“Irish?” Johnny laughed. “What’s that got to do with it?”
“He’s Irish. The bishop. He knows it’s an Italian parish.”
“Holy Rosary? Not anymore. It’s black and Hispanic. Hasn’t been Italian for years.”
“To an Irish bishop, it’s an Italian parish. That’s why he closed the school.”
“That doesn’t make any sense, Pop.”
Rocco shook his head. “I knew him when he was younger than Jenny. To him, Holy Rosary will always be Italian.” Rocco motioned suddenly, almost in a panic. “Get off here. Get off. Get off.”
“I do this every day, Pop. I know…”
They exited onto Center Street, swung up Fifth, past Main, Columbus, and Franklin to a right on Glenn Avenue. Making a loop they recrossed Center, were held up by the light on Fourth. “See that street?” Rocco pointed down Fourth. “I worked on every hou
