Scoring a seat for Vatican II’s opening took pluck

    I was a seminarian studying in Rome for the Diocese of Baton Rouge when Bishop Robert Tracy arrived on Oct. 5, 1962, less than a week before the opening of the Second Vatican Council on Oct. 11.
    Bishop Tracy had only a short time to complete his immediate preparation for the council. His remote preparation had begun in July, only eight months after becoming the bishop of Baton Rouge, when he furiously read seven schemas on topics to be considered by the council fathers. These were sent by the preparatory commissions composed mainly of Vatican prelates.
    In addition, he read “The Church in Crisis,” a history of ecumenical councils, by Msgr. Philip Hughes, whom he personally visited at the University of Notre Dame. Next, he read council “Reform and Reunion” by Father Hans Kung, whom he met at the Catholic Student Center at Oxford, England, just before going to Italy. He also read a “very helpful pamphlet” on the council by Herbert Keldany, published in England. Finally, he read about the previous ecumenical council, “The (First) Vatican Council 1869-1870,” by Cuthbert Butler.
     Rain had fallen the night before the council opened and heavy clouds hung over St. Peter’s Square when we arrived in the morning. Of course, none of us seminarians had tickets to get in. These had been given only to the diplomatic corps of nations with ambassadors to the Vatican, other dignitaries from around the world, the “periti” (theological experts) who were to help the bishops with writing the council documents, and the press.
The basilica was packed
    The entire center section of St. Peter’s Basilica was filled with bleachers on each side facing each other. They were covered with magnificent red draperies and held a seat for each of the 2,500 bishops, abbots and religious superiors who composed the fathers of the council. These were seated in the order of their appointment – cardinals in front nearest the pope at the main altar, followed by archbishops, bishops, etc.
    First among the archbishops was Joseph Francis Rummel of New Orleans, who had been appointed in 1935. Bishop Tracy was almost the last bishop appointed as ordinary of a diocese and therefore would have been way in the back. But, as his luck would have it, the card that each bishop received with the exact location of his seat for the entire session failed to be delivered in time for the opening Mass. Bishop Tracy ended up right in the middle of the aula for the historic opening.   
    The seats for the council fathers were, according to Bishop Tracy, “roomy and comfortable and cleverly arranged. (They were) … constructed of very fine wood, foam rubber cushions and green plastic upholstery. Each bishop had a seat with arms, a kneeler, an adjustable shelf which served as a desk and a magnetic pencil to record one’s presence and one’s vote on IBM cards, which would then be processed by automatic computers.”
    Probably none of the bishops realized that their council was ushering in the age of technology.  
    God seemed to be smiling on Pope John XXIII’s council. The sun broke through, and the entrance procession began up the long steps of the Scala Regia, through the great bronze doors, across St. Peter’s square and up the steps of the massive basilica into the main aula.
    Meanwhile, every seminarian in Rome was wondering, “How do I get in?”
    Bishops carry their ceremonial miters in covers to keep them clean. With rain threatening, many had their miters on their heads and the covers in their hands. Enterprising seminarians jumped into the procession, offering to carry those covers. This worked for a while, until the papal masters of ceremonies, Bishop Dante and Msgr. Capoferro, caught on. My fellow seminarian Clarence Waguespack got thrown out of the procession a few times before he finally eluded these watchdogs.
Can I offer a hand?
    Seeing this, another possibility came to my mind. I knew one of the members of the Vatican Secret Service, Carlo Fiori, and had visited him at his desk on the top floor of the Scala Regia. Those bronze doors of the Scala Regia are too heavy to be closed without quite a few Swiss Guards pushing on them. Sure enough, they were left open as the last bishops entered St. Peter’s Square.
    I found Fiori at his post, stacking programs for the ceremony. I asked (well … really begged), “Posso aiutarla?” (Can I help you?)
    With a wink he loaded me up with programs and said, “Mi segua, per favore” (Follow me, please.)
    We wound our way through all sorts of little passages into the basilica and arrived in the bleachers reserved for the diplomatic corps, which were against one of the four huge pillars that support the dome of the basilica. Immediately to the left was the main altar and the pope.
    I handed out all my programs and spotted one empty place. So, I sat down! Front-row seat, surrounded by people who were very interesting.
    The Mass, of course, was glorious, but the highlight was Pope John’s inaugural address to the council fathers. He began with the words, “Mother Church rejoices” (Gaudet Mater Ecclesia).
    Pope John had begun preparing the speech three years before in 1959. After mentioning the centrality of councils in the life of the Church, he situated Vatican II “in the context of the deviations, the needs and the opportunities of the modern age.” He said that it was an opportunity for “a wider and more objective understanding of the Church’s possibilities in terms of human society and its future but with a friendly and welcoming attitude, not one of condemnation.”
‘Prophets of doom’
    He called for “fitting measures of renewal.” For this, it was necessary to discern the “signs of the times” and to overcome tendencies “to see the modern era as nothing but transgression and disaster…” He explicitly declared that he “must dissent from these prophets of gloom, who are always announcing some ominous event, almost as if the end of the world were upon us.”
    Next Pope John addressed the unity of all Christians, indeed of the entire human race. What was striking was the absence of any sort of blame accorded to non-Catholics. While reaffirming the Church’s fidelity to Christ, he committed it to working for the restoration of the “great mystery of unity.”
    Finally, he concluded by expressing his conviction that all of humanity is heading toward a new cycle of history that bears within itself an “unexpected and unforeseen meaning for salvation.”
    Father Carville is a retired priest in the Diocese of Baton Rouge. He is writing a series of columns for The Catholic Commentator on his memories of the Second Vatican Council, which he observed as a seminarian in Rome in the 1960s.