She was a beautiful young nun, just back from the Vatican, from one more interrogation by a purple-and-scarlet-clad group of men, a room full of Monsignori and Domestic Prelates representing the age-old Authority of the Roman Catholic Church. She was fighting for the freedom reforms of the Second Vatican Council, and the breath of fresh air which it had promised, throughout the Universal Church. But Good Pope John, who had thrown the windows open, was gone now, and the men up there on the dais, looking down upon her, the lone woman present, were not thinking of fresh air. They had just awakened from their Siesta, and were back at their usual work, slamming the windows shut, and thinking of much worse. Could anything save her? Would some help come from somewhere? She was heavily outnumbered by the men, who looked down on her as though out of that painting of the Last Supper by Leonardo da Vinci. She was beginning to understand what would happen. Nothing would save her, nothing would help her at all, unless it would be her own honest and sincere Conscience. This book is an account of what did happen, for there were dark things that happened to her, and to many other people, as well. It is not my story, though I often make it sound like it is, and I tell it the way it seemed to me. And I do my best, for in some ways it is a love story, too, and gets itself told from my point of view. I was a witness to what happened. I am proud to say that I was always there. I was there for all of it. "I have finally been able to give the Phelan book the attention it deserves. This is a good book. The writing is excellent and the story is everyone's story who has ever made a serious life change." -- Joan Chittister Joan Chittister is a widely-read author, known in America for her work in women's issues, she is internationally respected as well, having been invited to speak in Cairo's Tahrir Square on the situation of women in Egypt since the revolution. "I like this book very much. It is well written as well as beautifully written. I am enjoying reading it..." --Paula G. Paul Paula G. Paul is the author of 25 books, including "Symptoms of Death," and "Inherited Sins." Her book "Sins of the Empress"about Catherine the Great of Russia is due out shortly. "Frank Phelan's 'LEAVING: A Memoir' tells the story of two individuals who are badly used by the institution to which they have in good faith dedicated their lives, the Roman Catholic Church. It is often a harrowing story but one illuminated with moments of grace and goodness and redeemed in the end by the triumph of love. Yes, this is a love story, beautifully written, and a must-read." --- Chet Raymo Chet Raymo, a widely-read contributor to The Boston Globe, taught Science for many years at Stonehill College, where he shared with students his passion for both Science and the Humanities. He is known for many books and has seen his work produced as film.
About the Author: I was born in 1925, the very middle of the Roaring Twenties, but there is not much of those left in me. I remember a lot; our family was very religious, and some young nuns visited us on the way to entering the convent. One of them gave me my first water-pistol, and I went around shooting Sisters of Saint Joseph all afternoon. I am able to date this event as August of 1929, two months before the Crash. I remember the great Dirigibles. They were longer than a city block, and sounded like a vacuum-cleaner. The Akron, the Macon, even the mighty Hindenburg, passed low over our house, each on the way to its destruction. I ran away from First Grade, out of fear. I must have gone back, because at age 41 I was still going to school, after getting a Master's in Russian Studies, a Master's in British Literature, and finally a Doctorate in Irish Literature. I entered the seminary at Notre Dame during the Battle of Stalingrad, and was never allowed to hear how that ended. I conceive of my life sometimes as one long effort to learn how the Battle of Stalingrad turned out. I was taught by remarkable men, but it was strange being awakened at 5 am, to translate Cicero's De Senectute from latin: old men teaching little boys what Cicero said about how to be old. I was the Eternal Little Seminarian. Anne Francis says that I am still a Little Seminarian, and will never get over it. When I was very little, a streetcar-man friend of my Father tossed in at our front door a market-basket full of old National Geographic magazines. I saw that there was a world, outside Pittsburgh. I determined to go see it, not an easy thing to do if you sign up for the Vow of Poverty. But they sent me on to study, and I got a copy of "Europe on Five Dollars a Day." I rode a little moped that got 173 miles to the gallon. I was a fool, for I took it on the Autobahn, a moped in among the Mercedes. When they shot past they first pushed me one way, toward the breakdown lane, and then pulled me back again, sucking me into traffic. I went to the US Army camp in Grafenwoehr, Germany as a substitute Chaplain. I left the priesthood. At first I wondered if I left because of the Beatles. But no, it was not the Beatles. I left because though I loved the Old Things I had been raised on, I no longer was able to believe in them. I married Anne Francis, the best thing I ever did in my life.