There’s a steak house on East 50th Street in midtown Manhattan, to which Cardinal Timothy Dolan and I would sometimes walk for dinner after a pre-prandial or two in his sitting room. The restaurant was less than a block away from the residence of the archbishops of New York, and the walk would ordinarily take two or three minutes. With Cardinal Dolan, it often took ten minutes, sometimes fifteen, because virtually everyone we passed along the way wanted to greet the archbishop. For the past seventeen years, the people of New York have known that they had an archbishop, and in the same sense in which John Paul II made them know they had a pope.
