The Archbishop Wore Combat Boots. Nancy A. Collins

a woman from Chicago came to Miami Beach with her godchild, who had become pregnant after having relations with a soldier. When I discovered that the soldier had been shipped out to a camp in California, the godmother asked, “When does the next train leave for California?” That young lady was in good hands.

      War puts emotional stress on everyone, and one recruit told me he had felt pressured to marry a girl he had only been friendly with before shipping off to basic training. “We dated occasionally, but I certainly was not in love with her,” he explained. “The newspaper carried stories about draftees getting married to their sweethearts. The girl and her parents talked with my folks about a marriage. My folks agreed because they liked the girl, and then they urged me to marry her. Frankly, I didn’t want to argue or hurt my parents or hers. So I got married, but I did not have the intention of getting married. What should I do?” I advised him, “Be careful of how you write to her. Avoid saying that you love her. After the war bring your case to the Catholic tribunal in your diocese and explain the case to them. You have a good case.” War is never an excuse for a quickie marriage.

      Some recruits were so anxious to pass their physicals they temporarily developed high blood pressure. My standard advice was, “Put yourself in the hands of God, and also say a prayer for the intercession of the Blessed Mother.” The prayer worked well. But one day a Jewish soldier named Brock asked for advice because his sinuses would get inflamed as soon as he started the physical exam. “I need rest to control it,” Brock said. “All right,” I replied. “Here’s the key to my apartment. Take a nap.” That also worked.

      Young, lovelorn soldiers were a special problem. One forlorn soul told me he had to go AWOL (absent without leave) because his girlfriend was being wooed off her feet by a neighbor. “I can’t write well and tell her how much I love her,” he pleaded. “Well,” I replied, “sit down here and tell me how much you love her, and I’ll tell you how to phrase it.” He obeyed. A week later he came back, all smiles — and I discovered that writing an effective love letter and an inspirational homily isn’t all that different, except for the audience.

      An older soldier had a different problem. His wife left him, and he found, in searching her belongings, that her baptismal certificate indicated she was sixteen years older than she had admitted. “You mean to tell me you couldn’t tell that she was sixteen years older than she claimed?” I asked. “No,” the soldier replied sheepishly. “She was sunburned.”

      Some of the recruits were illiterate, and were taught to read, count, and write in an elementary manner. There were a few Catholics among them, but they all seemed to know that the Catholic chaplain could help them. Unfortunately, some “barracks lawyer” told them that if they were completely uncooperative, they would be dismissed by the Army and allowed to go home. A gullible victim of that nonsensical advice came to my office, disheveled and thoroughly dirty. “I’m sorry to tell you that the advice you got is all wrong,” I said. “Let me explain how you can get a whole new life if you follow the recommendations of the Army.” Surprisingly, my guidance worked.

      Unbecoming Conduct

      In general, the civilian population of Miami Beach generously provided volunteers for our Catholic Center (USO) as well as supplies for the use of the chaplains. There was, however, one group of storekeepers who gouged the soldiers for their ordinary needs. One of these was the Pancoast Drug Store, which sold soft drinks, sandwiches, and toiletries. I lodged a formal complaint with the Office of Price Administration but got nowhere. I concluded some direct action was needed.

      I spoke to Chaplain McClay, the commanding officer of the men in the immediate area of the Pancoast Drug Store, and asked if he would give me permission to suggest to the men that they not patronize the store. Then, early in the morning, I stood in front of the store, diverting all the soldiers from entering. The effect was immediate. About ten thirty in the morning, trucks came to haul out their perishable goods. Shortly thereafter, I received a telephone call in the store asking me to picket another store. The news spread.

      While I was speaking to the store manager, an officer of the Provost Marshall arrived and hustled me off to his office. Chaplain Salango, a Protestant chaplain, had joined me, and so he came along. The Provost Marshall summarily ordered us to stop the boycott and said nothing could be done to put the store “off limits.” At lunch, I was told to report to Colonel Parker, the elderly commanding officer of the entire operations at Miami Beach. He told me, “This is the most disgraceful exhibition of an officer I have ever seen in my life. Go down and be judged by your immediate commanding officer.” I reported to Colonel Claggett, who chewed me out a bit, but did nothing further. A few hours later, I was ordered to report to the Air Corps Inspector General, who informed me that I had been accused of starting a riot. I knew I had to be clear about what had happened, so I signed an affidavit stating the exact chain of events.

      That night a young, polite officer of the Judge Advocate General’s Office came to my apartment and told me, “I approve of what you did today, but I’m sorry to inform you that you are charged with conduct unbecoming an officer.” I related what had happened. The boycott was so controversial that the newspaper carried an article about it. I decided to visit Monsignor William Barry, the courageous and effective pastor of St. Patrick Parish on the beach, who was considered by the mayor and chief of police as the unofficial manager of the bustling area. Whenever anything unusual happened on the beach, Monsignor Barry was there to offer advice to city authorities. A few years earlier Monsignor Barry had been offended by a drug store’s practice of advertising that it had contraceptives for sale, and when he appealed to the pharmacy to remove the storefront ads, it flatly refused. On the following Sunday, he asked all of his parishioners to boycott the drug store. Very quickly, the drug store pulled the advertising. Monsignor Barry was equal to the task in defending my actions. He explained the situation to a colonel friend, and the colonel quashed the case.

      Somehow, the word of what I had done got back to Archbishop Michael Curley in Baltimore, and he paternally ordered me to be more prudent in the future, pointing out that a charge of “conduct unbecoming an officer” could be very maliciously interpreted. I also received a letter from Father John Cronin, in charge of the Social Action Department of the National Catholic Welfare Council in Washington, D.C. — which later became the National Conference of Catholic Bishops and the United States Catholic Conference — inviting me to join him in his labor union work after the war.

      That experience demonstrated I should be very careful about promoting any ideas to better the lives of the recruits except through my spiritual ministry, although there often is a political or social component to spreading the Gospel. I had my hands full in fulfilling my spiritual ministry on the Beach. The three Catholic chaplains decided to offer a weeklong “mission” for all the military personnel and any other Catholics who lived on the beach. We delivered a mission sermon every night at eight o’clock, followed by Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament. We heard confessions before and after the homily. At the solemn closing of the mission on Sunday afternoon, Monsignor Barry offered Benediction. It was very successful — about twelve thousand soldiers attended.

      In the week leading up to Christmas in 1943, we heard confessions practically all day. I remember leaving the confessional on Christmas Eve at 11:50 p.m., just in time to put on the vestments for Midnight Mass. The reward was infinitely worth the effort. There was an intense feeling of family and religious unity among the men. I tried to tie it all together with my homily, which focused on unity with Christ in the Holy Family. I asked the men to remember their families at home and the families of all engaged in the war effort. After Mass, the soldiers were so enthralled they gathered in groups to continue singing Christmas hymns for hours. We really had the Christmas spirit. Many of the men were away from home for the first time, and they enjoyed our efforts to make this Christmas special. A soldiers’ choir set an excellent tone for the Mass and led the caroling after Mass. We foraged for extra food to provide snacks for everyone after the Midnight Mass.

      We priest chaplains were so busy that I was very happy when additional priests joined us as reinforcements. Father Edward Trower, a Redemptorist, reported in and was assigned officially to take care of the hospitals, but he generously gave us help at any time he could spare. A Carmelite priest from Chicago, Father Robert Burns, arrived and quickly became a great favorite