EXPLOSIVE OFFERINGS
Precisely when the solemn ceremony receiving renegade Episcopal priest Father George Wheatley into the Roman Catholic priesthood is set to begin, a bomb explodes under the altar. Fortunately Father Wheatley arrives late, but poor old Father Farmer dies in the tragedy.
Father Wheatley’s switch to the Roman church has certainly stirred up murderous passions in the parish. His son and daughter–one already an Episcopal priest, the other studying to become one–are seething. Conservative Catholics are enraged by the very idea of a married priest. As blind prejudice, jealousy, and thwarted ambition swirl around St. Joseph’s, that shrewd sleuth Father Koesler meditates on one question: Who placed the phone call that made Father Wheatley late for his own murder?
EXPLOSIVE OFFERINGS
Precisely when the solemn ceremony receiving renegade Episcopal priest Father George Wheatley into the Roman Catholic priesthood is set to begin, a bomb explodes under the altar. Fortunately Father Wheatley arrives late, but poor old Father Farmer dies in the tragedy.
Father Wheatley’s switch to the Roman church has certainly stirred up murderous passions in the parish. His son and daughter–one already an Episcopal priest, the other studying to become one–are seething. Conservative Catholics are enraged by the very idea of a married priest. As blind prejudice, jealousy, and thwarted ambition swirl around St. Joseph’s, that shrewd sleuth Father Koesler meditates on one question: Who placed the phone call that made Father Wheatley late for his own murder?
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Overview
EXPLOSIVE OFFERINGS
Precisely when the solemn ceremony receiving renegade Episcopal priest Father George Wheatley into the Roman Catholic priesthood is set to begin, a bomb explodes under the altar. Fortunately Father Wheatley arrives late, but poor old Father Farmer dies in the tragedy.
Father Wheatley’s switch to the Roman church has certainly stirred up murderous passions in the parish. His son and daughter–one already an Episcopal priest, the other studying to become one–are seething. Conservative Catholics are enraged by the very idea of a married priest. As blind prejudice, jealousy, and thwarted ambition swirl around St. Joseph’s, that shrewd sleuth Father Koesler meditates on one question: Who placed the phone call that made Father Wheatley late for his own murder?
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780345482983 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Random House Publishing Group |
| Publication date: | 02/26/2002 |
| Series: | Father Koesler Mystery Series |
| Pages: | 320 |
| Sales rank: | 95,538 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.50(w) x 8.40(h) x 0.80(d) |
About the Author
William X. Kienzle, author of twenty-two previous Father Koesler mysteries, spent twenty years as a parish priest. After leaving the priesthood, he became editor of MPLS magazine in Minneapolis and later moved to Texas, where he was director of the Center for Contemplative Studies at the University of Dallas. Kienzle and his wife, Javan, live in Detroit, where he enjoys playing piano as a diversion from writing.
Read an Excerpt
Chapter One
The Catholic Church is dead. It just doesn't know enough to lie down and roll over."
Father Daniel Reichert recoiled as if he'd been struck. "How can you say such a thing! You, of all people!"
"Just look around you," Father Harry Morgan responded, with an all-encompassing gesture. "Everyone running about like chickens who've been relieved of their heads." He turned back to Reichert. "And what for?"
What for indeed, thought Reichert. The ceremony that was about to begin was meaningless at best and heretical at worst. But that it threatened the very existence of the Church—the One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church? Certainly his boon companion, Morgan, had to be hyperbolizing. Harry knew as well as he that the Catholic Church was indefectible. Jesus had said so. "Behold I am with you all days. Even to the end of time."
No, the one, true Church could not be dying, let alone dead. "You ought to have a more open mind," Reichert rebuked.
Morgan's lip curled. "You should talk!"
In effect, each priest had just accused the other of being narrow-minded. If truth be known, it was simply a matter of degree.
Reichert and Morgan shared an epoch. Born in the twenties; parents staunch Catholics; the priesthood looked upon as an exalted calling. The two had entered the seminary a couple of years apart; Morgan was the elder by two years.
They advanced throughtheseminary—high school, college, and theologate—in what would later be known as the pre-Vatican II era. The transformation that rumbled through the Church when the beloved Pope John XXIII opened some windows and let the present in affected Catholics variously. Where once Liturgy, law, and theology had been marked by a universal rigid sameness, after the Second Vatican Council indisputability was replaced by uncertainty. Gradually, two camps formed.
One was the conservative wing: fundamentalist, dedicated to a counterreformation, committed to a return to the pre-Vatican II Church. The other held to a liberalism that would not be static no matter how uncompromising the Vatican remained.
Fathers Morgan and Reichert were devoted to a fairly firm conservatism. Even so, they could and sometimes did differ between themselves.
This was such an occasion.
The Archdiocese of Detroit was about to receive into its presbyterate a former Episcopal priest. His wife and a younger son would follow the priest into the Roman Church. The other son and a daughter (middle child) were quite another matter.
The decision as to whether to accept such ministers or priests into the Roman Catholic priesthood was left up to each individual diocese. If such a judgment was affirmative, there were still many bases to touch, steps to be taken. But in any case, the matter clearly was controversial.
On the one hand was the incontrovertible fact that Catholic priests were in critically short supply. And that shortfall was pretty much worldwide.
In Detroit, for instance, parishes that had once been assigned as many as three or even four priests in the fifties and sixties now commonly were staffed by only one. And many parishes that had held one or two priests were now closed for simple want of a pastor.
Recruitment was one obvious avenue toward a solution. Detroit, as well as other dioceses, gave that possibility a professional shot—to little avail.
Priests who had become inactive, in many cases choosing married life rather than celibacy, had a snowball's chance in hell of being called back to priestly duty.
Offering ordination to married men and/or to women was a proposition that the Vatican had shot down repeatedly.
In fact, Rome considered the latter two potential solutions dead issues. Proponents kept insisting that there was life in the concepts yet. But those who wanted to reactivate priests and/or invest women and those living in matrimony were not in charge of making the rules.
Then, seemingly out of the blue, came an unforeseen phenomenon. A trickle of Episcopal priests left their Church to seek refuge in the Roman Church. By no means was such defection of gangbuster proportions. But it was interesting, if not noteworthy.
Ordination to the priesthood, which some Roman Catholic feminists desired, was accorded to women in the Episcopal Church and then to women in the Church of England—mother church of all who call themselves Anglican.
Such a drastic turn of events had its own reverberations. Many male Anglican priests took extreme umbrage at what they saw as a betrayal of tradition. As a result, many of these men now wanted out. They felt there was no place for them in a priesthood that included women—let alone female bishops, a development that followed inevitably on the heels of the breakthrough.
But these men had given their lives to the Anglican Church. What were they to do? The toothpaste was out of the tube. A female clergy was now part of the Anglican Communion. That would not revert to a former discipline. Some of these aggrieved men felt impelled to abandon their denomination. But where could they go?
For some, the obvious path led back to the Roman Catholic Church, pre-Henry VIII version. But would they be welcomed by Rome?
The answer was—what else?—the creation of a commission ... to address this specific matter. In 1980, the Vatican, responding to petitions from both Episcopal priests and Episcopal laity, created a Pastoral Provision to give the question special pastoral attention.
These Episcopalians desired full communion with the Roman Catholic Church. In this Provision, former Episcopal priests accepted as candidates for ordination in the Roman Catholic Church would undertake theological, spiritual, and pastoral preparation for such ordination.
Thus, ordination of married Episcopal priests as priests of the Roman Catholic Church was made possible. The Provision also authorized the establishment of "personal parishes" in Roman Catholic dioceses of the United States.
This was the response to the request of the former faithful of the Episcopal Church that they might be permitted to retain certain liturgical practices proper to the Anglican tradition.
Since 1983, close to one hundred former Anglican priests had been ordained for Roman Catholic priestly ministry. Just under ten personal parishes had been established wherein the Book of Common Prayer was authorized.
However, news of the Episcopalian migration—not to mention the Pastoral Provision—qualified as trivial in scope. The parade of a handful of Anglican priests toward Rome might be reported in religious publications at most. The secular media generally overlooked the story.
But now this event was a first for the Detroit archdiocese as well as the metropolitan area. As was the case with most premier events, this ordination attracted some attention.
In addition to this being a first, there was the fact that the priest involved was a local celebrity. A string of accomplishments fattened Father George Wheatley's curriculum vitae. His relevant activities included a weekly column on the op-ed page of the combined Sunday edition of the two metropolitan papers, as well as an hour-long weekly radio program on CKWW, a Canadian station serving Windsor and Detroit. He was sought after as a lecturer and after-dinner speaker. His every church function, whether it be the Eucharist or an informal prayer service, was well attended. Before committing to a specific service, people phoned to ascertain which Liturgies he would be celebrating so they could be sure of having him in the pulpit. Far from objecting to the admission of women into the diaconate or the priesthood—not to mention the hierarchy—Father Wheatley had supported this feminist cause long before it became a reality. Indeed, his only daughter was now in the seminary studying for Holy Orders.
As was typical within the Anglican community, he was able to inject a good many of his personal beliefs into his sermons, columns, speeches, and teachings.
In short, from those who knew him well, to more casual congregations, he had his world on a string in the Episcopal Church. Why would he want to switch from a religious organization that allowed him to put a bit of bully into his pulpit to one that was top-heavy with autocratic authority figures?
There seemed no apparent reason for the step he was about to take. Nor had he volunteered any rationale to fascinated news media.
All that seemed apparent was that he was a big fish and, for whatever reason, the Roman Catholic Church appeared to have caught him.
The movie Guess Who's Coming to Dinner featured actor Sidney Poitier as an affluent, handsome, well-spoken African-American engaged to marry into a white family that preached all the proper liberal doctrines of the age. Now, white parents were to have their professed values tested. Would they accept a black man as their son-in-law?
It helped that the color question rested on the indisputable fact that Sidney Poitier would be a catch in anybody's game.
Until this moment, the Archdiocese of Detroit had shown utterly no interest in having an Episcopal priest join their local presbyterate. Not until the many-talented Father George Wheatley appeared on their doorstep. Then it was Guess Who's Coming to Dinner at the altar table.
* * *
Now, in Old St. Joseph's Church, Fathers Reichert and Morgan, while contemplating the consequences of admitting Anglican priests into the Roman presbyterate, were exchanging their barely divergent views on the subject.
Neither could see much point to it. But Reichert was open to considering an option, whereas Morgan's mind was inexorably closed.
Some years back, a Jewish man with no personal connection to the Catholic Church had been waked in the very church building in which the two priests were now standing.
Father Reichert had bitterly opposed this liturgical favor and loudly condemned the move. But when the possibility of a miracle occurred during the event, he had spun 180 degrees and championed the cause. Even after the Church dismissed the miracle claim.
Had it been Father Morgan at that scene, he would never have changed his mind, nor believed for an instant the claim of a miracle.
So it was by no means peculiar that Reichert left the door of his present conviction slightly ajar, while Morgan saw the matter as an unalloyed tragedy.
"Uh-oh," Reichert, leaning toward Morgan, stage-whispered against the crowd's noise, "here comes Bob Koesler ... and he's heading straight for us."
"No need to be concerned," Morgan replied. "He's the Enemy. We know that. We just keep our guard up."
It did not occur to either Morgan or Reichert that it might be considered odd for any priest to look on another priest as "the Enemy." Ostensibly, all were united in their goals. Their attitude was, rather, a testimonial to the intensity of feeling left in the wake of Vatican II.
The three priests were contemporaries, in their early seventies. Two had dug in their heels and evolved not a whit from each and every lesson learned in their seminary days over fifty years before. The third, Robert Koesler, lived in both eras eclectically, choosing the better insights in both traditions.
Whether from coincidence or not, the three differed likewise in their physical appearance. Reichert and Morgan were of moderate height and slim to the point of ascetic moderation. Koesler remained tall and robust. It fact, it wouldn't have hurt him to lose a few pounds.
"Dan ... Harry ..." Koesler greeted them.
"What happened?" Morgan responded. "You come back out of retirement?"
"'Out of retirement'?" Koesler was puzzled. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"We've been watching you work the room," Morgan said. "You look for all the world as if you were still pastor here."
Koesler laughed. "Nothing of the sort. But I was pastor here a bunch of years. You know how it is: Returning to a parish where one has pastored brings back memories, old friendships, catching up on what's going on in each other's lives ..."
"No," Reichert snapped, "the way we heard it, there's no going back."
Morgan's approving smile ratified Reichert's correction.
"Well ..." Koesler left the word an orphan. From long, hard experience he knew that it was only a matter of time before disagreement would insert its ugly countenance when liberal and conservative met head-on. It was like trying to mix oil and water.
On this occasion the bristling had risen a bit earlier than usual. In this case the contentious matter was the place of residence and the theoretical need to separate and distance oneself from one's previous parish. Following the letter of the law, a pastor who retired from the active ministry was expected to move elsewhere and to divorce himself from the management of his former benefice. The purpose of this direction was to forestall possible whipsawing between a former and a present pastor by any interested and usually meddlesome parishioner.
If one were to interpret the direction literally, which priests like Reichert and Morgan were likely to do, a former pastor would not even talk to—or indeed even admit the existence of—such former parishioners.
Koesler well understood the problems that could crop up in these circumstances. Such awareness, coupled with the prudence that came with age and experience, could derail any such problems.
Besides, Koesler was very close to Father Zachary Tully, the present pastor of St. Joe's. Indeed, Father Koesler had arranged that Tully succeed him as pastor. There was no problem in this arena that the two had not handled or could not handle in the future.
But Koesler also understood that there would be no settling disputes between himself and the other two priests. That might have been possible had he been able to consult with Reichert alone. But as long as Reichert was guided by his mentor, Harry Morgan ...
After an awkward silence, Reichert spoke. "How come you're having the ceremony here at St. Joe's? I mean"—he gestured toward the TV cameras and newspeople positioned throughout the church—you've got the media here. But why not go to the top—why not the Cathedral?"
"First," Koesler disabused, "let's get something straight: This is not my idea. There was a lot of discussion on how to handle this—"
"You were in on this discussion?" Morgan interrupted.
Koesler hesitated. This was nobody's business but those who were personally involved in the matter. And that very definitely included him. He had been Wheatley's initial contact, and the one who had steered the Episocopal priest through the tortuous process.
But Koesler was nothing if not polite. "Yes, I was in on the planning. And, as a matter of fact, the Cathedral was the committee's first choice. But the consensus was that this would have been like waving a red cape at a bull. We felt the media would be all over this event if we held it in the mother church of the diocese."
"Well," Reichert almost sneered, "you certainly solved that problem, didn't you?" He pointedly turned to stare at each of the TV cameras as well as the reporters who were hustling about interviewing members of the congregation and searching sedulously for any VIPs who might be present.
Koesler shrugged. "The best-laid plans of mice and men ..." He didn't complete the quotation. "I suppose it was a mistake. It was foolish of us not to anticipate there would be leaks here and there. In the end there were just too many people involved. And when that many people know what was intended to be a secret"—he shrugged—"the news media can't be far behind.
"Anyway, I think—I hope—avoiding the Cathedral maybe sent a message that this ordination is not intended to be a sensational event. There are some—maybe a majority—who think it bizarre. But we can point to this ancient but modest church that puts the ordination in perspective."
"We'd like you to know," Reichert said, "that Harry and I are among the majority who consider this whole fiasco to be bizarre."
Then why are you here, you—
Aloud Koesler said only, "I would never have guessed it." He silently congratulated himself for concealing every sarcastic nuance.
"But once the 'brain trust'"—Morgan avoided concealing his own sarcasm—"decided to skip the Cathedral, why St. Joe's? Hasn't this poor parish suffered enough?"
Koesler did not share the opinion that St. Joseph's parish had suffered, certainly not any more than any other modern-day parish coping with the problems of its parishioners. He assumed that Morgan was referring to Koesler's term as pastor here. Still, he avoided being drawn into an altercation. "We chose St. Joe's," he explained patiently, "because of George's family."
"His family!" Reichert's amazement was all too evident.
"Well, of course, there is his family—"
"What's his family got to do with the selection of St. Joe's for his ordination?!" Reichert was almost foaming.
"It just seemed appropriate," Koesler said, "that his ordination take place in the parish where he and his family will be living."
"Will be living!" Reichert's voice rose to a near shout. Several people standing nearby turned to see who was so agitated.
"He's got three kids," Koesler said calmly. "Two of them are away just now. But they'll certainly be here frequently. Then, in the course of time, there'll undoubtedly be grandkids. He's got to have room.
"Besides," Koesler continued, "Father Tully wants to move into one of the nearby town houses. So, rather than create anew rectory—another white elephant—we offered George the rectory here. He was very satisfied."
"I should think he would be," Reichert said. "A house so large and spacious."
"It creaks," Koesler commented.
Reichert ignored the comment. "And I suppose it's rent-free."
"As free as the rectories you or any priests lived in as assistant and pastor."
"That's different!"
This conversation had developed into an exchange between Reichert and Koesler.
"What's different about it?"
"We are priests. Full-time!"
"So is he. Or so he will be. Look"—Koesler was getting a bit agitated himself—"even if you don't care to recognize the validity of his orders in the Episcopal priesthood, you've got to consider today's ordination ceremony as valid."
"As far as the Anglican Church is concerned, their orders are worthless," Reichert spat out. "Pope Leo XIII settled that for all time."
"I wouldn't be too sure of that."
Koesler was pushing the envelope. There was no widespread agreement among Catholics as a whole that would contradict Leo's conclusion. Which had—at least in Leo's day—pretty effectively put the kibosh on anything remotely resembling the present situation. Koesler had, on occasion, wondered how traditional Catholics could claim that anything and everything a Pope said was "infallible" when history proved irrefutably that what one Pope said in one century was quite likely to be overturned by another Pope in a later century. Not unlike, he thought wryly, the U.S. Supreme Court, which certainly had done an about-face on more than one issue over the years.
"In any case," Koesler said after a moment, "he'll have the stamp of approval when he gets reordained in just a few more minutes."
"And I wouldn't be too sure of that!" Morgan reentered the conversation.
"What?" Few things surprised Koesler any longer, but Morgan's statement did. "Surely you can't quibble about this program that accepts converts for ordination. It's tied into the Vatican. Rome controls it, for God's sake."
"They're taking advantage of the Pope's debilitated physical condition."
"Who? Who's taking advantage?"
"You and your people, who won't quit until you've changed everything our Church stands for."
Now Koesler was steamed. A rare state for him. "Harry, how can you justify that statement? You, of all people, have got to believe in the Pope. In traditional thought there isn't any time when the Pope ceases to be the successor of Peter, Vicar of Christ."
It was clear that Morgan, and even to a greater degree Reichert, found such a position incompatible, to say the least.
"There are times ..." Morgan spoke deliberately, as if experiencing how painful it was for him to even question a decision that emanated from Rome. "There are times," he repeated, "when it is clear that the Pope has been harboring traitors. And that these traitors have led him astray by giving him incorrect information."
"And such a time is now?" Koesler was incredulous.
"Exactly."
"Like what, for instance?"
"Celibacy!" Somehow the term gained singular importance, greater weight, as Morgan pronounced it.
"Celibacy?" It seemed a non sequitur, but Koesler knew in what direction this was heading.
"You people have been insisting on an optionally celibate clergy." Morgan shook a finger at Koesler. "Each and every time you have attempted to inflict a married clergy on Holy Mother Church the Pope has beaten you back. But now, you have sneaked in through the back door. You're ordaining a married man!"
"What? Do you expect a man like George Wheatley to abandon his wife and family because he is about to enter the Roman Catholic priesthood?" Early in this conversation Koesler had regretted having greeted Morgan and Reichert. Regret had evolved into thoughts of near murder. Of course, all he had to do was walk away. But there was always the chance of straightening out what he considered to be fuzzy thinking.
"No," Morgan said, "I don't expect Wheatley to abandon his family. I expect him not to be ordained. I expect him to beat on the walls of the Church in vain. I expect the response to his request for ordination to be a resounding 'No!'"
Koesler sighed deeply. "You do know, Harry, that the Uniate Churches—which are recognized by Rome—have married priests who are every bit as ordained as we are."
"Then let them get out of here and move to Greece or Russia or wherever. Let them try to be accepted by any one of the Eastern rites. Let them leave the security of this country. And then let them get married and enjoy sex until their prostate glands fall out. But let them leave us—the Latin rite—the hell alone so we can give witness to the world of a love greater than mere humans can achieve on their own."
"You know where this is going, don't you?" Reichert decided he'd been silent long enough. As in an Australian Tag match, he came on in relief of Morgan. "Everyone in your camp of diehard liberals will bide his time until this practice of welcoming so-called Protestant priests into our clergy becomes rampant. Then you'll say: 'See, it works. It's perfectly natural to have a married clergy. We must get rid of mandatory celibacy.' And," he concluded, "you will have destroyed a sacred tradition." If he had been at a desk or a table, he would have thumped his fist upon it.
"The Holy Spirit acts in wondrous ways." Koesler could think of nothing more basic and absolute.
In response to which statement, the two friends, Koesler feared, were going to suffer simultaneous strokes.
"How dare you say such a thing!" Morgan had mounted the battlements. "It's as we said: They are taking advantage of this ailing old man. It's on public record! The Pope has said so at his every opportunity. He has banned the topic from speculation. An unmarried clergy is of divine ordinance."
"And the Greek rites?"
"Though there are numerous different Greek rite churches, all in all, they comprise only a mere handful of members compared with the Latin rite. When we in the Western world speak of the Catholic Church, we're talking about the Roman Catholic Church—the Latin rite!"
Koesler shook his head. "Look, I believe the Church is here to stay. I believe that as truly as you do. But the Spirit may be directing us through uncharted waters. At the bottom of it all is the shortage of priests. Now, it cannot come as a surprise to you that we're running out of priests."
"The Holy Spirit will save us," Reichert declared. "It doesn't matter how desperate the situation becomes. And the solution will not lie with taking in the leftovers of Protestantism."
That reached Koesler. "Surely you can't refer to a man like George Wheatley as a 'leftover.' He's one of the finest Christian gentlemen I've ever known."
"Well ..." Reichert began.
"Besides," Koesler broke in, "I am willing to grant you that there hasn't been any sort of wholesale movement toward the Catholic priesthood by Episcopal priests. I'll expand that opinion to say that most of the converts so far might have been motivated by less than noble reasons."
"You mean," Morgan said, "that they are protesting the practice in their own Church of admitting women into their clergy. Whereas that protest is the only good thing to emerge from this entire fiasco."
"And," Reichert added, "your friend Wheatley doesn't bring even that saving grace. He supports women's ordination. Why, his own daughter is studying for their priesthood!"
"You," Morgan stated, "have managed to do what I've always thought was impossible: You and your ilk have forced a Pope to contradict himself. Or seem to. After all, he is only permitting this practice of ordaining Protestants. That's far removed from his apostolic teaching in this matter.
"But I must thank you for one thing, Father Koesler." There was no reason for the formal address other than sheer sarcasm. "This conversation has served to clear my mind. Before we talked this out I feared that our Holy Church was actually dead and didn't know it. Now I see that there is hope after all. As long as we who enjoy the vera doctrina survive this attack. Except that we must be overwhelmingly militant. And I assure you: This militancy is already being mobilized. We shall endure!"
As Morgan finished his bellicose statement, Reichert groaned and clutched at his chest.
Both Koesler and Morgan, concerned, immediately moved toward him. But Reichert waved them off as he fumbled in his breast pocket.
"What is it, Dan?" Morgan asked urgently. "Your heart?"
Reichert retrieved a small vial containing tiny white pills. With a practiced hand he extracted one pill, popped it into his mouth, and carefully folded his tongue over it.
"It's his nitro," Harry Morgan explained. "He never goes anywhere without it. It's been a lifesaver."
Gradually, Reichert returned to normal.
"Let's get out of here, Dan," Morgan said. "We'll go back to my rectory and you can take it easy ... I'll be there to watch over you."
"No, no. I want to stay here."
"It's only going to get worse. They're going to ordain the guy. It'll drive you up the wall."
"Maybe, maybe not. Let's stay and watch."
Morgan shook his head. "If you insist."
"You know, of course"—Reichert leaned heavily on Morgan's arm—"that I would give anything to prevent this. I mean, the fact that I want to stay doesn't mean I approve."
"I understand, Dan. I understand completely. Why don't the two of you go over there where there are some empty chairs." Koesler gestured to the recessed grotto where a religious statue stood. The sightline wouldn't be the best. But at least they could sit down, relax—and be more comfortable than they were now.
It Ain't Necessarily So
HOW MEDIA MAKE AND UNMAKE THE SCIENTIFIC PICTURE OF REALITY
By David Murray, Joel Schwartz, and S. Robert Lichter
ROWMAN & LITTLEFIELD PUBLISHERS, INC. Copyright © 2001 David Murray, Joel Schwartz, and S. Robert Lichter. All rights reserved.