Fr Peter’s jocular CV delivered on a paper napkin fails to make the grade

Possessing an impulsive energy and a love for clowns, Fr Peter Serracino Inglott had a habit of finding himself in sticky situations when he was studying to become a priest. In this excerpt from his biography PSI Kingmaker, the author Daniel Massa recounts how the respected scholar’s spontaneity led to a close shave with excommunication, and a change in course to his future.

Read previously published excerpts from PSI Kingmaker:

It was February 1960 when Peter was in the process of becoming a priestly apostolate at the Séminaire des Carmes in Paris, when he realised he was not too sure about the wording of the anti-modernist oath he had to swear to.

As impulsive as ever, he rushed to the Rector to ask if this was compulsory. Turned out that as a cleric he could not refuse to take this oath, which confirmed acceptance of “every definition set forth and declared by the unerring teaching authority of the Church”.

Biting his lower lip, Peter boldly announced that he could do no such thing!

Smiling as he called this moment many years later, Peter says: “This was the closest I came to excommunicating myself. At that time, it was necessary to take the anti-modernist oath.”

Thankfully, the Rector had dealt with this situation before and knew exactly how to handle it. Over a cup of coffee, he calmly explained its context, which emerged from the papal encyclical letters: Leo XIII’s Rerum Novarum (1891), and Pius X’s Pascendi Dominici Gregis (1907).

The Rector explained that the statement Peter was refusing to accept, was just a quotation from an encyclical and the context showed that the values of the modern world were defined in a way that it was indeed absurd not to reject them.

Only 40 priests in the entire world had refused to swear the oath. They had been excommunicated and Peter was close to joining them.

Seeing he never liked the number 41 anyway, he persuaded himself that the Rector was right, so the "next day I was tonsured, and a circle shaved off the back of my head”.

Émile Blanchet, Bishop of Lero, ordained Peter on behalf of the Maltese Archbishop. Peter was now entrenched within the Christian tradition, and subject to the “discipline of the clergy”.

Peter returned to Malta to a great welcome. Seeing him in his soutane, his mother Mary burst into tears seeing her dream of Peter being ordained priest at least half realised.

Peter’s intention was always to complete the theology course and be ordained in Paris so he started planning his return to the Séminaire des Carmes… and to the unusual jobs he took on to make ends meet.

While in Malta for the summer, Peter met his friend Giovanni Mangion, who was registered at the Milan State University, and who introduced him to an Italian professor. Soon after, to Peter’s surprise, he received a letter from the Italian Ministry of Foreign Affairs informing him that his “application for a scholarship had been successful”. He was flabbergasted. Peter smelt a rat, as he had never applied for a scholarship.

“When I asked Giovanni whether he knew anything about it, he smiled and said, yes, the professor applied on your behalf. The scholarship is confirmed. Archbishop Michael Gonzi knows and is pleased about it!”

It seems that while Peter had been working as a night watchman at the Perrier bottling plant in Paris, dozing off with a gun in hand, feeling secure because “nobody ever came to rob anything”, somebody was trying to rob him of his peace. Turns out there was collusion from Malta’s end by his Archbishop and others who considered him too good to be ceded to Paris!

In one fell swoop, Peter’s dream of completing his theology studies and priestly ordination under the direction of his Rector at the Séminaire des Carmes was in danger.

A forced transfer from Paris to Italy was on the cards and worse still, the Archbishop’s perception was that this would not cost the Maltese Archdiocese a penny!

How did this occur? The Italian professor had gone to the Archbishop with a proposal to force Peter to Italy.

Archbishop Gonzi was sold on this idea. Smiling kindly, he told Peter: “Now you have this scholarship, you can discontinue your studies in Paris and continue your studies in Italy.” Perforce, Peter had to obey because he was now subject to the “discipline of the clergy”.

Reflecting on that period, Peter said: “It was useless my telling the Archbishop that my Rector in Paris would be annoyed by this change. Gonzi said he perfectly understood that, but he would write him a nice letter… He tried to persuade me to study in Rome, but The Italian professor supported me when I said Milan had better academic credentials.”

A gnomic smile spread over his face as he started writing his CV on a paper napkin: 'Peter Serracino Inglott, born April 26, 1936. The next day I was dropped on my head, the effects of which have been visible ever since.'

Milan, of course, was no Paris! Fortunately, neither was it Rome. Archbishop Gonzi promised to write Peter a glowing reference, which would help his admittance to the Theological Faculty at Venegono, then under the jurisdiction of Cardinal Giovanni Battista Montini, Archbishop of Milan.

However, by mid-August this special reference had not yet been written as the Archbishop was in Catania to see “a quack doctor of sorts and he was still convalescing when I was due to start my course”.

So Peter took a boat trip to Catania to visit the Archbishop where he was staying with the Maltese nuns, and ask for the reference letter. When he got there, the Chaplain told him that the Archbishop requested his CV to write a strong recommendation to Montini to ensure Peter will be admitted.

In the blazing summer sun, Peter walked around Catania looking for a stationer but had no luck. He sought refuge in a cafe swarming with flies, asked for a glass of orange juice and enquired for writing paper. The only paper the restaurant had, came in the form of paper napkins.

Peter had always disliked CVs where one seemed to be selling oneself, but he sat down and started drafting his CV on this blessed paper napkin in the hope of later transferring it onto decent writing paper from the Chaplain.

Deep down, he was feeling peeved at having been derailed from his studies in Paris.

Gazing into the vacant whiteness of another napkin, eyebrows arched, a gnomic smile spread all over his face and he started writing his CV.

The words flowed, naturally assuming an independent life of their own; teasing out a jocular vein laced with a touch of irony: “Peter Serracino Inglott, born April 26, 1936. The next day I was dropped on my head, the effects of which have been visible ever since. I then continued listing my achievements in this semi-jocular clownish vein, and ended by signing it.”

Refreshed, he returned to Archbishop Gonzi’s convalescent home. When the Chaplain asked for the completed CV, Peter tried to explain that he had not found any respectable writing paper, but the extremely busy Chaplain hardly heard him.

He grabbed this CV written on a white paper napkin and rushed upstairs. Peter waited patiently for a long time. Eventually, the Chaplain returned with an envelope, sealed and stamped Arcidiocesi di Malta, and addressed to Cardinal Giovanni Battista Montini.

Two weeks later, Peter travelled to Milan and called at the Curia. After a long wait, he was admitted into Montini’s august presence. He told Peter that during the war, Archbishop Gonzi had acted as an intermediary to negotiate the Italian surrender, and were it not for him, they would not have achieved such good results.

That’s good, thought Peter, we’re already in the Cardinal’s good books!

Cardinal Montini then opened the envelope under Gonzi’s seal and out slipped the napkin on which Peter had written his CV.

“I was aghast! I had expected that Archbishop Gonzi would have taken the main points of my letter and written his own reference! Instead, he had merely enclosed the jocular CV, together with an accompanying letter in Latin saying: ‘I certify that what is written in the accompanying CV of this young man is absolutely true’.”

Cardinal Montini kept looking at this paper napkin in utter disbelief, rubbing his eyes. He was trying to recall whether Archbishop Gonzi had a bizarre sense of humour, or whether Peter was some kind of a clown in a soutane masquerading as a budding priest.

After what seemed like a long time, in the kindest possible manner, Cardinal Montini told Peter: “No, young man, I am afraid you will not fit in my Seminary!”

Peter registered his disappointment: “Cardinal Montini then saw I was on scholarship by the Italian government and added: ‘I definitely cannot take you in my Seminary, however, a Benedictine monk, Ildefonso Schuster has established this Beato Angelico Community — they are all artists, painters, architects, musicians — you might fit in there!’ He did not say they were also eccentric, but implied as much.”

Cardinal Montini showed Peter the door, and retained the paper napkin... perhaps as evidence against?

This is the fifth in a series of weekly long reads from the biography of Fr Peter Serracino Inglott — PSI Kingmaker — to mark the 10th year from his death. The book is available via https://bit.ly/PeterSerracinoInglottKingmaker.

Read previously published excerpts from PSI Kingmaker:

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