She Sees the Pope

Probably the ablest religious editor of any U. S. newspaper is Rachel Kollock McDowell of the New York Times. A plump, energetic spinster in her 50's, Miss McDowell loves her work. She regularly has 25 reporters assigned to cover Sunday sermons, bombards the city desk with memoranda urging additional coverage of religious events. Armed with a capacious handbag she personally reports important gatherings like the Presbyterian General Assembly--dear to her heart because she is devoutly of that faith. Indomitable Miss McDowell hates swearing, sends out a memorandum every New Year's Eve reminding the staff of the existence of the New York Times Pure Language League.

This summer Rachel McDowell got a three-weeks' vacation instead of her usual two. She resolved to go to Italy "to kneel before the Sovereign Pontiff," Pope Pius XI. From one of her most useful Manhattan contacts, Patrick Joseph Cardinal Hayes, Miss McDowell begged a letter smoothing the way. She did not neglect to pray, both before and afterward, at the high altar of St. Patrick's Cathedral. How Presbyterian McDowell's prayers were answered she told last week in an account of her trip in the Catholic News. Excerpts :

"I knew to be received in a Papal audience a woman must have on a black dress with high neck and long sleeves and that she must wear a black veil. Well, I had a black crepe de Chine dress with long sleeves left over from last winter, which I had had all pressed and cleaned by the tailor, and it was hanging in my closet. I bought a small black felt hat, new black slippers, a small black veil, black hose and black gloves. I packed these things in a sort of 'sacred apart' from my other garments.

''About a week before sailing time my letter from Cardinal Hayes arrived. . . . His Eminence has given me permission to quote the letter. . . . But it is so complimentary, so much more praiseworthy than I deserve, that on sober second judgment I just can't make that letter public. . . . Though a Protestant (my Presbyterianism seems just as much a part of me as my arms or my eyes or my ears), I have tried these 27 years of reporting Catholic news in New York to do it intelligently and sympathetically. I have often wondered if the Shepherd of New York knew this was my aim. Now I know that he does know."

Eventually reaching Rome, Rachel McDowell was all atwitter with misgivings. "At home I am used to telephones and telegrams and--well, getting what I start out to get. . . . But now . . . I did not know the language, the Vatican etiquette. I was just a little nobody wanting to see the one supreme figure in Christendom. Yes, it was a lesson in humility. Here was about the only place in the world where being religious news editor of what is considered one of the world's greatest newspapers did not count."

But an invitation to an audience arrived. I poured out a prayer of thanksgiving. I prayed as I had never prayed before. My tongue was loosed. . . ." After reading the gold-sealed invitation: "I hate to record what happened next, but this must be a complete account. I went into an attack of hysterics. No, I never do this at home. I am a cool, calm, even cold person. "

But the tension had been too much, the days at home after I knew I was going to Rome, the days on the vessel. . . . Well, after a while, I was able to get control of myself. I think my hysterics were those of joy. I went to bed, but I could not sleep for happiness."

Next day Miss McDowell got dressed, and "it was said I 'looked like a nun.' I hope I did because every nun I know looks like a saint. . . . I also carried with me several small sacred objects. . . . One was a small silver crucifix. I have since arranged with my family to be buried in the black dress and with this crucifix in my hand."

When Newshawk McDowell arrived by automobile at Castel Gandolfo, the Pope's summer snuggery, "I left my hand satchel in the car. It looked too professional. I had the forethought, however, to take out my letter from Cardinal Hayes, and on top of this, fastening it with a clip, I put my New York Times calling card. It was identification. I was all alone. I was not afraid, oh, no. But I might faint or become ill. I knew no Italian and no one there was likely to know any English. And no one there knew me. Folded in my handkerchief I had a very tiny bottle of smelling salts, in case I might have again what I had the previous night. Over my arm I draped the rosaries and in my fingers I held the little objects."

Miss McDowell waited around. She talked with a woman from The Bronx ("which shows the world is not so big"). She gave her letter to the Pope's majordomo. She wondered if perhaps someone would tell the Holy Father that "for 27 years I have written virtually all the leading Catholic news in the New York Times." Finally the Pope appeared. The roomful of people knelt as he made the sign of the cross. Then Pius XI began making his rounds while Rachel McDowell anxiously hoped he would not skip her.

"Look; yes, he has turned. The Supreme Pontiff is coming my way. In less than a minute he will be standing over me and I will be looking up into his face and kissing his ring.

"And now he is over me. I kiss his ring. I touch his hand extended. I prolong the touch a second. I wish I might never have to wash my right hand again. It seemed to me the next most beautiful thing to seeing Jesus Christ Himself. The Pope passes to the Bronx lady to my right. . . .

"Yes, it was the holiest day of my life. May God grant that many of the readers of the Catholic News may have the same privilege at some time."

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