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“A Psychopathic Paranoid”

While Sindona obsessed about where to make his best legal stand, his two former business partners had their own problems. Calvi fretted about finding more financing to prevent any single part of his empire from cracking and setting off a calamitous chain reaction. Marcinkus was absorbed not with the IOR’s business dealings, but rather with pending changes inside the Vatican that might threaten his power.

Pope Paul VI, Marcinkus’s great patron, had since 1977 become increasingly withdrawn. There was speculation that he might be the first Pope in centuries to resign. In the early part of his Pontificate, Paul had taken more international trips than the previous thirty Popes combined. Now, debilitating arthritis left him mostly confined to the city-state. He occasionally mustered enough strength to travel the seventeen miles to Castel Gandolfo, his summer residence. A combination of persistent pain and little rest took its toll, sending him spiraling into a depression.1 “He looks frail and often sounds mournful,” noted The New York Times.2

During a 1974 synod of bishops, Paul told the cleric sitting next to him, “Old age itself is the illness” (an open microphone picked up his softly spoken Latin, senectus ipsa est morbus).3 “I see the threshold of the hereafter approaching,” an emotional and almost wistful Paul VI told pilgrims near his eightieth birthday in 1977.4 As he spent more time locked away in his private quarters, there seemed to be a rumor du jour about one medical malady or another. Unconfirmed accounts from insiders about “occasional lapses of memory” found their way into the press.5

Ironically, it was Paul VI who mandated that all bishops offer their resignations when they reached seventy-five. And he had directed that no cardinal older than eighty could vote in any conclave. Many Vaticanologists had expected that he might establish a precedent for the Roman church by stepping down on either his seventy-fifth or eightieth birthday.6 But both birthdays passed uneventfully. There was a synod of bishops four days after his eightieth birthday, and many speculated that Paul had waited to announce it there.7 But again nothing. Now, in 1978, with the Pope eighty-one years old, the resignation rumors had a renewed urgency.8

The infirm Paul was under siege on many fronts. Fresh efforts to overturn his encyclical banning all artificial birth control had gathered momentum, especially in America. British scientists had conceived the world’s first test-tube baby. The development rattled the Vatican. And French scientists had created a fly from a test tube after ten years of research. What did it mean when life could come from a laboratory? A modern Protestant reformation that allowed priests to marry and liberalized previously orthodox views of homosexuality put pressure on the Roman church to loosen its rules.9 Some of the impetus to modify the centuries-old mandatory clerical celibacy came from polls that showed that 40 percent of Italian clerics thought it should be abolished, and a third of Spanish priests wanted it optional.10 A new study showed that record numbers of priests and nuns were leaving their orders.11

The church itself seemed in revolt, with priests contesting orders from their bishops, and bishops in turn resisting directives from Rome. The Pope struggled to maintain a monolithic faith in which all direction came from Rome. Traditionalists blamed Paul VI for misguided and heterodox reforms. They demanded a return to the church as it existed before the Second Vatican Council. A tad more reasonable were so-called conservatives, who were open to some modernization. Those conservatives also castigated Paul VI, not as a heretic, but as someone who went too far in his zeal to update the church. Yet another group, modern theologians, represented by the Swiss priest Hans Küng, questioned all conventional thinking, on everything from Papal infallibility to homosexuality and abortion to even limits on the divinity of Christ (Küng’s 1971 bestseller, Infallible? An Inquiry, challenged the heart of whether a Pope spoke for God on matters of faith). The Charismatics believed that the church needed to return to its early roots by emphasizing the power of the Holy Spirit. The progressives, a fast growing subset, believed Paul had not gone far enough in his reforms and that the ideal future was in a loose partnership with leftist secular governments who followed the teachings of Jesus by redistributing wealth to the poor and underclass.

The threats the church had faced during World War II and the early Cold War seemed lost in the confusion of the social revolution that had kicked off in the mid-1960s. It showed little signs of abating.

A steady stream of bad news also left Paul emotionally exhausted. The brutal murder of Congolese Cardinal Émilie Biayenda, to whom he had personally given the red hat in 1973, put him into a funk.12 But no event affected him more than when the radical left-wing Red Brigades killed five bodyguards and kidnapped Aldo Moro, a two-time Italian Prime Minister, from a busy Rome street. The Pope, who had long known Moro and had great affection for him, led the appeals for his release. For two months, starting in March 1978, the kidnappers managed to keep one step ahead of a massive security hunt. The captive Moro wrote personal letters to his political colleagues and to Paul, begging them to do whatever was needed to free him. And the Pontiff in turn pleaded with Italy to strike any necessary compromise. Against the advice of his advisors, he even made a dramatic public offer to trade places with Moro.13 The Red Brigades ignored his appeal. Instead, that May, Moro was shot ten times in a circle around his heart and left to bleed to death, stuffed into the trunk of an abandoned car in central Rome.14

Pope Paul was inconsolable.15 He joined the nation in heartfelt mourning. Despite his pain, he insisted that he personally say the funeral Mass for the assassinated leader. On a cold spring day that May, Paul VI crossed Rome to preside over the funeral at a packed Basilica of St. John Lateran. It was the first time Vaticanologists could recall a Pope saying a requiem Mass for anyone other than a cardinal.16 And a few days after Moro’s murder, the normally taciturn Paul fought back tears as he addressed a group of children at St. Peter’s.17 Both the church and his beloved Italy, he later dejectedly told his personal secretary, Monsignor Macchi, seemed under attack.

Macchi had witnessed for several years the bitter resignation with which Paul observed the secular violence and instability in Italy. All the leading Red Brigades were Catholics who had abandoned their faith to embrace a violent strain of communism that now engulfed Italian cities. And it was not just Italy. The grim news continued to pour in that summer. A Spanish general and his aide were assassinated in broad daylight by left-wing terrorists in Madrid.18 Twelve white teachers and children were butchered by guerrillas in Rhodesia.19 A grenade nearly killed Iraq’s ambassador in London, and a terror attack on the Iraqi embassy in Paris left two dead.20 PLO bombs killed five and wounded dozens of Israelis on a Jerusalem bus.21

The spiraling violence played to Paul’s natural pessimism. The Pope had lost interest in the more mundane aspects of overseeing the Curia. For nearly a year, day-to-day administrative duties had been split between Archbishop Giovanni Benelli, the powerful Substitute Secretary of State, and Macchi. The two often clashed.22 That was resolved when the Pope elevated Benelli to the rank of cardinal and dispatched him to Florence. But removing Benelli did not help. Benelli may have irritated many with his abrupt Tuscan ways, but even his detractors knew he was capable of making quick decisions and sticking to them. Cardinal Jean-Marie Villot, who had been Secretary of State for a decade, wielded tremendous influence with Paul, but the aloof Frenchman was himself challenged when it came to the Curial bureaucracy. And Macchi seemed exhausted, unable to prevent Paul from indulging in interminable vacillation.

In the spring, Malachi Martin, a former Jesuit professor at Rome’s Pontifical Biblical Institute, told The Boston Globe that the only reason Paul VI had not yet resigned was because he had not succeeded in rallying enough support for a radical plan to allow some limited participation in the next conclave by non-Catholic Christian faiths.23 By appointing many Third World cardinals among twenty-nine red hats in 1973, Paul had eliminated the possibility that a European-only bloc could elect the next Pope. And in 1976, when he elevated another twenty-one bishops to become cardinals, most were from outside Europe. Only two were Italians, the smallest percentage from Italy in the church’s history.24 Still, according to Martin, the demographics of the cardinals were too conservative to guarantee the Pope he would get the progressive successor he wanted. As a result, claimed Martin, Paul clung to the Papacy.25

A resignation by Paul would have a more deleterious effect on Marcinkus than most Curia power brokers. Marcinkus’s frankness and no-frills manner had inspired confidence in the Pope for over fifteen years. Paul relied on the American bishop’s fearlessness, a trait he admired but could never emulate. The unique dynamic of their friendship meant that Paul never hobbled the IOR through the fog of indecision and equivocation that was a trademark of his Papacy. He allowed Marcinkus to run the Vatican Bank.

When il crack Sindona had exploded three years earlier, the Pope could have silenced any criticism over the IOR’s role by transferring Marcinkus to Curial Siberia. Some prominent cardinals and bishops had demanded just that. But Paul had proven decisive and firm in sticking by his beleaguered IOR chief.

The Pope’s resignation would also end the tenure of Monsignor Macchi. Many Curialists resented Macchi for the outsized power he wielded as Paul’s alter ego. Macchi and Marcinkus ranked as the two most unpopular officials at the Vatican. An unnamed monsignor in the Curia told author John Cornwell that “Maachi had the Pope’s ear and Marcinkus had the pursestrings.”26 Persistent gossip accused the duo of plotting to get their pet projects rubber-stamped by the infirm Pontiff.27

Marcinkus was not only concerned about losing his patrons at the top of the Vatican. Developments in the United States also threatened his strongest ally there, Chicago Cardinal John Cody. The two had been friends since the 1950s. For several years there had been some published reports critical of Cody’s authoritarian governance. As head of America’s largest Catholic diocese, Cody wielded tremendous power. And after New York’s Cardinal Spellman died in 1967, he had become the biggest American fundraiser for Rome. Through the 1970s, Cody had seemed untouchable. This despite the energetic efforts of Father Andrew Greeley, a liberal American priest and professor of sociology much admired by the American media, who was on a mission to prove that Cody was guilty of financial improprieties.28 Greeley used his syndicated national newspaper column to press his case.29 And privately, and later in print, Greeley often became an armchair psychologist, diagnosing Cody with “a borderline personality disorder” or speculating that he was even “a psychopathic paranoid.”30 According to Greeley, Cody was a binge drinker who checked into a handful of southwest Chicago hotels so he could go on all-night benders. And Greeley accused the Chicago police of suppressing several drunk-driving arrests.31 Rome judged Greeley an unreliable, attention-hungry gadfly, dismissing his wild charges without paying them much heed.

But now Macchi shared with Marcinkus that some damning information independent of Greeley had filtered into the Vatican about how Cody might be running America’s largest diocese into the ground. In July (1978), a two-inch-thick dossier made its way from the United States to Rome. It was the result of a detailed probe Paul VI had ordered.

As he reviewed the dossier, Paul dismissed much of it as inevitable jealous infighting, including the stories that Cody was a bigot, had a vindictive streak, that he espoused neo-fascist military views, and that he was in regular contact with the right-wing John Birch Society. He was more concerned about the complaint that he had alienated Chicago’s clergy and top laymen with his heavy-handed ways. The file included a remarkable public condemnation of Cody by the Association of Chicago Priests. They charged that the cardinal had lied to them and that he employed a network of informants to maintain his authoritarian rule through fear and intimidation.32 There was even information that Cody might have too close a personal relationship with a Chicago area woman.I

But the accusations that got Pope Paul’s full attention were about money. One marked Cody as a bad financial manager. While treasurer of the National Conference of Catholic Bishops, he had invested millions in Penn Central shortly before its insolvency. The other more troubling charge was that he had refused to account for millions more in diocesan funds. Cody had blocked access to the accounts to both prelates and accountants and there were suggestions that he might have diverted some of the money to a lavish lifestyle.34

The file did not include a recommendation as to what the Pope should do. On such a sensitive matter, Paul would ordinarily weigh his options for months. But not only was the evidence presented strong, but the complaints from many of the Chicago prelates dated back to 1976. All of Paul’s trusted advisors—including his Secretary of State, Cardinal Villot; Monsignor Agostino Casaroli, secretary of the Council of the Public Affairs of the Church; and Cardinal Sebastiano Baggio, the take-no-nonsense Prefect of the Sacred Congregation for Bishops—thought Cody should go. Paul even reached out to Florence’s Cardinal Benelli, who had looked into some of the charges when he was still in the Secretary of State’s office. He also thought Cody should resign.

Who to replace him? Baggio thought the natural choice was Cincinnati’s Archbishop Joseph Bernardin, whom Paul had made the youngest American bishop ever in 1966. The Pontiff liked Bernardin. The bishop had an unblemished reputation as an efficient and decent administrator of the Cincinnati church. While Bernardin shared Paul’s liberal political views, he was also a traditionalist on core theological matters such as clerical celibacy and ensuring that women were not eligible for the priesthood.

What about Marcinkus, wondered the Pope? He was a Chicagoan and had a strong working relationship with the chief clerics in that diocese. It would seem the ideal way to give Marcinkus a red hat and to ensure that his move from the IOR was a promotion. Baggio advised against it. The Chicago church was a mess in part because it had been directed so poorly. As Marcinkus had never run a diocese, suggested Baggio, this would not be the time for him to learn on the job. The Pope took it under consideration.35

Paul settled on a plan that would move Cody out in a face-saving way. Baggio—known as “the Pope’s fixer”—flew to Chicago to inform the cardinal that the Pontiff wanted the appointment of a bishop as coadjutor, someone who would be responsible for the diocese’s day-to-day operations. The press release would cite Cody’s poor health as the reason a new bishop was assisting him. And Cody would remain as the cardinal until he reached retirement age in 1982, at which point Bernardin would fully take charge.

In early August at Cody’s villa in Mundelein, Baggio confronted the Chicago cardinal with the evidence and the Pope’s directive. Cody was not contrite, nor did he agree to a coadjutor. Baggio stormed out after a contentious hour. Baggio’s report to Rome: the cardinal was defiant and in violation of Canon Law for failing to follow a Papal order.36 Monsignor Macchi intercepted Baggio’s report. It arrived at an inopportune time. The Pope was not feeling well, and Mario Fontana, his chief physician, had just placed him on antibiotics because of a suspected urinary tract infection. Paul was running a fever and his hands were shaking. Seventy-four-year-old Fontana told Macchi he should wait a few days before discussing church matters. Macchi held back the news about Cody.37

By Saturday, August 5, the Pope was not feeling better. Macchi canceled the Pontiff’s Sunday benediction. He was disappointed not to make it. It marked not only the Feast of the Transfiguration, a celebration of Christ’s resurrection, but was the thirty-third anniversary of the bombing of Hiroshima. Paul had prepared a special blessing for world peace.38

That Saturday night, the Pope felt strong enough to join Macchi and another personal secretary, Monsignor John Magee for dinner. Afterward they prayed for the dozens of Israelis killed and injured earlier that day when a PLO bomb tore apart Tel Aviv’s popular Carmel Market.39 But the Pope cut the prayers short, complaining of intense pain.40 Macchi called Fontana, who ordered more rest. The antibiotics needed more time to be effective, said the physician.

On Sunday morning, August 6, when Fontana and Macchi walked into the bedroom, the Pontiff was sweating and complaining about pain. This time Fontana was more concerned. The Pope’s temperature had spiked and his blood pressure was low.41

Fontana telephoned a specialist at Rome’s Agostino Gemelli Hospital. What about transferring the Pontiff by helicopter to Gemelli, asked the specialist? No, Fontana had discussed it with Macchi and the other secretaries. They agreed that Paul should stay at Castel Gandolfo. Taking him to a hospital would be unprecedented. When Paul had his prostate surgery a few years earlier, a surgeon had done it in a makeshift operating room in the Apostolic Palace. What about dispatching Gemelli’s renowned mobile intensive care unit to Castel Gandolfo? The problem, said Fontana, was that their arrival on an otherwise quiet Sunday would alert the press corps. If the Pope’s condition worsened, Fontana assured the Gemelli specialist that he would summon the emergency crew.

Fontana then told the grim-faced household staff that if Paul survived the next twelve hours, he would pull through.42

Around 5 p.m. the Pope’s condition worsened. He was still lucid but his blood pressure was more erratic. Paul asked Macchi to summon his brother and his favorite nephew.43 Secretary of State Villot soon arrived. He had brought with him a small silver hammer that had been handed down for more than a thousand years. It was the hammer used in church tradition to determine if a Pontiff was dead.44 Villot was prepared for the worst. The tall French cardinal paced along the edge of the bedroom chamber, as much from anxiety over the Pope’s condition as from being unable to light up one of his trademark Gauloises. No smoking, Fontana politely told the chain-smoking Secretary of State when he arrived at Castel Gandolfo.

At 6 p.m., Macchi asked the small group to join him in a Mass in the chapel adjoining Paul’s bedroom. In the pew closest to the open door between the rooms, Magee and Fontana kept an eye on the Pope. A few minutes into the Mass, Paul had trouble breathing. Fontana detected a rapid and irregular heartbeat. It was likely a heart attack. He told Macchi the time was short. Rome’s AP bureau got the word and flashed the first wire service story only a few minutes later at 6:15 p.m. that “Pope Paul VI suffered a heart attack. He is semi-conscious.”45

A grim silence settled over the small gathering. Macchi gave Paul a Communion wafer. Villot administered last rites.46 For the next three hours Paul lapsed in and out of consciousness. At 9:40, it seemed he had stopped breathing. Fontana again put a stethoscope to his chest. “It’s over.”47

That medical opinion did not suffice by church protocol. Villot retrieved the silver hammer. He tapped the Pontiff in the middle of his forehead with the flat head of the hammer. “Giovanni Battista Enrico Antonio Maria, are you dead?” Silence. A minute later Villot repeated the ritual. Again silence. And then he did it a third time. The Pope did not move.

Villot turned to those in the room. “Pope Paul is truly dead.”48,II

Villot was now Camerlengo, the cardinal responsible for running the church until the next Pope was elected.50 Clerics in the Secretary of State’s office began sending telegrams in Italian and French to all the cardinals. They said: “THE POPE IS DEAD. COME AT ONCE. VILLOT.”51

The politicking to select the 263rd Pontiff in the church’s history would soon begin.


I. Compared to the many other charges of impropriety, the suggestion that Cody might have broken his celibacy vows did not then seem important. But in a couple of years it was that relationship—with Helen Dolan Wilson—that would be the basis for a federal grand jury investigation of Cody and whether he had diverted more than $1 million in church funds to the sixty-six-year-old divorcée. At the time, the Pope did not know that Cody had brought Wilson—who was the cardinal’s step-cousin—to Rome for his coronation as a cardinal; loaned her money to buy a vacation home in Boca Raton, Florida; put her on the payroll of the archdiocese; padded her work records so she got a larger pension; and steered the life insurance business of many Chicago priests to Wilson’s insurance-agent son.33

II. Part of Villot’s duties was to take custody of the Fisherman’s Ring that is custom-made for each Pope. During the upcoming Conclave of Cardinals, the Secretary of State was required to smash that ring with other cardinals as witnesses. In ancient times, when wax seals were the mark of authenticity on official documents, it was important to destroy the deceased Pope’s ring and all his seals to guarantee that no one could impersonate the dead Pontiff. Villot was stunned to see the ring missing from Paul’s right hand. Villot ordered Macchi to find it before the conclave. He did, four days later, stuffed under some papers in the back of a desk drawer in the Pope’s study.49