The cop and the mysterious, praying QB
In 2017, New Orleans police officer Joe Delery doubled as the "gateman" at St. Rita Church in New Orleans, greeting early-morning Mass goers. Then, the cop spotted a man he was sure he had seen before.
Joe Delery is a lifelong Catholic and has spent a career with the New Orleans Police Department using his 6-foot-3 frame to protect and serve with the best of them, intuitively knowing how to defuse a tense standoff with a disarming gift of gab.
When Joe was a lanky freshman at De La Salle High School in 1972, he went out for the Cavaliers’ JV football team, in part because of a backhanded comment he had received from a teacher at Christian Brothers School, Don Rowan, an old football coach from New Iberia.
“He was one of my greatest teachers, but he made a comment one day like, ‘Delery, you could never play football,’” Joe recalled. “And so, when I graduated from Christian Brothers and got to De La Salle, I was like, ‘I’m going out for the football team. I’m going to prove Don Rowan wrong.’”
And?
“Don was right,” Joe laughed. “My heart definitely was not into the game. It was more into hunting and fishing.”
One of the memories seared into Joe’s memory about his foray into football came in the fall of 1972, when he and a few other promising freshmen got battlefield promotions from the JV to the varsity team.
In the midst of “one of the most bizarre seasons ever,” Joe remembers his blooper as if it were captured in 70mm Technicolor by NFL Films.
“I was the worst, but it was not just me – it was me and another guy,” Joe said. “I was an offensive lineman and so was he, and we had the play so confused. We doubled around, and our quarterback got sandwiched in between the two of us. I tackled my own quarterback. The other team was looking at us like, ‘We don’t even have to get on the field. These guys are taking care of things by themselves.’ That was the worst football season ever.”
For many years, Joe has attended the daily 7 a.m. Mass at St. Rita Church in New Orleans, usually getting there just after the church is opened for prayer. It’s his quiet time.
“I get there typically about a half-hour before Mass and watch everybody come in, and also to tell everybody ‘Good morning,’” Joe said. “I’ve kind of thought that that was my job, my ministry, like the schoolteacher opening up the school for the kids. It’s also my way of actually starting my day on a really great high note, telling everyone ‘Good morning.’ No matter how bad the day before was, it was a really great way to start the day.”
Imagine Joe’s surprise several years ago when he saw a young adult – probably in his early 30s, he guessed, according to his NOPD-honed observation powers – dressed casually in shorts and sneakers, coming into the church just about every morning. The man always arrived around 6:30 a.m., walked through the front door and took his seat in the back pew, just to the right of the main aisle.
The man usually left about five minutes before the 7 a.m. Mass started.
Being someone who has never met a stranger, Joe opened the door for the man one day and did a double take as he was leaving.
“I’ll be honest, I didn’t realize who he was when I saw him the first time, because I had only seen him in football gear, and this was a little guy,” Joe said. “But what gave him away was the birthmark on his face.”
Mystery solved.
“Every day, he would come in very unassuming, very quietly, and kneel all the way in the back on the right side, in the same spot,” Joe said. “You could tell he was extremely focused, extremely intense, from the standpoint of having his mind set on what he was going to do, and he wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of that.”
“It was his time with God. He was spending time with God in prayer, and then when he finished, he would walk out and just go his way.”
Joe is not what people would consider bashful, so one day as Brees left the church, the cop in him couldn’t resist.
“Drew, can I ask you a question?” Joe asked. “Are you Catholic?”
“No, why?’”
“I was going to get you for the Knights of Columbus. We’d have the best council ever!”
Brees looked at Joe and gave him “a crooked grin.”
After word began to spread internally that Brees was a St. Rita regular, parishioners were careful to respect his privacy and his prayer time.
“People were excited about seeing him, but they left him alone,” Joe said. “One man who is the biggest Saints fan in the world wanted to go over and say something, but he said, ‘No, he’s praying. I’m going to leave him alone.’”
With Brees contemplating retirement after 20 NFL seasons, Joe didn’t know then if the quarterback’s St. Rita prayer sessions had ended, but he will remain forever impressed.
“There’s something more to him than just football,” Joe said. “We all believe that we’re kind of the masters of our own destiny, that we don’t owe anything to anybody, including the higher power. To see this guy – who I can’t tell you how much money he makes – come in and have that quiet time before practice was very inspirational. He did it not for any fanfare. Nobody knew he was doing it. It wasn’t broadcast. He wasn’t doing it to be seen, that’s for sure.”
Joe has an idea that hasn’t yet been sanctioned by the St. Rita Pastoral Council.
“I’ve got a brass plaque that I have to have put on that back pew: ‘Drew Brees used to kneel here,’” Joe said.
Well, Brees did perform a few miracles in New Orleans, and some would consider the back pew a third-class relic.
“I guess the best way to describe it would be when Jonas Salk found the cure for polio, that’s the way I’m going to look at Drew Brees,” Joe said. “Because when we needed something to elevate us after Katrina, he came in and got us to the Super Bowl. That was like the greatest shot in the arm for this city and for the people.
“What Drew did for the city of New Orleans was like Andrew Jackson coming down and helping us win the war.”
Amen.
