Ray Mariano: The Bishop Reilly I knew

In my neighborhood and at my church, we didn’t get to see a bishop very often. When we did, we were honored by his presence. Honored and a bit fearful.

As a young boy, I only saw Bishop Bernard Flanagan twice — once at my confirmation and at another Mass held at St. Joan of Arc Church. As an altar boy at the church, I was asked to join a group of other servers to assist at Mass where Flanagan would be present.

In the days leading up to that Mass, I was a nervous wreck. What if I pronounced a word or phrase in my Latin wrong? What if I wasn’t kneeling straight enough? When the day of the Mass came, Flanagan was not the intimidating presence I expected. He seemed very nice. We really didn’t interact — he was constantly surrounded by other priests and adults from the church. But he did smile in my direction.

As a young elected official, I met Flanagan’s replacement, Bishop Timothy Harrington, a couple of times. Both times, he was very pleasant and we only exchanged a few words.

In my experience, bishops were to be respected but from a distance.

That’s why I was so surprised the first time that I met Bishop Daniel Reilly. As mayor, I was invited to a breakfast, along with about 40 or 50 other city leaders, to meet our new bishop. Since it was early in the morning and I typically drove my son Anthony to school, I took him along. After the breakfast, Anthony and I went over to say hello.

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Worcester’s new bishop was very engaging. As we talked, I found out that, like me, he was one of nine children. Since Anthony was now about a half hour late for his kindergarten class, the bishop offered to write him a late note excuse. When Sister Clare O’Brien, at Worcester Central Catholic, got the note, she had it blown up and hung on the wall. It seems, at least in her eyes, Anthony had met a real celebrity.

Reilly was a big man with a strong voice, a hearty laugh and a huge personality. He dominated every room he was in. Even in a crowd, when he was talking to you he made you feel like you were the only person in the room.

In many ways, Reilly was the quintessential Irish politician, blessed with an abundance of charm, wit, and a love to be around people. He loved to sing and speak in public. Once he got his hands on a microphone, he was reluctant to let it go. And people loved to be around him.

Reilly loved being among his people and in the center of the room.

I remember the time I was coaching a group of city employees and officials in a charity basketball game at St. Peter-Marian High School against the school’s varsity and alumni. An old friend of mine, Joe D’Ambra, who worked at the school and would be playing in the game, came over to the bench for a little trash-talking. Knowing that my team included a number of fairly large police officers, D’Ambra, who was small in size but had an athlete’s competitive spirit, said, “I don’t care how big your guys are, I’m banging 'em hard.”

I laughed and said, “Joe, I’ve got a guy on my team that you wouldn’t have the nerve to go near.” Now I had his attention. He wanted to bet me $20. I told him that he was my friend and that I didn’t want to take more than $1 from him. It was a bet.

In the second half of the game, my team was losing by eight points or so and I called a timeout. When the referee blew the whistle for the game to resume, I motioned to an older man sitting in the stands to enter the game.

With several large police officers holding back players from the other team and forming a path to the basket, Reilly walked onto the court in his black suit and white collar, grabbed the basketball, took a few dribbles and laid the ball up to the basket. The shot missed, he grabbed his own rebound and made sure this shot went in. The crowd cheered and the official scorekeeper put 10 points on our total.

The bishop loved the attention, and the crowd loved his presence and willingness to be a part of the game.

And Joe, with his chin on his chest, walked over to the sidelines to get my dollar bill.

Reilly loved being anywhere there were people. I saw him out in the community more often than any other religious leader — maybe more than all of them combined. I saw him at a church basketball league event, festivals and dinners, just about everywhere.

But most of all, I think he loved being a priest. A young boy told me that he went to the bishop to make his confession. When the boy knelt down, he was surprised by the bishop’s informality. “So, what’s going on?” He got the young man to talk to him and then offered absolution.

When there were parish or community issues that needed to be addressed, Reilly didn’t pass it off to a subordinate. He wanted to be part of the solution and used his considerable powers of persuasion to resolve issues. A man of God, he was also a man of the people.

In all of my years in public life, I’ve never met anyone else like him.

Email Raymond V. Mariano at [email protected]. He served four terms as mayor of Worcester and previously served on the City Council and School Committee. He grew up in Great Brook Valley and holds degrees from Worcester State College and Clark University. He was most recently executive director of the Worcester Housing Authority. His column appears weekly in the Sunday Telegram. His endorsements do not necessarily reflect the position of the Telegram & Gazette.

This article originally appeared on Telegram & Gazette: Ray Mariano: The Bishop Daniel Patrick Reilly I knew