that was not so good, and asked if it would be possible to gather the family to discuss the options.

12

Lucy was home, but Tony was in Kalamazoo and Vincent was in Plymouth. Louise would try to gather the tribe. Would tomorrow morning at ten be all right?

Ten would be as good as any other time.

Lucy wasted no time. She got her mother to lie down. Now Louise was fighting whatever was wrong with her and, additionally, the worry over her children. Lucy would contact her brothers. Mother was not to be concerned.

Vincent and Tony were shocked. They knew their mother had not been well. But not being on the scene, they’d had no clue how serious her condition was. To obviate any possible excuses, Lucy painted the situation to be as bleak as her imagination would permit. Even so, she could not match the hopelessness of reality.

Only Vincent encountered resistance to his request to leave immediately for home. In the face of his insistence, however, the rector had to admit that Delvecchio had already proven his “manhood” sufficiently. And if any student could afford to miss classes, it surely was Vincent Delvecchio.

And so, at ten the next morning, all assembled in the Delvecchio living room: Louise, Dr. Schmidt, Vincent, Anthony, and Lucy, as well as Father Koesler, whom Louise had contacted.

To the hushed and increasingly dismayed group, the doctor explained how difficult it was to diagnose cancer of the pancreas. He was not exculpating himself, but merely spoke the truth: As advanced as the diagnostic tools were, as brilliant and capable as the specialist was, the condition was very good at hiding itself.

The diagnosis was bad news, the prognosis even worse: Two to five months. It could be longer … but yes, in all frankness, it could be sooner.

Dr. Schmidt explained the only option that current medical science had to offer: radiation therapy. He explained further that it was not much of an option: It would intensify debilitation, while offering practically no possibility of even minimal effectiveness.

Louise, brow furrowed, was thoroughly confused. The decision clearly was hers. But there was no marked path in this maze.

Bewildered, in distress, she looked slowly around the intent circle. “What …? What …?”

Finally, in the absence of any other response, Koesler spoke. “I wonder,” he said slowly, “if you shouldn’t consider radiation. It seems the only choice to me,” he added after a moment. “If we do nothing … inevitably it’s the end.” For the first time in his life he shied from the word “death.”

Tony broke the brief silence. “I’m with Father. It’s the only shot we’ve got. I say we take it.” Ever the athlete, Tony could not imagine his body betraying him. It didn’t matter what injury had been sustained. An hour or more in the whirlpool bath could do wonders. Or a temporary brace. Or a massage. Or something. Sports medicine was forever coming up with novel splints, supports, methods of taping. In the brief experience of this resilient, powerful, young—and emphasize the
young—
man, the body could come back from anything. The body would never fail if you gave it a modicum of care. Tony never thought of death. It was there, of course, but he didn’t consider it.

Two votes were in: Koesler and Tony both favored the therapy.

Vince looked as if he were in a decisionary limbo. The news of his mother’s seemingly fatal illness had rocked Vinnie to his core. He couldn’t think beyond this moment, let alone recommend a course to take.

One voice, though small, sounded loudly. “No!” Lucy insisted. “I’ve read about radiation therapy. It’s worse than the sickness—well, maybe not worse: It doesn’t kill you; it just makes you wish you were dead. If you want, I’ll tell you what the side effects of this treatment are. Then let’s see how you vote!”

Everyone looked at this young woman still in high school. No doubt about it, she would become a force to be reckoned with.

“Doctor”—she turned to Schmidt—“you said it was possible—
possible
—that radiation might help contain or even put a cancer in remission. Does that include pancreatic cancer?”

The doctor slowly shook his head.

Lucy turned to face the others. “Tony … Father …” Her tone turned apologetic as if she should not dare correct a priest. “Think of what you’re recommending. This has hit us like a ton of lead. We can’t just pop off. We’re grasping at a straw that’s not attached to anything. With this therapy we’re condemning Mama to months of added sickness and pain while the statistics tell us it’s all for nothing.”

“I know,” Koesler said, “that I’m not a member of this family—”

“You might just as well be,” Lucy interjected.

“Thanks.” Koesler nodded. “I don’t really feel I’m entitled to a vote. But … on thinking it over, I have to agree with Lucy. She’s focusing on quality of life …” He hesitated, then said firmly, “Louise, depending on how important it is to you, this radiation doesn’t promise you much of any quality of life.”