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But the tension had been too much, the days at home after I knew I was going to Rome, the days on the vessel. . . . Well, after a while, I was able to get control of myself. I think my hysterics were those of joy. I went to bed, but I could not sleep for happiness."
Next day Miss McDowell got dressed, and "it was said I 'looked like a nun.' I hope I did because every nun I know looks like a saint. . . . I also carried with me several small sacred objects. . . . One was a small silver crucifix. I have since arranged with my family to be buried in the black dress and with this crucifix in my hand."
When Newshawk McDowell arrived by automobile at Castel Gandolfo, the Pope's summer snuggery, "I left my hand satchel in the car. It looked too professional. I had the forethought, however, to take out my letter from Cardinal Hayes, and on top of this, fastening it with a clip, I put my New York Times calling card. It was identification. I was all alone. I was not afraid, oh, no. But I might faint or become ill. I knew no Italian and no one there was likely to know any English. And no one there knew me. Folded in my handkerchief I had a very tiny bottle of smelling salts, in case I might have again what I had the previous night. Over my arm I draped the rosaries and in my fingers I held the little objects."
Miss McDowell waited around. She talked with a woman from The Bronx ("which shows the world is not so big"). She gave her letter to the Pope's majordomo. She wondered if perhaps someone would tell the Holy Father that "for 27 years I have written virtually all the leading Catholic news in the New York Times." Finally the Pope appeared. The roomful of people knelt as he made the sign of the cross. Then Pius XI began making his rounds while Rachel McDowell anxiously hoped he would not skip her.
"Look; yes, he has turned. The Supreme Pontiff is coming my way. In less than a minute he will be standing over me and I will be looking up into his face and kissing his ring.
"And now he is over me. I kiss his ring. I touch his hand extended. I prolong the touch a second. I wish I might never have to wash my right hand again. It seemed to me the next most beautiful thing to seeing Jesus Christ Himself. The Pope passes to the Bronx lady to my right. . . .
"Yes, it was the holiest day of my life. May God grant that many of the readers of the Catholic News may have the same privilege at some time."