The Cosmic Ray Heresy

By Frank Smith

Frank Donnelly is a physics professor at a Philadelphia university and a Catholic priest; a rare combination. What may be more unusual is that Frank is also married, one of less than a hundred such priests in the United States. When his wife is killed in a tragic accident Frank is left to raise his young daughter alone. Three years later he falls in love with Vicki Meyers, a teacher in the parish school at St. Elizabeth's where he ministers on weekends, herself a widow with a young son.
The Vatican is not amused by Frank's petition to remarry and that is not his only problem. He has been receiving threatening emails suggesting that he is not a "true" priest and he teams up with a woman detective investigating the possible murder of a priest who had received similar emails.
Frank and Vicki's love grows as they take their children to birthday parties, the zoo, playgrounds, and soccer matches even as their hope fades for a positive response to Frank's petition. Meanwhile, in his physics lab the sudden and very strange behavior of some cosmic rays can't be explained scientifically. As a scientist he is reluctant to consider a supernatural explanation, but the Vatican is not and worried enough for Frank to apply a little "ecclesiastical blackmail" in support of his petition.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Frank Smith
• Release date: Aug 31, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465885388

Frank Smith

Dr. Frank Smith spent most of his professional career as Professor of Physics at West Chester University. He is the author of numerous papers in professional journals and of the internet study guide "Physics Problems Animated" on You Tube. This is his first novel. He resides with his wife in West Chester, Pa and Ocean City, NJ.

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The Cosmic Ray Heresy

Frank A. Smith

Copyright © 2011-2023 Frank A. Smith

Fifth Edition

ISBN-13: 978-1533251480

ISBN- 10: 1533251487

THE COMIC RAY HERESY is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Prologue

Five years ago the dean interviewing me for the opening in the physics department at Pennsylvania Commonwealth had commented on my history as a former Catholic priest. I said I still was but it was correct to say that I was a former Episcopal priest. It may have helped me get the position. How many public universities had a Catholic priest with a Ph.D from MIT and a pregnant wife on the faculty? My status as a married Catholic priest was unusual but not unique; there are over a hundred of us rare birds in the United States. What may be unique is that about a year after my appointment at PaCom my wife was killed in an auto accident. I was devastated and struggled to raise my young daughter alone.

Fast forward a few years and I was in love with the six-grade teacher in the parish where I helped out on weekends; she the mother of a boy the same age as my daughter. At first we pretended we got together for the sake of the children. We called them supervised play dates. This fiction didn't last long and I petitioned the Vatican for permission to remarry. They were not amused. Neither was someone who was sending me threatening emails which led to me getting involved in the murder investigation of a priest who had received similar threats.

My petition to the Vatican for permission to marry was a known dead end. Thousands of priests have tried it. You just don't change a tradition that is hundreds of years old. But, before they could give me a definitive NO! I discovered some very strange behavior of cosmic rays in my physics lab; behavior which I could not explain scientifically and which scared the daylights out of the Vatican. I needed help in telling the full story; someone to offer suggestions and constructive criticism and make sure I didn't sneak in any graphs or higher math. I found that help in my own backyard.

Leave out the stuff about your childhood, Frank. No one cares that you delivered papers or played little league. This is basically a murder mystery and a scientific puzzle—okay maybe a bit of a love story too—and mystery writers always start in the middle with some terrible event like a dead body or a package in the mail with a severed finger.

I had no severed fingers and the dead body could wait. A bullet hole in the statue of the Virgin in front of St. Elizabeth's would have to do.

1. The Shot

It was a beautiful Sunday morning in early October and all the commotion and police activity seemed almost festive. Colored lights danced on the squad cars blocking opposite ends of Green Street and Our Lady of Boathouse Row still smiled down on the rowing clubs along the banks of the Schuylkill despite the bullet hole through her plastic heart. Two officers directed people arriving for the ten-thirty Mass around the police barriers and toward the church's side entrance. I sat on the back deck of an emergency vehicle of the Philadelphia Fire Department while an EMT finished bandaging my left palm. A third officer approached me.

You okay, Father?

I'm fine. Just a scratch. She got the worst of it, I said, nodding toward the statue.

Lieutenant Jim O'Brien, he said extending a hand.

Frank Donnelly, I said. I got up and we shook hands. O'Brien was about and inch under my six-three. Good looking guy with dark eyes and hair. He looked cool despite the rising temperature.

Last week it was the stop signs on Kelly Drive, he said, and last month the tombstones in Laurel Hill. Now this. I understand you were near the statue at the time of the shot.

I was.

Can you tell me what happened?

Sure. I was standing on the church steps after Mass and talking to a young man, a soldier on leave. I heard a bang and he pushed me to the ground. That's how I scrapped my hand. The fellow thought it was a rifle shot.

Is he still here?

I don't see him.

Do you remember where you were standing?

I'll show you.

We walked across the street and up the church steps. The grotto containing the wounded statue was roped off with yellow tape.

I'd say I was about here, a few feet to the left of the grotto.

Facing the church?

Yes.

O'Brien took a pen and small notebook from his pocket. So the soldier would have been facing you and the building across the street.

That's right.

Did he say if he saw anything? A flash of light, movement in a window?

No.

Was there anyone else near the statue?

Most people had already left. I remember one woman on the pavement at the bottom of the steps taking pictures with her phone.

O'Brien walked behind the grotto and pointed his pen at the hole in the back of the statue. We sighted through the exit and entrance holes and think the shot came from that open window, he said pointing at the apartment building across the street. We have some people going over the place now. The apartment is empty. The building superintendent said there were painters in there on Friday. They must have left the widow open. The air conditioner was running full blast.

I turned and looked at the building adjacent to the parish school. One window on the top floor was open. I thought of the air conditioner fitted into the bricks under the window pumping away, the thermodynamic equivalent of trying to cool the kitchen by leaving the refrigerator door open.

It's not very far, I said. Maybe twenty-five, thirty yards?

About that. We dug the bullet out of the rose bed in back of the statue. Ballistics should be able to tell us something about it. Pretty flimsy, he said reaching over the tape and tapping the statue with a knuckle. Thin skin filled with Styrofoam; little better than a cheap lawn ornament.

It's temporary, I said walking to the back of the statue. The original developed a large crack last winter. It's out for repair. Pretty big exit hole, isn't it?

They go in nose first but can be tumbling on the way out.

Do you think I could have been the target?

A rifle that close, clear day, only a slight breeze, if you were the target the shooter was a pretty lousy shot. Any reason why someone might want to shoot at you?

I have occasionally received some threatening emails.

Threatening to shoot you?

No. no, nothing that drastic, but unsettling.

Tell you what. Why don’t we wait for that ballistics report? I don't think you have anything to worry about. We've had some trouble with kids shooting at tombstones and stop signs lately. If the slug matches the ones found in the cemetery it might ease your fears.

Good enough, I said and hoped it would be.

Right. We'll leave that tape up around the grotto for a few days, Father. Here's my card.. Can I get a contact number for you?.

I fished my wallet out from under layers of vestments and handed him one of my university business cards.

You're a physics professor? That's unusual. A Jesuit?. We had a few in the science departments at St. Joe's.

Garden variety priest, I said. I was a physicist before I was ordained.

Uh huh. Is the phone number for the rectory?

No, I live on Springhouse lane, down the street from the university. Just me and my…just two of us.

Interesting, he said, slipping my card into his notebook. Give me a call if you think of anything else. I’ll get back to you when I get that ballistics report. Nice meeting you, Father.

We shook again.

I went back to the sacristy to shed my vestments and cool off. For late October it was unseasonably warm. I then headed for the school and the kindergarten classroom where some eighth-grade girls were minding children while their parents went to Mass. Olivia and two other little girls were busy coloring at a table.

I made a pumpkin, Daddy. Look.

Very pretty, sweetheart. Purple, you're favorite color.

2. My Office

Monday morning Olivia was sitting on the wooden office chair with one short leg, her pink sneakers planted on the front rung and impatiently rocking back and forth.

Can we go yet, Daddy?

Finish your juice, sweetheart, and throw the box in the wastebasket. Daddy has one more thing to do.

The mail on my desk contained an invitation to the university’s holiday gala, a bunch of ads for scientific equipment and new text books, and a manila envelope with pretty postage stamps and a return address that got my immediate attention.

Congregation Per La Dottrina Della Fede

Piazza del Uffizio 11, 00193

Roma, Italia

The Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, the CDF. I took a deep breath and slit open the envelope. There was a letter and some photos.

Dadeee! I'm going to be late again. A reprieve. I put the envelope in the pocket of my sport jacket and we headed out. I walked and Olivia skipped across the quad. The morning was cloudy and cooler than yesterday with the smell of autumn in the air; someone in the surrounding neighborhood was defying a city ordinance and burning leaves. Overnight winds had swirled leaves against the low stone walls that crisscrossed campus. I kicked up a nice pile in a corner and held Olivia’s hands as she jumped from the wall.

One more time, Daddy. Jump with me.I jumped. What good is tenure if you can't act a little crazy once in a while?

Munchkin House is a day care center for faculty and staff children housed in a Victorian mansion on the edge of campus. This is Olivia’s second year and I’m running out of space on the refrigerator for her projects. After a wet kiss and a hug I surrendered my little blue-eyed blond to the student volunteer on the porch. Seven-thirty to four-thirty is a long stretch for a four-year-old even with nap time in the afternoon. I promised to come back for her lunchtime tea party. At this time of the morning I needed coffee.

3 The Pig

Officially it's the Student Center; unofficially it’s The Pig. The students named it for the huge painting of a pig inside the main entrance. We’re waiting for a rich alumnus seeking immortality to come up with a few million to name it something more appealing. I got a cup of coffee from the Starbucks kiosk and sat in one of the lounge chairs in front of windows overlooking the Quad. The building forms one side of a square surrounding a large grassy area. Some students were tossing a Frisbee around. Others were tying red and white balloons to a sign that read, Say No to a Tuition Hike. Along with the Student Center there was a classroom building, the library, and the science and engineering building, my digs, enclosing the open space.

I took a sip of my coffee and slipped the envelope from my pocket. The letter was a single sheet.

Reverend Francis X. Donnelly, Ph.D

Department of Physics

Pennsylvania Commonwealth University

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 19144,USA

Dear Father Donnelly:

In a recent letter published in The Philadelphia Inquirer you advocated the ordination of women. You do not have the option of questioning the Church's tradition of a male priesthood. We strongly urge you to write another letter to that newspaper correcting the original.

In another matter we believe you are guilty of violating article 277 of canon law. Supporting photographs are included. We have asked His Excellency, Archbishop Robert K. Reilly, to investigate this charge and apply appropriate sanctions.

We trust that both matters can be resolved satisfactorily.

Sincerely Yours in Christ,

Antoni Cardinal Tossi, Prefect

Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith

Not what I was hoping for. Four hundred years ago the great-granddaddy of the CDF was called the Sacred Congregation of the Roman and Universal Inquisition. They tussled with another physicist at the time. Galileo lost the battle. Today the favorite targets of the CDF are theologians, not physicists.

I could guess as to what article 277 of the Church’s legal code was about. I was frequently in the company of two very pretty ladies. I loved them both. One was my sister. The other was Victoria Meyers, the sixth grade teacher at St. Elizabeth's parish school. What I was hoping for was a response to my petition to marry her. The damning evidence was a photo of me and my sister, Coleen, on the beach in Ocean City New Jersey and another of me and Olivia with Vicki and her son Joey at a picnic table at the Philadelphia Zoo. Shocking!

I pondered my dual roles: Associate Professor of Physics at PaCom during the week and on Saturdays and Sundays switching hats or, more accurately, switching collars to become Father Frank Donnelly, weekend assistant at St. Elizabeth’s. The letter from the CDF was just the latest manifestation of my problem juggling these roles.

.I capped the half cup of cooling coffee and headed back across the Quad to my office. The sky had darkened and there was a distant rumble of thunder.

Yo! A little help? A wayward Frisbee floated over my shoulder from behind. I stepped after it, snagged it with my right hand, pivoted, and tossed it back in one motion. Smooth. My downfield receiver gave me a thumbs-up thank you.

4 The Detective

There was a tall woman at the end of the hall peering into the small window in my office door. She was tilted slightly to her left to balance a leather bag halfway in size between a purse and a shopping cart. A compact umbrella dangled from her left wrist.

Looking for me? I said walking toward the door.

She wore black slacks over black boots, a white blouse under a tan sweater, plain gold earrings and necklace. She was dressed too well to be a student. My intuition said textbook sales.

Room two-eleven? Professor Donnelly?

Guilty, I said inserting my key in the lock. Please, come in. It looks like we're in for some weather out there.

I think we just made it, she said dropping the umbrella into her bag. She fished around in there and came out with a leather case holding a badge and ID.

Detective Angela Rossi, she said. Philadelphia Police Department.

So much for my intuition.

Frank Donnelly, I said as we shook hands. That was quick.

Quick? I was going to apologize for taking so long to get back to you.

The shooting was just yesterday. I'd say that was quick.

She looked puzzled. What shooting?

At St. Elizabeth's. Somebody took a shot at our statue of the Virgin while I was standing right next to it.

Oh my god, the desecration of the statue. I saw it on the news last night. That was you?

To answer I held up my bandaged hand.

You were hit?

No, I fell. Just a scratch.

That must have been awful. No, I’m with the cybercrime unit; credit card theft, computer scams, that sort of thing. Your emails?

Ah, yes, yes. I had just about given up on that.

Forgive me for barging in on you like this, Professor. I checked your class schedule on your web site and thought I might catch you early. Do you have some time?"

Sure, I don't have a class until ten. Let me get you some room here.

I moved Olivia’s stuffed rabbit from the chair to a bookcase and put my coffee on the windowsill. The detective lowered her bag to the floor, sat in the chair, took out a pen and small notebook, and put on a pair of glasses. I sat in the squeaky swivel chair behind my desk.

I read the brief bio on your web site, Professor. I don't think I ever met a priest who was also a physicist. Do you prefer 'Father' or 'Doctor'?