Letter from Chip Northrup
The Cardinals Got It Right
You don’t have to be a Catholic to love the Pope. But it sure seems to help. It is a case of massive psychological transference, as confirmed by his name in Latin: “Father.” I met Pope John XXIII when I was 12. We talked about bicycles. I had a three-speed Schwinn. He had a 12-speed Bianchi. But he didn’t try to lord that over on me bikewise. He looked a bit like my hero, Yogi Berra. My mother arranged the audience and we flew over from Idlewild Airport in a four engine prop plane that stopped at Gander, Newfoundland to refuel, then Shannon, Ireland to refuel, then at a dusty little airport outside of Rome. Good times.
