It was a raw, grey morning on Chicago's southwest side. Sooty slush was ankle deep, the wind whined so bitterly through the littered alleys that the police outside grey brick St. Procopius' Church beat their arms against their sides. But from everywhere the people came.
From the Gold Coast came big names in wealth and society. They hurried into the church, holding their furs around their ears. Large-boned, narrow-eyed Slavs in Sunday-best waded through the slush from smoke-stained frame houses and brick tenements near the stockyards. Priests, bishops and archbishops occupied a solid 14 pews within St. Procopius'. The occasion: the four-hour...
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