Lieberman's Law Read Online Free PDF

“Whiz” Parker, a thirty-eight-year-old African-American, former All-American running back at the University of Illinois and former Green Bay Packer. Father Parker’s congregation consisted almost totally of Vietnamese and Koreans who moved slowly into the previously Polish neighborhood in Edgewater when the Poles moved out. St. Bart’s had a homeless shelter. Most of the homeless who made their way west from Broadway, north from Devon and east from Western, were white with a few blacks, never an Asian.
    Result: A congregation of Catholic Asians with a black priest was running a shelter primarily for white men and women.
    The few white parishioners, like Detective William Hanrahan, were there, more or less, by mistake. A murder investigation two years earlier had brought Hanrahan in search of a homeless man and back to the church. The policeman, who had himself been a Parade magazine All-American football player from Vocational High School, had bad knees that drove him from big-time college ball to a mediocre career at Eureka College and no draft pick.
    The two men spoke the same language.
    â€œYou know,” said Father Parker, looking across his cluttered desk in his cluttered office, “I can’t marry you.”
    Hanrahan nodded and patted the hand of Iris Huang who looked nervous. Hanrahan was a little past his fiftieth birthday. So was Iris, but she could easily be mistaken for thirty.
    Hanrahan sat back and looked at the familiar walls filled with photographs, mostly football players. Most were signed. There was even one of a young Bill Hanrahan, obtained by Parker when he was a boy. A light, chilly spring rain was still falling outside. Parker, wearing sneakers, a pair of jeans and a white button-down shirt, looked out at the rain and listened as it hit the pebble-covered parking lot next to the church. “Advice, suggestions, Sam,” said Hanrahan. “We’ve got a problem here.”
    Father Parker turned back to the man and woman who were holding hands. “Maybe,” said the priest, rubbing his neck.
    â€œI’ve been sober for almost two years,” said Hanrahan.
    â€œBill,” Parker said softly. “It’s not your sobriety or lack of it. You’ve been divorced in a civil court. Even if I wanted to, I’d have to check with the Archdiocese who would have to check with … You can see how it goes. I might even go all the way to the Vatican where some ninety-year-old Italian cardinal will automatically say ‘no.’ Right or wrong, the Church has circled the holy wagons and is drawing lines in Our Savior’s blood around the circle. One line clearly reads that you can’t cross it on this issue.”
    â€œI’m a Catholic, Sam,” Hanrahan said. “Iris is more than willing to convert if necessary. We don’t want a Justice of the Peace. We don’t want a Protestant.”
    â€œBest I can give you is an Episcopalian,” said Father Parker. He paused and added, “That’s a joke, Bill.”
    â€œHard to laugh, Father,” Hanrahan said with a sigh.
    â€œMiss Huang?”
    â€œMy family, my father, has learned to accept William. My uncles, aunts, cousins, and others are more cautious.”
    â€œHow about an ex-priest with a Korean wife who heads a Universalist congregation in Des Plaines?” asked Father Parker.
    â€œAnother joke?” asked Hanrahan.
    â€œNope,” said the priest standing up. “Vincent DiPino. Went to the seminary with him. Ordained with him. He dropped out of the church four years ago, got married, runs a computer system update business out of his house, and has a congregation triple mine.”
    â€œA football player?” asked Hanrahan.
    â€œA little high school soccer,” said Father Parker, sitting on the edge of his desk after moving a pile of books and papers. “Can’t have everything.”
    Hanrahan looked at Iris, who smiled back at him