Early one misty Manhattan morning last week Rev. Charles Edward Coughlin boarded a Government cutter, went down New York Harbor to Quarantine. There the radiorating Detroit priest climbed into the Italian liner Rex, hurried to an upper deck where waited his bishop, grey, gnarled Michael James Gallagher.
Soon as the pjiest had made his obeisance by kneeling and kissing Bishop Gallagher's Episcopal ring (see cut, p. 62), the two churchmen greeted each other as man to man. Bishop Gallagher: "Well, how are you?" Father Coughlin: "I am fine, Your Grace. And how are...
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