An American in St Peter

For An American in St Peter’s

Language level: Advanced
Source: www.speakup.com.br
Speaker: Trisha Thomas
Standard: American accent



I was looking down at the top of President Bush’s head as i filed my live report the beginning of Pope John Paul II’s funeral, April 8, 2005.

I was on the Braccio di Carlo Magno, the enormous colonnade that spreads out like two arms from St. Peter’s Basilica. A group of journalists had been permitted to watch the funeral from the bird’s eye view above. Down bellow me the US president, Kofi Annan, Jacques Chirac, Nelson Mandela, Prince Charles, royalty from Spain and Jordan, and the Presidents of Iran and Afghanistan were among the dignitaries wishing farewell to the Pope.

Further down the row of onlookers, I noticed a Swiss Guard friend of mine dressed in a suit. He smiled and waved. Below I saw the book of Gospels  open on top of the Pope’s coffin. The pages fluttered and flipped in the wind.

A NATURAL

I would miss the man I had covered for 12 years. Covering him and the Vatican has been a challenge for me as a mother, but in this way, John Paul II made it easier, opening the Vatican up to television and being receptive to journalists. Right up until his death he was a natural on television. He knew how to use it. Back in 1993, for my first interview, inside the Vatican, I dressed in black form head to toe. I looked like a nun. At the Bronze Door, I told a Swiss Guard, in blue and yellow bloomers with a spear-length battle-axe, that I had appointment.

He pointed me to a wide staircase. Eventually I was ushered into a darkly furnished room after a while, the priest entered. He gave me a wet fish handshake, and look at something above my head. I began asking questions. His answers were short and vague. I gave up on acquiring information and just tried to get him to look at me, gesticulating and waving my hands about. He switched his gaze from the ceiling to the table. I gave up, fish-shaked, and left.

Later I learned about “custody of the eyes” according to the Encyclopedia for Catholicism, it is “the practice of diverting one’s gaze to protect the imagination…from sights that might tempt one to greed, lust of idle curiosity.” Certain priests believe that looking a woman in the eyes can be risky.

But it is not always like that. Before my first interview with a Cardinal at the Vatican. I became agitated over how I should address him –should I use “your Eminence,” and should I kiss his ring?  I wondered if I was going to ruin my chances of getting any information by not kissing his ring. While I was fretting, in marched the Cardinal, hand out stretched, “I’m Cardinal O’Connor, how ya’ doin?” Whoops, I had forgotten he was from New York City.

WORKING MUM

The Vatican is an easier assignment than others for a mother. Fortunately even when I was pregnant, I was able to travel on Papal trips. I was six months pregnant with my third child, Chiara, in the spring of 2000 when I traveled with the Pope to Cairo at Mt. Sinai.

And I was pregnant with my middle child, Caterina, on one of the Poland trips. But it was my oldest, nine-year-old Nicoló, who witnessed history. On April 19^th, the second day of the Conclave, I felt sick. I had been working non-stop for months starting in February waiting under John Paul II’s window at the hospital. I decided to run home for a rest.

WHITE SMOKE

At home my children were giving the baby-sitter a hard time. My son begged me t take him to the Vatican. In the taxi I explained how a Conclave works, white smoke if the cardinals have chosen a pope, black smoke if the vote was inconclusive. I said that we would be seeing some black smoke. As we arrived on Via della Conciliazione, a shout went up from the crowd, “Fumo!” I grabbed Nico’s hand and started to run. We couldn’t tell what color the smoke was. White, gray, dark gray, not black. The crowd was confused.

“Giornalista, giornalista!” I shouted waving my press pass as I climbed over wooden barriers in the square. We made it to the obelisk where my colleague was filming the smoke. A few big puffs burst out, clearly “white.” The bells began to toll. The crowd roared.

Ten minutes later we saw the cardinals in their red robes lining up at the windows of St. Peter’s Basilica, and then out he came, the new Pope, Benedict XVI.