\nPhotos by Hannah Little<\/em><\/p>\n
Frank Cordaro wants to make one thing clear. He chose this life.<\/span><\/p>\n We\u2019re standing in the foyer of the Bishop Dingman House, one of four structures that make up the Des Moines Catholic Worker. A cart filled with plastic-wrapped packages of bread and bagels takes up space in the already-cramped room, as does a shelf lined with boxes of cereal. In the kitchen, a team of volunteers is preparing spaghetti and meatballs. A few dozen members of Des Moines\u2019 homeless population watch the news, play chess, and chat while waiting for dinner. They\u2019ll take some of those bagels with them on the way out.<\/span><\/p>\n The Catholic Worker Movement is made up of 240 communities around the world, all united by a mission to serve the homeless and protest injustice. \u00a0Frank co-founded the Des Moines, Iowa chapter in 1976, and he lives and serves the community now. In the years between, he was a Catholic priest, a non-violent protester, and a prisoner of the state.<\/span><\/p>\n Frank is 66 years old, with a snowy-white beard and gut that\u2019s probably caused a few kids to wonder what Santa is doing in Des Moines. He wears black glasses that shift around his face to accommodate dramatic facial expressions. He gets right in my face and gestures broadly when he\u2019s making a point. I\u2019ve never once seen him sit still.<\/span><\/p>\n He can relate most anything to the New Testament. He\u2019s chosen poverty to better understand the people he\u2019s trying to serve. And his controversial protesting methods get people talking. He\u2019s inspired a lot of the people he works with: \u201cFor me, one of the most significant things about Frank as a person is that he, for many decades now, has been very committed to struggling for peace and justice,\u201d said Aaron Jorgenson-Briggs, a resident at the Catholic Worker. \u201cAnd he has taken on personal risk and made personal sacrifices to do that.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n He\u2019s also pissed a lot of people off. \u201cLogic sometimes goes out the window with Frank,\u201d said Bishop Richard Pates, the current leader of the Des Moines Diocese. \u201cI think he lives in his own world sometimes.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Frank won\u2019t confine himself to one identity. I find myself returning over and over again to Frank\u2019s favorite description of the Catholic Worker community. \u201cWe do heroic and noble work here,\u201d he said. \u201cWe\u2019re not always heroic and noble people. And that\u2019s OK.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n Frank Cordaro standing near the entrance to the Bishop Dingman House, one of the Catholic Worker Houses in Des Moines. The wall behind him is decorated with news clippings of famous protesters.<\/p><\/div>\n Frank doesn\u2019t do anything halfway. <\/span>\u201c<\/b>I\u2019ve believed in a lot of things, but at any given time, I believed in them strongly,\u201d Frank said.<\/span><\/p>\n During his childhood in Des Moines, those strong beliefs had an all-American edge. \u201cIf I was anything, I was a true believer. In America, patriotism, the valor of war and the necessity of the Vietnam war,\u201d Frank said.<\/span><\/p>\n His father, George Cordaro, was a Marine in World War II and won two Purple Hearts. He enrolled his daughter and five sons in Catholic school and raised them to be God-fearing patriots. Like any good, red-blooded American, Frank got into football. He captained and played linebacker for the undefeated Dowling Catholic High School team, and it\u2019s easy to tell that he\u2019s still proud of it. He was inducted into Dowling\u2019s athletics hall of fame last year, a distinction his father also claimed.<\/span><\/p>\n Frank\u2019s brother, Joe Cordaro, is two years older than Frank and remembers him as a straight arrow. \u201cYou\u2019d never look at him and predict what he is now,\u201d he said, laughing.<\/span><\/p>\n He might be talking about Frank\u2019s first time getting political. His senior year at Dowling, four classmates put out an \u201cunderground\u201d newspaper criticizing the Vietnam War. \u201cI\u2019m embarrassed to say it, but I was part of the group that went after these guys publicly,\u201d Frank said. \u201cI was really blinded.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Despite, or perhaps because of, Frank\u2019s fierce beliefs, his classmates gravitated toward him. Joe said others loved his brother\u2019s sense of humor. Frank\u2019s popularity earned him a spot on the student government each year. But Joe also remembers that popularity didn\u2019t blind Frank. \u201cHe defended the defenseless and always helped those in need,\u201d Joe said. \u201cHis inside, his heart, really has always been the same.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n He defended the defenseless and always helped those in need. His inside, his heart, really has always been the same.<\/span>\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u2013 Joe Cordaro<\/span><\/p><\/blockquote>\n Joe thinks that willingness to help the less fortunate comes from their parents. Both men remember their mother, Angela, as a giving woman who couldn\u2019t help but root for the underdog. Their father was the same. George made his sons shovel others\u2019 sidewalks after blizzards and at times literally stopped his car to help people in need. \u201cHe taught us things that go beyond athletics. How to treat people, how to take care of your neighbor,\u201d Joe said. \u201cI always think in the back of his mind, he knew he wasn\u2019t going to be around very long.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n George was not a healthy man. He emerged from the Second World War as a chain smoker, and he had his first heart attack the day of Frank\u2019s First Communion. Heart problems put him in the hospital several more times before he passed away during Frank\u2019s senior year of high school at age 47.<\/span><\/p>\n Losing George was painful for the family. His personality had defined much of their life, and his absence left Frank searching for a father figure and something new to believe in. Frank had no idea that he\u2019d already found the former in Maurice John Dingman, who became bishop of Des Moines in 1968. <\/span><\/p>\n George wasn\u2019t far from his final heart attack when he invited the bishop to dinner. There, Frank and Bishop Dingman clashed. Frank wanted Dowling Catholic High School moved to a wealthier part of town. Bishop Dingman said he couldn\u2019t make that change so quickly. \u201cI used to call him Bishop Ding-a-ling. Thought he couldn\u2019t make a decision,\u201d Frank said. \u201cI was pretty hard-headed. Later on, I\u2019d die for that man.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n But Frank had to meet someone before understanding all the good Bishop Dingman was doing for the Catholic Church. That someone was a radical named Jesus.<\/span><\/p>\n Frank Cordaro in his home at the Catholic Worker in Des Moines, Iowa. An Alcoholics Anonymous meeting is held\u00a0there at 5 p.m. on Fridays.<\/p><\/div>\n In Matthew 5:39, Jesus tells his followers, \u201cYou have heard that it was said, \u2018Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth.\u2019 But I tell you not to resist an evil person. If someone slaps you on your right cheek, turn to him the other also.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n It\u2019s the Bible verse where we get that saying \u201cturn the other cheek.\u201d Most of the time, we say it to someone who\u2019s been wronged, to encourage them to react to the injury with forgiveness instead of violence.<\/span><\/p>\n Turns out, there\u2019s another interpretation. Scholars have pointed out that, during Jesus\u2019 time, slapping a person across the face with the back of the hand was a statement of power. A member of the upper-class might backhand a lower-class person, or a master might do the same to a servant or slave. <\/span><\/p>\n A punch or open-handed slap was a whole different story. This kind of strike was seen as a statement of equality. So if slaves \u201cturned the other cheek\u201d after a backhand strike, they were demanding their attacker treat them like an equal.<\/span><\/p>\n That\u2019s the Jesus whom Frank discovered while reading the New Testament in college. He attended the University of Northern Iowa on a football scholarship, and admits that he didn\u2019t spend much time on his studies. \u00a0\u201cI didn\u2019t have real respect for the academics,\u201d he said. \u201cWhen I left college, I didn\u2019t know how to find a reference book at the library.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n But it\u2019s clear Frank\u2019s done some studying since. \u201cI found this new way to read the Bible,\u201d he said. \u201cI read it as first-century literature. I need to know where, when, why these things happen. Then I can construct what the author is trying to tell me. That\u2019s what allows me to make these sweeping statements.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n For Frank, the historical context makes the message clear. \u201cIf you want to walk like Jesus, you gotta act like Jesus. If you want to act like Jesus, you go to the book and see what he did,\u201d he said.<\/span><\/p>\n Jesus healed the sick and restored the blind. He told his followers to shed their wealth. And, in Frank\u2019s interpretation, he pissed the Romans off so much that they had him executed. That\u2019s where Frank sees the radical Jesus who\u2019s inspired him through his life. \u201cI\u2019m telling you, he\u2019d be against war in this country,\u201d Frank said. \u201cIf you can\u2019t read that book, any of those Gospels, and come up with that understanding of who Jesus was, you just can\u2019t read.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n With a new understanding of the Bible came a new understanding of Bishop Dingman, the man Frank used to make fun of in high school. These days, Frank raves about the bishop: \u201cI\u2019m telling you, the guy was extraordinary. Progressive, pro-woman, pro-peace, pro-Jesus.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n Bishop Dingman became Frank\u2019s mentor, and inspired him to speak out against the United States\u2019 role in the nuclear arms race. He was also the one to ordain him as a Catholic priest.<\/span><\/p>\n Before entering the priesthood, though, Frank had to take care of a few things. He started the Des Moines chapter of the Catholic Worker. He kept studying the New Testament, which he said is easy to read, but hard to live. It also appears to have put him into some unusual situations. Like poised in front of the Pentagon with a bucket of blood in his hands.<\/span><\/p>\n It was 1977 when Frank saw the painting in the Pentagon. It was hung in a small room being used as a chapel. In the painting, a young man in a soldier\u2019s uniform was sitting in the pews. Above the soldier\u2019s head was a quote from Isaiah 6:8. \u201cThen I heard the voice of the Lord saying, \u2018Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?\u2019 And I said, \u2018Here am I. Send me!\u2019”<\/span><\/p>\n Steve Jacobs, a Catholic worker from Columbia, Missouri who was with Frank that day, remembers Frank\u2019s reaction well. \u201cHe was just livid. He kept saying, \u2018That is so blasphemous.\u2019\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n Jacobs found the painting blasphemous, too. \u201cIt\u2019s a quote from the Old Testament about a young man who worked in the temple, who acquiesced to be the Lord\u2019s follower,\u201d he said. \u201cThey changed the meaning. They seemed to be using the Scriptures, taking them out of context to justify the war (in Vietnam).\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Frank almost abandoned the plan that had been developing all week. \u201cHe wanted to go and throw blood at the painting, because it was so manipulative that they would use the Scriptures in that way,\u201d Jacobs said. \u201cWe had to redirect Frank\u2019s attention toward the bigger picture.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n The bigger picture, Jacobs said, was essentially a piece of political street theatre. The performance planning was done at a faith and resistance retreat held at Jonah House, a faith-based community in Baltimore, Maryland. A dozen activists stuck needles into their arms, draining their blood into bags and storing it for the show. Five giant signs were made, each with one letter: D-E-A-T-H.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cThe Pentagon is the place where military violence is planned,\u201d Jacobs said. \u201cSo we were laying that blood down on the steps and pillars of the Pentagon so the people who were planning it could see the results of their work.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n After taking the tour of the Pentagon, the activists grabbed their supplies and approached the Pentagon\u2019s steps. It was August 9, the anniversary of the U.S. nuclear bombing of Nagasaki, Japan.<\/span><\/p>\n Just as Frank reached the steps, a familiar figure exited the Pentagon: one of his high school football coaches, wearing an Air Force officer\u2019s uniform. <\/span><\/p>\n The coach would have seen a very different boy from the one he directed on the football field. \u201cDo you really know what you\u2019re doing?\u201d he asked.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cYeah,\u201d Frank said. \u201cI really do.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n His former coach nodded, climbed into a waiting car, and was gone. The curtains went up. Frank reached into his pocket for his packet of blood. He screamed, \u201cThe Pentagon is the temple of death!\u201d and threw the blood at the building.<\/span><\/p>\n Frank said being arrested for the first time under the Pentagon\u2019s pillars was one of the most authentic experiences of his life. \u201cThat\u2019s where real liturgy takes place, in the public domain. At personal risk,\u201d he said. <\/span><\/p>\n During his first trial, he admitted to the charges, saying life is valuable and must be protected. He would use a similar argument each time an act of civil disobedience landed him in front of a judge. All of them put him behind bars for sentences ranging from 30 days to six months.<\/span><\/p>\n Somewhere between his activism and subsequent prison stays, Frank found time to attend St. John\u2019s Seminary in Collegeville, Minnesota. He was ordained in 1985.<\/span><\/p>\n Frank Cordaro arrested while protesting at Camp Dodge in Johnston, Iowa. Photo courtesy of\u00a0Des Moines Catholic Worker<\/p><\/div>\n Frank woke up early in Sarpy County Jail for his morning routine. It was 1990. He climbed out of his bunk and checked for guards, then grabbed the small toilet paper-wrapped package he\u2019d hidden. He stuffed it in the top of his sock, just in case. He didn\u2019t want to risk punishment.<\/span><\/p>\n He knelt for his morning prayers. Frank prayed for the parish he\u2019d left behind. He prayed for the broken people in prison with him. He prayed for the soul of America. He said \u201cAmen.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n With a furtive glance, he pulled the package from his sock. Of all the habits he\u2019d developed in prison, this one soothed his soul the most. He peeled back the toilet paper to reveal a delicate wafer. He partook in the Eucharist each morning on days when the jail had no official mass.<\/span><\/p>\n Frank doesn\u2019t tell me this story. When I ask about his time in prison, he gives me a sentence or two before changing course to conversations about the military-industrial complex or his theory about the God of Empire and the God of Creation. <\/span><\/p>\n No, the holy contraband story comes from a letter written to his parish on June 17, 1990. He sends me more than 60 documents via email, each a series of letters written between 1988 and 2014. Volunteers typed them up and printed them in his church\u2019s bulletin, so his parish could keep tabs on their jailbird priest. <\/span><\/p>\n Frank sees jail as a chance to lead a more disciplined life. He writes, prays and reads more consistently, spends more time studying the bible. \u201cIn jail, I can be selfish and take care of my own personal, spiritual needs,\u201d he said. \u201cOn the other hand, it\u2019s in the middle of an environment that\u2019s absolute chaos all the time.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n His letters reflect that chaos, and some sadness, too. Sadness for the broken people the prison system takes in and spits out.<\/span> \u201c<\/span>Almost all the men here were victims first of broken homes and dysfunctional families before they started breaking laws,\u201d he wrote in 1990. \u201cThe relationship between dysfunctional families, drug and alcohol abuse and poverty and the people who occupy this jail is almost absolute.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Those broken people sought Frank out when they learned of his priesthood. \u201cThey were really ready to talk to anybody who represented somebody with a listening ear and a connection with faith,\u201d he said. \u201cJail was an honorable place to be for a Catholic priest.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Jail was an honorable place to be for a Catholic priest.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n – Frank Cordaro<\/span><\/p><\/blockquote>\n Not everybody agreed with him, including his own family. \u201cIt was hard for me to understand what he was doing and why he was doing it,\u201d Joe said. \u201cOur mother was not convinced really quickly, either. She was just angry with him for a really long time.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Criticism was harsh. The <\/span>Catholic Mirror, <\/span><\/i>the newspaper of the Diocese of Des Moines, printed a letter to the editor in 1992. \u201cHow does he find time to organize these protests when he has a full-time job?\u201d the writer asked. \u201cWhat do we tell our children and grandchildren, or how do we explain to them that this person knows what he does is illegal and against the law, yet continues to do it anyway?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Bishop Pates puts it a bit more delicately. \u201cEverybody has their own methodology. He certainly has protested strongly for the poor, against nuclear weapons,\u201d Pates said. \u201cYou know, he\u2019s arrested, and he spends a lot of time in jail. I think it\u2019s a lifestyle that he\u2019s chosen. He feels it\u2019s effective. But there are other ways of protesting.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Frank said his parishioners wished he would have found other ways of protesting, too. \u201cThey didn\u2019t want to see me go to jail,\u201d Frank said. \u201cBut on the other hand, I\u2019d say, \u2018OK. Let\u2019s get someone else in this Diocese.\u2019 And they would say, \u2018no, stay.\u2019 So I might have been crazy and quirky, but they liked me.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Frank calls his time working under Bishop Dingman a \u201cCamelot moment\u201d for the Catholic Church. The two of them planned protests together, like trespassing at the Offutt Air Force Base in Sarpy County, Nebraska. Frank said the bishop even planned to cross the line himself, an act that might have gotten him arrested.<\/span><\/p>\n But Dingman suffered a stroke right before the action in 1986. He passed away in 1992 without getting a chance to participate in a protest. Frank, determined to carry out his mentor\u2019s legacy, wrote the bishops in the area: \u201cThe deal between Dingman and I was that we\u2019d develop a model of priestly life that involved civil disobedience and resistance. I\u2019m trusting we can carry on in that way.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n And they did, at least for a bit. But Frank started stirring up other issues, too. \u201cI was very publicly advocating for women\u2019s ordination,\u201d he said. \u201cI went to demonstrations down at the cathedral, wearing my collar and everything. I was clearly pushing boundaries.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n The Church pushed back. They didn\u2019t want him to protest anymore, at least not in ways that landed him in jail. So Frank walked away.<\/span><\/p>\n Phil, named for the peace activist Philip Berrigan, hangs out in Frank\u2019s house.<\/p><\/div>\n Each year, the Andrews Air Force Base hosts an open house. Thousands visit the Maryland base to see the latest in aircraft technology. Pilots perform aerial stunts. Soldiers give talks. And in 1998, five activists, known as the Gods of Metal Plowshares Five, attacked a military bomber. <\/span><\/p>\n An interpretation of Roman Catholicism allows for the destruction of property in the name of pacifism. That\u2019s where the Plowshares movement came from. The movement aligned with Frank\u2019s goals perfectly. When the first Plowshares action took place in 1980 \u2014 a group of eight damaged a nuclear warhead and poured blood onto documents and files \u2014 Frank knew he\u2019d one day participate. Most Plowshares protests involved active resistance to war. In this case, active resistance isn\u2019t just writing letters and making a few calls. It means trespassing on military property. It means pouring blood. It means breaking things.<\/span><\/p>\n Frank wanted to break things. He\u2019d lost Bishop Dingman. His relationship with the church was tenuous. His mother had just been diagnosed with Alzheimer\u2019s. \u201cI was just kind of overwhelmed, emotionally,\u201d he said.<\/span><\/p>\n He attacked a nuclear-capable B-52 bomber with another priest, two nuns and a grandmother. They struck the metal body with hammers and poured their own blood on its surface. Somehow, even after punching holes in the bomber, they had enough time to hand out explanatory pamphlets to the onlookers. Then, they were arrested. Frank wore his clerical\u00a0collar the entire time.<\/span><\/p>\n Frank and a fellow protester attack a B-52 bomber at the Andrews Air Force Base in Maryland. He received a six-month sentence for the action. Photo courtesy of Des Moines Catholic Worker<\/p><\/div>\n \u201cI went through all the emotions,\u201d he said. \u201cI like acting out things like that. I enjoyed it. It was exhilarating. It was truth-speaking. It was ground-leveling, spiritual stuff.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n The resulting six months in jail were not so enjoyable. But Frank said prison was bearable because he\u2019s proud of what he did to get there. His time in prison is a reflection of his conscience. <\/span><\/p>\n After six months in prison, Frank returned to the priesthood one last time. A heart attack \u2014 a revelation, of sorts \u2014 in 2001 convinced him it was time to leave the order for good. This final departure was different than simply walking away in frustration, though. He met the bishop face-to-face. \u201c\u201cBishop, this has nothing \u00a0to do with you, and everything to do with me,\u201d Frank said. <\/span><\/p>\n When I ask him why he left, he\u2019s blunt about the personal nature of the decision. \u201cI couldn\u2019t deal with the whole celibacy thing,\u201d he said. \u201cI just got tired of the lack of integrity from myself. I live one life in public, and another in my private life.\u201d \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Today, Frank lives full time at the Catholic Worker. The main house is named for Bishop Dingman. He has two cats, Philip and Daniel Berrigan, both named for radical Christian anarchists, and a girlfriend he says is \u201chalf my age, twice my spirit.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n Now, nearly his entire family supports his protesting. Joe said he got on board when Frank explained that everything he did was rooted in the Bible. \u201cJesus was crucified for what he believed. And Frank thinks we should do the same,\u201d Joe said. \u201cThat message hits people really hard because they\u2019ve always believed the Gospel, but they\u2019ve never met anybody who really, actually lives it. It\u2019s unbelievable how, every time Frank goes to jail, these discussions come out of it.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Before her death, even Angela Cordaro came around to civil disobedience. \u201cYeah, she was a co-defendant at one point,\u201d Frank said. \u201cI told the judge, \u2018Hey, you can\u2019t blame me, my mother told me to do it.\u2019\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Frank and his mother, Angela Cordaro, protesting at the Offutt Air Force Base in 1989. Frank would later be arrested while still wearing his clerical\u00a0collar. Photo courtesy of Des Moines Catholic Worker<\/p><\/div>\n Frank\u2019s been trying to fit exercise into his schedule since his heart attack. I tag along for a walk that doubles as a tour of his neighborhood. His old high school is twenty minutes from the Catholic Worker houses, and he points out the field where he used to play football. At times, he gets so involved with his storytelling that his stride slows to a shuffle, then a stop. After a few minutes of standing in the middle of the sidewalk, he makes his point, looks around as if just coming to, and continues marching.<\/span><\/p>\n We pass by a group sitting near the Bishop Dingman House. One woman is holding her arm and crying. Frank approaches her and they talk for a few moments, voices low. Frank tells her to take care of herself, and we walk again. I ask if she\u2019s OK.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cNo, she\u2019s not OK,\u201d he said. \u201cThis is crazy. She can\u2019t live on the streets like this. She\u2019s a very strong woman, but she\u2019s just \u2014 she needs to get off the street, or die. She\u2019s been on the street too long.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n I\u2019m not sure what to say. I observe that coming to the Catholic Worker and having steady meals must be good for her. \u201cYeah, when we don\u2019t have to kick her out,\u201d he says. <\/span><\/p>\n Frank protects the woman\u2019s privacy, so I don\u2019t get much more of her story. He does tell me that guests aren\u2019t supposed to come to the house drunk. Frank usually lets that rule go. \u201cEverybody comes in drunk,\u201d he said. However, anyone getting too rowdy or violent has to leave. Kicking out the people who, in his eyes, need the most help is the worst part of Frank\u2019s job. But he takes the bad with the good. \u201cThat\u2019s just the way it is. It\u2019s still good. It\u2019s just that good isn\u2019t pretty all the time. Pretty much any good that\u2019s worth a damn is never pretty.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n Frank Cordaro is trying to do heroic and noble work. He\u2019s not always a heroic and noble person. And maybe that\u2019s OK.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Frank Cordaro has spent his life working against the establishment. He\u2019s got a few stories to tell<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":27,"featured_media":7504,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0},"categories":[5],"tags":[],"yoast_head":"\n![](\"http:\/\/urban-plains.com\/2016\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/02\/Frank-2-of-23-1124x749.jpg\")
The True Believer<\/h6>\n
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Finding Jesus<\/h6>\n
Civil Disobedience<\/h6>\n
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Holy Contraband<\/h6>\n
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Blood, Hammers and the B-52<\/h6>\n
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A Fragile Nobility<\/h6>\n