Back Door No Longer

By Hugh Sidey

Even after we have seen it, the act of bringing a Pope in the front door of the White House just like he was an Arab with oil or a state chairman with delegates is nothing short of a miracle.

Watching the spectacle of politicians clawing for invitations to the White House receptions and then basking in the reflected spiritualism recalled stories of 20 years ago, when John Kennedy was running hard for office while running away from any public chumminess with Popes or their standard-bearers.

There was a time early on in that memorable campaign when Methodist Bishop G. Bromley Oxnam of Washington harrumphed his displeasure at the thought of having a Catholic President. Kennedy acted as though his career had been shattered. He eagerly accepted an invitation to meet with a gathering of the Methodist church's hierarchy and then waited like a schoolboy for their report. When Methodism's judgment was still negative on Kennedy, he was chagrined and sought to ease the blow in the press with a touch of wit. "Careful," he said to reporters, "you may determine the fate of the free world."

Along the way to the nomination, Kennedy was in constant skirmishes with the fundamentalists and some New York ecclesiastical powers who suspected that the Pope was even then packing his bags. Behind closed doors in Washington's Mayflower Hotel, the eminent Dr. Norman Vincent Peale told 150 clergymen formed into the Citizens for Religious Freedom: "Our American culture is at stake. I don't say it won't survive, but it won't be what it was." Finally, Kennedy had to meet those preachers down in Houston, who asked him to drop by to explain his views. This famous confrontation went so well for Kennedy, who stated his firm opinions on separation of church and state, that many felt the dramatic moment was an important part of his victory.

After he had won the nomination, Kennedy was still concerned that people finally would vote against the Pope and him in the election. In New York City one day he was riding down Fifth Avenue in a limousine, chatting amiably about the political struggle. As the limousine rolled past St. Patrick's Cathedral, Kennedy was suddenly seized by the inner imp. He leaned forward and with a grin saluted the cathedral's spires. Just as suddenly he realized his peril and barked: "That's off the record." J.F.K. allowed Cardinal Cushing to come down from Boston to give a prayer at his Inaugural. With Kennedy's victory certified, if only by an eyelash, it was apparent that the old fears about Roman Catholics in high office were nearly extinguished.

But even after Kennedy's death there were recurrent jitters about the Vatican. Lyndon Johnson approached Pope Paul VI as though he were a Republican. In 1965 the President went to the Waldorf Astoria to pay a brief call on the visitor from Rome. There is no record of L.B.J.'s asking the Pope to the ranch for barbecue, one of few celebrities so snubbed.

When the first of Johnson's school bills seeking Government aid for parochial schools was on the Hill, old prejudices flared a final time. Aide Bill Moyers took a call one day in Johnson's absence to hear the protests of a ranking Southern Baptist. The caller wanted to talk to the President himself about how he could have got so tangled up with the Catholics. "He's in the swimming pool with Dr. Graham," said Moyers. "Who?" asked a diminished voice. "The President is in the swimming pool with Dr. Billy Graham," said Moyers. There was a long and heavy pause. ''Our Billy?" asked the defeated caller. The White House has been preparing for John Paul ever since.

Hugh Sidey

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