A gentle shepherd with a will of steel, John Paul II thrilled the U.S. with a glorious pilgrimage that won hearts—and challenged the nation
"He makes me think that the world and the people in it are not as bad as they seem."
—Mary Ellen Bickel, a Boston personnel manager
Only the rarest leaders inspire that kind of confidence in the basic goodness of humanity. As he led his triumphant seven-day journey of joy through the U.S., Pope John Paul II confirmed what his earlier tours of Mexico and Poland had intimated: after only a year in office, the Pontiff is emerging as the kind of incandescent leader that the world so hungers for—one who can make people feel that they have been lifted above the drabness of their own lives and show them that they are capable of better emotions, and better deeds, than they may have thought.
He was a man for all seasons, all situations, all faiths, a beguilingly modest superstar of the church. The professional philosopher read the diplomats of the U.N. a closely reasoned intellectual sermon on the importance of human rights and freedom—and offered in contrast the ghastly memory of Auschwitz in his homeland, where an emotional John Paul had prayed last June. The athlete-outdoorsman kept to a schedule that would have stunned many a man of far fewer years than his 59, and he seemed impervious to the driving rains that fell on his motorcades in Boston and Manhattan. The actor (John Paul toured Poland with a school theatrical company before entering the priesthood) displayed a sure command of smile, gesture and wink, even capitalizing on his thick Polish accent to draw a laughing cheer by voicing admiration for Manhattan's "sky-scroppers." Then he milked the line a bit, as the laughter and applause rose, and pronounced the word in Polish and Italian. The humanitarian pastor delighted in the happiness of his flock, and he became one with them. Children were his special favorites, and he swept them up lightly in his brawny arms. When a young monsignor from Harlem bent to kiss his ring, John Paul lifted him to his feet and kissed him on both cheeks. The Pope soothingly wiped the sweat from the head of a nervous priest who had been conducting the choir at Manhattan's St. Patrick's Cathedral. In one amazing scene, perhaps as memorable as any that 1979 will offer, John Paul's hearty baritone voice rumbled "Woo-hoo-woo" over the loudspeaker at Madison Square Garden; he was giving the Polish equivalent of "Wow!" as 19,000 youths rocked the arena with nine minutes of spontaneous, frenzied cheers.
Americans of all beliefs and all backgrounds teetered on tiptoe to get a glimpse of him and roar their approval. Said Billy Graham, a man who knows something about rousing fervor in his audiences: "He's the most respected religious leader in the world today." Said President Carter to John Paul at Saturday afternoon's welcome on the White House lawn: "God blessed America by sending you to us." The Pope drew enormous crowds: 400,000 for a rainswept Mass on Boston Common, 1 million for a Mass in Philadelphia's Logan Circle, half a million at Grant Park in Chicago. Not everyone who attended the Pope's road show was swept up in the emotionalism, but the huge