Amidst all of the coverage of Pope Francis’ visit to the US this week I want to particularly call your attention to this piece by novelist and columnist James Carroll. It’s about another time a Pope, Paul VI, addressed the United Nations. That was in 1965, almost exactly fifty years ago. That moment half a century ago has deep parallels to today and it also opened a breach between Carroll and his father – one, a young man studying for the priesthood and another, a top Pentagon general, who had himself once studied for the priesthood. Definitely give this a read.
There’s a second part of publishing this piece for me personally, which is not connected to the piece itself but my own relationship to the author. I would be remiss if I didn’t mention it. Like one billiard ball hitting another at a certain angle and in so doing shifting its own trajectory, we all have certain people in our lives who we encounter and, through the encounter, the trajectory of our own lives changes. For me, Jim is one of those people.
Almost twenty years ago, I was a history graduate student in my late twenties living near Cambridge. I knew I didn’t want to be a history professor. I knew at least that it wasn’t most of what I wanted to do. I wanted to be a writer. I was confident I had the chops to be one. The problem was I had no idea how to do it – no idea how to go from being a late twenties graduate student who wrote opinion pieces he had no idea how or where to publish to someone who wrote things that people read. Because a writer isn’t a writer unless he or she has readers.
James not only studied to be a priest. He was a priest, a radical priest. He eventually left the priesthood, started a family and became a novelist. Many know him through his column in the Boston Globe. Through his non-fiction and activism he’s been wrestling with the Church ever since, something like how Jacob did with God.
I met James through my then girlfriend (for practical purposes my wife – we’d been living together for years), who was working as his research assistant. I think the first time I actually met Jim was when I went to his study to fix or install something on his computer. His background could not have been more different from mine. But I felt a deep connection to Jim. And he, for no particular reason, took an interest in helping me get from nowhere to somewhere, in small ways and large ways to become a writer.
I remember one time when he had a dinner party at his home for Christine and I and George Packer, who was much further along than I was at the time but still not George Packer yet. More concretely, I’m pretty sure Jim helped me get or just plain got me my first job in journalism. These are only concrete touch points that bear mentioning, the others are all the small and important ways that a mentor shapes and guides you. After a couple years I left the Boston area for Washington. And over time, we drifted out of touch. But Jim’s an incredibly important person in my life. So it’s a particular pleasure and satisfaction to be publishing this essay.
If you’ve read this far I feel bad pulling you away from reading the piece I’m recommending. Go read it. It’s a must read.
