Boyle Christina - An American Cardinal: the biography of Cardinal Timothy Dolan

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For my mother: for her selfless love, support, and encouragement. And for my father: whose wise words still guide me.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PREFACE

Cardinal Timothy Dolan came bounding down the stairs of his Madison Avenue residence wearing black pants with suspenders and a gray polo shirt. So, whats this project youre working on? he asked, settling into the seat opposite me. This was our first one-on-one meeting after I had been commissioned to write his biography, so I started to explain how it all came about, going over phrases Id rehearsed vaguely in my head. Do you want anything to drink? Coffee? Water? he interrupted. Water would be great, thanks. His director of communications, Joseph Zwilling, motioned he would get it. Your Eminence, do you want anything? he asked politely. Dolan looked up and without hesitation replied, Ill have a Coors Light.

* * *

About an hour and a half earlier Id been seated in a pew inside St. Patricks Cathedral listening to Cardinal Dolans Sunday morning homily. He was holding the attention of maybe two thousand people as he spoke about not being afraid to stand up and defend your faith. He was skillfully making an earlier Bible reading relevant to his audience. First he recounted meeting some New York University students at a dedication ceremony for the new Cardinal Egan Catholic Center the night before. They radiate the faith on the campus, he said, and arent afraid to defend their views. Then he told a tale that struck closer to home. As a teen, his father worked as a part-time barman in Missouri to bring in some extra cash. One evening, his dad had just served a beer to an African American man when he overheard two white regulars talking. There was a great day when that man would not have been welcome here, they said. And the reason our country is changing is because of those G.D. knee-bending Catholics. (Dolan abbreviated the word goddamn to G.D. )

My dad was a very religious man, but you wouldnt call him a Shiite Catholic, Dolan told the rapt congregation. He was kind of very humble and behind the scenes in his faith. He kind of rose up and he went down to them and he said, Fellas, I happen to be one of those G.D. knee-bending Catholics, and I happen to be very proud of the teaching of my church that all men and women are created equal. And I happen to be rather proud of the posture of my church in the Civil Rights movement, and his business is highly appreciated here. Yours isnt. Get out of here. It was a simple story, told in simple terms, but the point had been made. His blue-collar dad had defended his beliefs and all the Catholics sitting in the pews should not be afraid to, either.

* * *

As Mass ended I was led toward the back of the cathedral, where streams of well-wishers lined up to meet the cardinal. There was a tour group from Rockland County who erupted into loud laughter as Dolan cracked a joke while posing for a photograph with them. Then an Irish woman approached and started sobbing as they spoke in close, hushed tones. The cardinals priest-secretary, Father Jim Cruz, was prompted to bring over holy water, and Dolan blessed her. Next came the young man on the brink of getting married who had attended Mass with three friends. He was eager to hear a quick, reassuring word from New Yorks Catholic leader. Dolan moved from situation to situation with patience and ease, resting his big heavy hand on one persons shoulder before putting his arm around another. Eventually his staff signaled it was time for him to leave and attempted to steer him away, to limited success because Dolan was in constant demand. Clearly long accustomed to assuming the role of killjoys, they persevered and eventually got their way.

An inconspicuous door at the back of St. Patricks Cathedral leads to a narrow staircase and directly into Dolans private residence. The cardinal was carrying his big gold crosier, wearing long green vestments, and had a pointed green miter on his head. He is a large man in both height and girth and, as I was invited to pass through the entrance ahead of him, I glanced back. I was struck by how imposing and regal he looked. Wait down here a moment while I go and get changed, he said as soon as we stepped into his home. While we waited, Zwilling gave me a tour of the reception rooms. The white papal chair Pope Benedict XVI used during his 2008 visit was displayed prominently against one wall. The carpeted staircase leading to Dolans study and living quarters was lined with large commissioned portraits of all his predecessors at the New York archdiocese, and there were icons and relics all over the walls. Just to the left of the front door, which opens onto Madison Avenue, hung the framed edict declaring Timothy Dolan a cardinal, signed with Pope Benedicts small, neat scrawl. On a table directly beneath it three red hats had been placed in a triangle. Front and center was the three-pointed cardinals biretta Dolan had received in Saint Peters Basilica in Vatican City seven months prior. To the right and left were souvenirs linked to Dolans second passion in life: baseball caps. One for the New York Yankees and the other for his childhood team, the St. Louis Cardinals. In the living room I spotted another personal sporting keepsake: a baseball signed by the St. Louis Cardinals legend Stan Musial, inscribed: One cardinal to another. It was impressive and imposing until Cardinal Dolan came striding back down the stairs to sit opposite me and swig his cold beer. Do you want a glass? Zwilling asked his boss. No, you know me, Dolan replied, sipping straight from the bottle. It was impossible not to find this man fascinating.

So, how can we help? Dolan continued. You should get a trip out of this when I go to Ireland or Rome. You want to follow me around for the day? I managed to get a word in that yes, I would like to do all of the above. Sure, he said. Im flattered. He apologized and explained that he couldnt chat for very long, as he had family in town waiting on the veranda for him. In fact, he said after a seconds hesitation, you should come and meet them because youll want to speak to them at some stage. We rose, and Dolan led me onto the terrace, his arm around my shoulder, and introduced me to his sister-in-law, his niece Caitlin, and the other family friends. Shes writing a book about me, he told them as we all shook hands. For the record, I dont drink Manhattans, he told me. Thats been written about me before. I drink whiskey, but I never drink Manhattans. Make sure you dont put that.

Minutes later I was standing outside the main doors to the cardinals residence on a bustling Madison Avenue with people and cars whizzing past. The whirlwind introduction was over. I pulled my phone from my bag and called my mother, explaining that the meeting was certainly unlike anything I had prepared myself for, but I thought the cardinal was on board and I had a feeling this project was going to be a lot of fun.

* * *

I have interviewed more than one hundred people in the course of researching and writing this book and sat down with Dolan multiple times. He is an incredibly busy man but made himself far more accessible and open to my endless lines of questioning than I ever could have hoped he would be. Anyone I reached out to was given the green light to speak to me, if they so desired. And Dolan gave me lists of people from various stages in his life who might be useful to speak to. We chatted in his twentieth-floor office in the Archdiocese of New York Catholic Center while he devoured a bowlful of popcorn. We toured his private living quarters, where baseball caps are dotted around and photos of his family and mentors cover every spare inch of wall. He showed me his chapel, where he sits quietly every morning, flicking through index cards scribbled with the names of people hes been asked to pray for. We walked through his study, where a large plate, piled high with signed baseballs, adorns a small table at the end of his desk. He also showed me his makeshift exercise room with an elliptical machine and bicycle, where he listens to Spanish tapes while trying to keep his weight in check.