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%u00a9Jack Fritscher, Ph.D., All Rights ReservedHOW TO LEGALLY QUOTE FROM THIS BOOK156 Jack Fritscherhis priest friends from the War. I had the feeling he would go to Rome, be liked, study there, be ordained, join the Vatican diplomatic corps, turn into Tom Tryon in The Cardinal, meet Sophia Loren and President Kennedy, resist the Dolce Vita, and never come back, maybe never even approve of a worker-priest from miserable Misericordia.Mike slid behind the wheel. He turned the key in the ignition, looking straight ahead. %u201cSo long, suckers!%u201d he said.The two freshmen laughed like he was the funniest guy on earth.%u201cWe%u2019re dropping out too,%u201d they said.I stared straight ahead. I was the last and only vocation left in the car. What difference did it all make? They had to do what was right for them. God bless them. Their exit didn%u2019t threaten my vocation. Mike slowly drove us, his last time, down old Misery%u2019s drive out onto the two-lane stretch of highway. On the car radio, Andy Williams was singing %u201cMoon River%u201d from Breakfast at Tiffany%u2019s. It was summer. We were free.I quickly put my fear of Rector Karg out of my head, waving over my shoulder at him, at him, der Herr Rector, watching out his windows with the pontifical binoculars of God.