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Friday, April 22, 11 pm, Vatican City I was rushing out as the crowd was rushing in. It was about six minutes after the bells began to toll over St. Peter's Square, confirming that the smoke was white and we indeed had a Papam. The descending swarm from every direction into the piazza was dazzling, but I was the only soul going in the other direction. This was going to be a case of the reporter missing the experience for the sake of the story. The plan for our three-person team, which included TIME colleagues Jordan Bonfante...
...large as the loss of John Paul II. Replacing an absolute monarch without the benefit of bloodlines is no mean task. Taking an ancient religious rite of passage and turning it into a two-week-long worldwide broadcast spectacle, with the only glitch a few minutes of gray smoke, may indeed require the Holy Spirit on your side...
...Christ and the Supreme Pontiff of the Church, the pope is also the bishop of this city-and the Romans feel it. Fabrizio Magnani, a 65-year-old real estate broker was on his way to meet a client near St. Peter's when the radio announced white smoke and ringing bells. He parked his car as soon as he could and joined "a river of people" rushing into the Piazza to see who would be the new pontiff. "In Rome, the pope is something all our own," he said, waiting in the raucous square just minutes before the name...
...some undecided cardinals saw a sign from above in Ratzinger's minor health hiccup, or if it reminded others that he may be too old. But the rest of us are looking for signals everywhere while we wait for the only one that counts: the Sistine's white smoke. As expected, the first puff this evening was black, though the atmosphere in St. Peter's Square was just short of electrifying, with some of the tens of thousands gathered surging closer to the Basilica as the first wisps of smoke came out just after 8 p.m. local time. Tuesday...
...caught-sneaking-inside-the-conclave" dream. But the fitful nights of the past two weeks have nontheless been filled with flashing images of Cardinals dropping folded notes in golden urns, then winking at me, and insiders whispering the name of the man who will emerge once the white smoke clears then snickering. After another busy morning of phone calls trawling for hints on the state of the race for the papacy I found myself briefly alone with an eggplant and mozzarella panino at an outside table at the Bar Gianicolo in Piazzale Aurelio, about a half-mile up the hill...