Exile by Air

Just before vespers one evening last week Mgr. Francisco Orozco y Jiminez, Archbishop of Guadalajara, accompanied by his valet, stepped into an automobile in Guadalajara and promptly disappeared. Once a huge, bull-voiced fellow, the Archbishop has long been a fortress of strength to devout peasants, a source of acute annoyance to the civil authorities. When the Mexican Government was making its first attempt to break the power of the Church (TIME, Feb. 22. 1926 et seq.), he spent three years hiding in dusty mountain canons with a price on his head. He emerged thin, aged, but undismayed. Lately with the passage of new laws limiting the number of clergy in Mexico. His Reverence began again preaching against the Government.

Three days later Archbishop Orozco's flocks learned what had happened to their virile shepherd. He and his valet had scarcely driven two blocks before the car was halted by traffic policemen. One threatened the chauffeur with a pistol while another knocked off the license plates. The car was rushed out to the aviation field. There soldiers replaced traffic police. The Archbishop's elderly valet, suffering from heart trouble, jittered nervously in his corner seat.

"What does this mean?" cried the Archbishop. "Are you going to shoot us?" The valet gulped convulsively.

"No. You are going to be deported for engaging in seditious activities and plotting against the Government."

"Shoot me!" cried His Reverence.

"Better death than exile from my beloved Mexico!"

The offer was not accepted. At dawn next morning the Archbishop went roaring north into the sky toward the U. S. He was later reported in Arizona, bound for California. Straw-hatted peasants in Jalisco did not expect their Archbishop to stay there long. They prepared for many secret trips into the mountain canons again.

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