Chicago Irish Writer and His Catholic League Book about St. Rita

Tim Maher is well known in Irish Sports circles in Chicago. I have spoken to Tim Maher the past 6 months or so as he was preparing his 3 Yards and a Cloud of Dust for publication.  The book is out now and available at Chicago Catholic League Football. Tim was certainly a big part of the St. Rita Championship Season that his book covers. But he is one of those guys who has been a big part of sports in Chicago at its most visceral level.  He sweats, bleeds, and breathes Chicago sports. 

Tim's reach goes way beyond St. Rita and even football. One of his other life-time avocations has been Chicago softball and he is a member of the Softball (16") Hall of Fame. He has been involved with media coverage of Chicago sports for many decades. 

But there are many things about 3 Yards and a Cloud of Dust that are attractive to many people--I hesitate to even suggest the people who will read it because it's a little like one of those items on the Antique Road Show that appeals to collectors from different genres. Tim's book is definitely a football story, a Catholic League story, a Chicago story and more. And the book is very visual--tons of photos, lists, and even a poem here or there.  

One of the elements to the book that I know Tim felt very strongly about was the reproduction of coaching notes for each of the games described in the book for St. Rita's run at the 1970-1971 Catholic League and Prep Bowl Championship. The notes are included as they were written so readers are taken back to the time in every way possible. 

After writing my own book about high school called The Brown and White, I was reminded of the allegiance that athletes certainly have to their schools. I think this is likely the case of the players just having so much deeper roots with their schools than most kids based on the sacrifices and frankly the punishment that they put in while there.  The after hours, endless practices, and training create a bond that might be described as Marine-like. And in most cases, there was a payoff in that the athletes were often the kids most respected and appreciated at the schools.  At least in my era, no one was paying much attention to the Science or French Club (I was in Fr. Pryor's Science Club).  At Mount Carmel (my school), most everyone wanted to be on one of the teams.  I think we had at least half the school try out for the football team and I suspect the same might be true for Tim's St. Rita, and other schools such at Mendel, Brother Rice, etc. 

Of course, the teachers and administrators at the schools take academics very seriously and want their students to succeed in life and become good men. Tim alludes to that in the book as well, but he comes at it from an athletes perspective. This is a football book, after all.

And that allegiance, that love of school and the significant impact that it has, well, it is a big part of Tim's story.  It is not so much a point made in the lines of text, it is often between the lines. 

Tim is a product of Visitation parish in Chicago. I don't think there was ever a parish that produced football players like Visitation--a school that produced athletes who would star in the preps and then go on to many of the best colleges. 

I've learned at times not to project how people will read and how much they will appreciate what someone writes. I have been involved in publishing my entire adult life and there are always surprises.  At the same time, a story like Tim's could only be created by Tim--it is not an exact narrative or something that was written to intellectually reach interested parties.  It is more like a battle plan and diary that gives athletes, their families, and others a return ticket to the time, the place, and the deeds. I suspect, some people may spend a half an hour with the book and others will pick it up again and again. 

If you have your own Chicago "crew" from a Chicago Catholic school, Tim has prices that will allow you to buy a number of books to check off en masse for your Christmas list. For everyone else it's certainly affordable for a single copy purchase. 

Athletes often suggest that they stand "shoulder to shoulder" with each other at difficult times.  Tim's book reminds us that commitment of that kind can come early in life and live on. 

Boys Can't Man Up into Adulthood, They Have to Learn Emotional Skills

Boys sometimes have their male influences wanting them to "man-up" to adulthood and their female influences wanting them to stay sweet and innocent. They can often end up facing life without really being prepared for it and getting very angry.  Experts suggest that boys need to become emotionally literate.  And maybe that is a much greater challenge than parents' anticipate.  But if boys don't become emotionally literate, "little things" can set off big negative reactions. When it gets out of hand, well, it gets out of hand. 

Those who have emotional literacy can understand their emotions, listen to others and put themselves in another's shoes to understand what they might be feeling. Emotionally literate boys learn to express themselves and to handle their emotions in acceptable ways. Emotionally literate boys  have healthy relationships,  show love, and cooperate with others. But it can take some time for them to acquire emotional literacy.

In the book, Raising Cain: Protecting the Emotional Life of Boys, the authors talk about the challenges of raising boys.  There are videos and much to read on the book and the authors.  I just want to express one thought here in this post, rather than give you the run-down on the book because the authors do that better than I can ever do myself. 

Mom's have to get a grip and learn to lighten up at times.

In the book, one mom is described as giving lots of support, love and affection to a son.  But as the boy gets older, he wants to pull away a little from Mom--to gain some autonomy. Mom becomes concerned at this reaction and she reacts by attempting to force herself on the child--knocking on his bedroom door, calling for his attention, and insists that everything remains the same.  The authors point out that  boys need to move on a little from the Mom and this is normal. A Mom should not feel a sense of failure when boys do this.  Stay in there, provide support, but recognize that battles relating to this struggle can occur as a boy ages. A Mom is not going to get her way every step along the journey. It helps to understand that the boy is just attempting to grow up a little and as a boy ages, he continues to test. The Mom needs to remain confident.  The Mom needs to help her son develop confidently as well. 

In my book, The Brown and White, I talk about Collin Callaghan going off to high school each day and the Mom trying to deal with a new smaller place in his life.  The Mom in the book comes to surprise Collin with a knitted brown beret and scarf that came close to upsetting Collin. But in this case, rather than get angry and upsetting his mother, he decided to go with it and accept his fate on the bus with his friends and his new wardrobe. At it turns out, the friends don't care and it all turns out just fine except for one problem.  The scarf stretches longer each day and Collin ends up wrapping it around his body more each day.  Eventually, it looks more like a rope than a scarf. 

Parents teach a boy about caring about others feelings and this can come back to serve the parents and son.  A boy is also taught to look out for his mom by the example of the Dad and others in the family. 

Don't Wait Till the Snow Flies to Buy the Brown and White

Illustration by Bill Potter, Copyright 2017, Sporting Chance Press

Bill Potter's Abdominal Snowman comes to mind as we are making our way through August and towards the fall. It won't be too long before you'll head those Christmas songs and you start to feel rushed. Take some worry off you mind and order a couple dozen copies of The Brown and White for everyone on you list! Send your request directly to me (lmj.norris@gmail.com) and I'll sign them and ship them myself along with an invoice. 

 The Brown and White will be selling well when we get closer to the time when people show an interest in the Abdominal Snowman and holiday purchases. And yet, this time of year does seem right for The Brown and White in another way.

Forty plus years in the making, The Brown and White is a fictionalized memoir that tells the story of Collin Callaghan's freshman year at a Chicago Catholic High School. And the book begins about this time of year as Collin is heading off to school. So this may be a good time to sell The Brown and White, even though August is not a great time for selling books--as least I have not found it so.

Lawrence Norris, The Brown and White

Collin is a white boy who is living in turbulent times in a changing city. He clings to his neighborhood and his family as he heads out each day with his classmates on the Brown and White, the ancient school bus driven by free-spirited Willie. Memorable characters abound as this story unfolds. Collin's loveable family, especially his Irish Catholic policeman father and his Irish immigrant mother face life together. Collin and classmates blaze their own humorous and passionate trail through the late 1960s. A unique cast of terrific teachers are there to see the boys through. Laughs and life meet readers head on as they travel on the Brown and White.

I remember laughing very hard at times in high school. In some way, most everything was funny. And that's one thing I hope people get out of The Brown and White. Whether it brings back memories of their own high school days that stirs a smile or they just find some of the situations funny, I think readers will like The Brown and White. 

My Poem: Mice and Ghosts by Lawrence Norris

Mice come into the house from cold fall air
and haunt my kitchen until I set traps for them.
My neighbor tells me they must make a home
out in the old pile of logs where the rabbits go.


But there's something spiritual in my wood pile
it holds relics of my old apple tree
and I can't bring myself to get rid of the logs
summer home of mice and hiding place for rabbits.

But like all dead things I hold onto,  it brings trouble,
memories of mistakes I have made that sneak up
and cry out on these cloudy winter days
scolding me for what I failed to do in summer.

So on these cold mornings when nothing is warm
and even the squirrels won't come out of their nests,
I sometimes battle ghosts stuck in my head
like mice that come in from the cold, haunting my kitchen.

Copyright 2017, Sporting Chance Press

Norris is the author of The Brown and White, a fictionalized memoir published by Sporting Chance Press about a young man's freshman year at the late 1960s in Chicago. It's about changing neighborhoods and challenges, but humorous and positive as well.

The Brown and White: The Timing and the Audience

You probably know that when you have a product to sell you have just seconds of time--whether it's on social media or some other media. People talk about an elevator speech and they often say, even when  you have to sell yourself (like for a job), you only have  a few seconds.  I suppose it's even worse than that when you have to send information online and someone has developed an app that can score whatever it is you have submitted and kill of the statistically unwanted. 

When you write a book these days, it's also important to have some clearly defined descriptive lines that you can use to get people's interest. Yet, books are by their nature usually a little more complicated than that. I find it amazing when you are interested in one book or a movie--and then  you get bombarded by messages about "like kind" products. 

But you know there is a lot of money that gets passed around for products that are cross-sold, so sometimes the programs that exist to connect the dots are not accurate. Most people have giggled a little at times on a list of movies that a provider suggests you may be interested in because you watched something else. I may be wrong, but I have a tendency to interpret the message as "you'll like this because you read that and someone paid us to suggest the connection. 

On my book called The Brown and White, writing an accurate description is easy enough:

Forty plus years in the making, The Brown and White is a fictionalized memoir that tells the story of Collin Callaghan's freshman year at a Chicago Catholic High School. Collin is a white boy who is living in turbulent times in a changing city. He clings to his neighborhood and his family as he heads out each day with his classmates on the Brown and White, the ancient school bus driven by free-spirited Willie. Memorable characters abound as this story unfolds. Collin's loveable family, especially his Irish Catholic policeman father and his Irish immigrant mother face life together. Collin and classmates blaze their own humorous and passionate trail through the late 1960s. A unique cast of terrific teachers are there to see the boys through. Laughs and life meet readers head on as they travel on the Brown and White.

I think this done a decent job, but at the same time it difficult with this book. The setting is a changing city, but the book is not focused on civil rights or the conflicts of the day. It's there in the background, but the book is primarily simple and humorous. I was not writing the story of the black experience of the time--I read many books on that in high school and college, but I had to make that clear to readers.  I am not a second coming of James Baldwin.  I've said that in interviews. 

Even my simple book is not so simple to describe. 

Also, my book is about a high school boy, but women are more important for the story than someone might surmise.  In interviews, I like to mention that fact. I think the chapter on my mom is one of the best. 

Another thing that I find interesting (and frustrating) today is that often people tend to place a book into a very specific sub-genre.  Many readers tend to want books that are very specific towards their lives and interest. I am not sure if that's a good thing. 

I was inspired by John Powers who lived a few miles from house and wrote Last Catholic in America and Do Patent Leather Shoes Really Reflect Up. These books are in fact about a grade school (Last Catholic) and a high school boy (Patent Leather), his friends and family. The last thing anyone would have said about them at the time is that grade school kids should like to read Last Catholic and high school kids should like to read Patent Leather. I started writing The Brown and White over 40 years ago when many people were devouring John Powers books. In my family, all of us were fans. But today, people want to pound books into a very specific category. Once some people understand the story, they want to limit the book's audience and appeal. My book is about high school, but it really isn't written for high school kids. 

Here's the Amazon write up on Patent Leather Shoes:

Growing up on Chicago’s South Side in the 1960s, Eddie Ryan is learning a lot—and not just from the Brothers at his all-boys Catholic high school. Eddie’s world is populated by peculiar adults, oddball classmates, and puzzling girls—the greatest mystery of all. He takes it all in through the prism of his Catholic upbringing, which often deepens the mystery, but sometimes clarifies it, too. Entering Eddie Ryan’s world will delight not only readers who grew up there with him, but also those too young to remember.

I don't think adults were turned off by the description then, but I have to wonder about now and how people might have Pidgeon holed it.

The Brown and White is an Easy Read

I wanted The Brown and White to be accessible to many people so they could be "taken back" in time to 1967-1968, a time that was scary in some ways and comforting in others.  I was a boy going to a tough school in a dangerous neighborhood. You might think that the book is all about boys for boys, but that's not the case.  It's a story about a boy, his family, his friends, his faith, his teachers, and  his school. 

I have some nice reviews on Amazon, but I am not the best promoter. Many people have told me that they like my book, but have not run off to Amazon to give me a great review (some have and I am eternally grateful for these people). 

My book is $12.50 on Amazon.  I hope you will give it a go...

Brown Scapular as Catholic Dog Tags

Tom Perna has a blog and he posted a great piece on Catholic Dog Tags, the Brown Scapular. I picked it up from a Facebook post from Chicago radio personality and writer, Mike Houlihan, who like me went to Mount Carmel High School in Chicago.  The Brown Scapular was certainly significant for everyone who went to Mount Carmel. 

A lot of us Baby-boomers were believers-then non-believers-then believers at various times in our life.  I mean for us, the generational mantra was "is it relevant" and at least for a while many of us, we were "far out there" and not on solid ground and Catholicism seemed out of touch. I remember arguing with one of my college friends who believed God was a space alien. I was "far out" there somewhere, but I was not buying that nonsense.  Now-a-days, that same friend of mine is so far to the Christian right, he thinks Saint JP II was a liberal. Latin is the only church language for him, etc.

In the 1970s, books and theories about aliens causing practically every phenomena known to man were extremely popular. People were adapting to a new freedom of thought, but the alien thing didn't hit home for me. I was back at church as I started to be Dad to one, two, three, four---and then five and six.  Now, I am grandfather to one, two and three so far.  I don't know exactly how I am doing, but at least I'm pretty good at simple addition.

Getting Back to Scapulars

I think it's fair to say that a lot of people who wore scapulars in their youth are back it today, but I really don't know.  Perna points out in his post, that in 1251, "the Blessed Mother appeared to Saint Simon Stock, Prior General of the Carmelites in England, and showed him the scapular...Through Our Lady’s motherly Queenship and Advocacy, the Scapular has a strong spiritual ability since she intercedes for the graces when things seem dark and hopeless." For Catholics, the Blessed Mother is a "Blessed Mother" and we pray for her to intercede.

I am not going to get off on the Da Vinci Code right now, but I have to believe the dumbest thing to pin on Catholicism is to see it as male dominated religion.  Our Catholic moms guided us as kids at home and the Sisters were the strongest teaching influence. Most of our dads were working, working and working. Priests were infrequently seen compared to the women in our lives. And powerful priests may have guided the ship of a Catholic parish, but the Sisters were the ones that carried most everything out and interpreted most everything for us.  

When the Fascists and Communists tried to take over the culture in Germany and Russia, they outlawed religious youth groups. If they tried to do that in the United States in the 1950s and 1960s, they would have been tossing a lot of nuns in jail to do it. It's ironic in that the fight for equality in jobs has led women to a much less influential position in many homes and in the church itself. I don't say that as some kind of reactionary, I just think the Moms today have nowhere near the influence on their kids that they had back in the Baby Boom Era and the lack of nuns is a fundamental loss and tragedy. 

Many couples have no children at all today. And many young people hold onto two or more part time jobs to make ends meet. Kids have been replaced with Smart Phones, technology bills, fantasy league sports, cars, restaurants, concerts, and connectivity with hundreds of Facebook friends.

But, the Scapular serves as kind of road-sign for our faith and more and maybe, just maybe it will be a trendsetter towards a rebirth in the importance of many good things. Perhaps the importance of children and leading a faith-filled life. 

Lawrence Norris is the author of the thoroughly entertaining book, The Brown and White, a nostalgic look at boys Catholic High School back in 1967-1968.

Mass was a Litmus Test for Catholics

Going to Mass was a litmus test for Catholics back in the day. Going to Mass was getting your Catholic card punched each week. You might not be a saint, but if you went to Mass you were in the game. You recognized the reach and the power of the Man upstairs.  You were a believer in a profound way.

A few of the neighborhood men appeared to be among the worst sinners around, who were Catholic.  These were the guys who swore a little too much in front of kids and women. These were the guys who might be swigging a beer at 11 AM on the weekends. These were the guys who didn't seem to have love for their family. Some of them went to Mass—as if to say I know I am no good, but there is always a chance at redemption. Then there were other men that gave Mass attendance up. No Mass, but they'd wash the car on Sunday—stick out like a sore thumb on the block. 

Regardless of how you might have felt about faith or religion, these guys were just not operating well any longer in society. There was something wrong with them, with their lifestyle and they were in trouble. 

But back in those days, there were also a lot of very faithful women who like Saint Monica got down on their knees and prayed for anyone who seemed to lose the faith.  I knew some men who did it as well.  For Catholics, there is never any problem, never, that can't be addressed by prayer. So, wives, mothers, daughters and sometimes fathers, brothers and sons prayed for those who lost their way. And sometimes redemption came. 

That's the kind of faith that can help bring it all together again for the future. Going to Mass might not make you the best Catholic, but it says in you are a member--that you accept something greater than yourself or your own lifestyle or schedule.

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Forty plus years in the making, The Brown and White is a fictionalized memoir that tells the story of Collin Callaghan's freshman year at a Chicago Catholic High School. Collin is a white boy who is living in turbulent times in a changing city. He clings to his neighborhood and his family as he heads out each day with his classmates on the Brown and White, the ancient school bus driven by free-spirited Willie. Memorable characters abound as this story unfolds. Collin's lovable family, especially his Irish Catholic policeman father and his Irish immigrant mother face life together. Collin and classmates blaze their own humorous and passionate trail through the late 1960s. A unique cast of terrific teachers are there to see the boys through. Laughs and life meet readers head on as they travel on the Brown and White.

Good News on The Brown and White

I am starting to see some good press on my book, The Brown and White 

Skinny and Houli

One of my early gigs was an interview on the Skinny and Houli Radio Show. Mike Houlihan's booming voice shook the rafters as we began the show the Skinny and Houli Radio Show  recorded at Lizzie McNeills in Chicago.  Houli and Skinny were the consummates hosts and encouraging as things went along. 

Listen to the Podcast. 

An interview of me about the book has also been published in  Chicago Catholic. 

I  have also been interviewed on Catholic TV in Watertown, Massachusetts to air later this year.  


The story takes place in 1967-1968 during the Vietnam War, Chicago's historic neighborhood changes, the changes in the Catholic Church from Vatican II, and the assassination of Martin Luther King.  It was a time of turmoil. Yet, the theme of the book is one of growth that I hope in a funny kind of human way pays homage to my family, my teachers, and friends. The book brings back a lot of memories for readers who will no doubt think of their own experiences as they read it.

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See story in the Chicago Catholic. Listen to a conversation about the book on the Skinny and Houli Podcast with Norris--begins after the first Skinny and Houli dialogue. Norris was also interviewed on Catholic TV for broadcast in the future. Book signing are upcoming as well.

The What of the Brown and White

The Brown and White by Lawrence Norris

When we were little bitty kids, we learned the Hail Mary. It was easier than the Our Father and it was a prayer that honored Jesus's Mother. It was what we call a prayer for intercession. From the earliest days in Catholic School we learned that Mary would intercede for us, asking for us. At the same time, we were learning about Jesus and what he had done for us. As a little kid in a Catholic home and going to a Catholic School, there was many crucifixes around and images of Jesus. We prayed to the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. 

I'd like to use this thought today to introduce my book, The Brown and White. My book isn't about faith and beliefs so much as it is about the life that we lived at the time when I was in high school. But faith was at the core of our existence and a Catholic faith was at mine. In  truth, I'd like to go back and feel the faith that I had at that time. As an adult, I think it works a little different.  I think some of us, like Mother Theresa can feel disconnected at times and at other times feel in touch.  When we were kids, I think we felt in touch most of the time.

Forty plus years in the making, The Brown and White is a fictionalized memoir that tells the story of Collin Callaghan's freshman year at a Chicago Catholic High School. Collin is a white boy who is living in turbulent times in a changing city. He clings to his neighborhood and his family as he heads out each day with his classmates on the Brown and White, the ancient school bus driven by free-spirited Willie. Memorable characters abound as this story unfolds. Collin's loveable family, especially his Irish Catholic policeman father and his Irish immigrant mother face life together. Collin and classmates blaze their own humorous and passionate trail through the late 1960s. A unique cast of terrific teachers are there to see the boys through. Laughs and life meet readers head on as they travel on the Brown and White.
Copyright 2017, Sporting Chance Press

Brown and White and My New Poem

Deer are good companions during cold winter

along with my little dog that barks at them.

When inside, her barking scares them away

but outside they see her and are slow to move.

But deer aren’t always patient with little dogs

when busy finding food among the odd growth.

One day, annoyed at my barking little dog,

a doe came forward and stomped on her back.

My dog ran back to the house anxious to enter

and bolted up the stairs into the closet

embarrassed by her lack of courage,

hurt by the encounter that surprised her.

For weeks she could not climb the stairs

and each day I lifted her into my arms

and carried her like a little baby outside

so she could go on her excursions.

Finally, she recovered from the injuries

and went in back and looked for new signs

of deer that might be patient one day

and annoyed at little dogs the next.

I remember my own barking days

when I stood up tall to trouble

and dared the beasts to come

so I could chase them all away.

But now I fall prey to bigger things

that are not so scared of old men

and want to show me their displeasure

by chasing me back up the stairs.

Copyright 2017, Sporting Chance Press

Norris is the author of the Brown and White, a fictionalized memoir published by Sporting Chance Press that is available through Amazon. The book is about a young man's freshman year at the late 1960s in Chicago. It's about changing neighborhoods and challenges, a humorous and positive book.

Beam Me Up Part Five

Once the school bell rang, we headed inside to follow an itinerary that was sent to us in the mail that summer. The inside of the school looked old, yet clean and freshly painted for our coming. Long tall hallways with endless rows of brown lockers embedded in the tan walls gave order to the building. The classrooms had the usual blackboard walls and 12-foot ceilings. The outside wall of each room had the traditional tall school windows. The bottom rows of windows were frosted so you couldn't see outside to daydream. Unlike grammar school, there was no artwork or decoration of any kind in the rooms. All the desks were the small freestanding variety that could be moved around at will.

My First Day

The school building also included a special kind of circulation system. The Administration Building architect had devised a state-of-the-art air transfer system. This system took the warm air from the classrooms and exchanged it with air that was in a deep underground labyrinth of large pipes that took advantage of the cooler temperature of the earth below. The cooler air would circulate back up into the school through huge grilles at the front of every room.

The first day was an orientation to the school and our own schedules so we followed an abbreviated class schedule with a few variations for listening to speeches by the principal and a few other school luminaries. What struck me on that day was the speaking ability of those who addressed us. While most of what was being said was what you might expect at a high school orientation, each individual seemed to have a special presence and a certain way of saying things. A day that you thought would have been extremely dull was one that really caught your attention. You somehow got the idea that these folks were serious about how they were going to help us fashion ourselves into great people and as incredible as it may sound, we were predisposed to believe them.

In our homeroom orientation, we were given a little speech by Father Tom O'Brien, who stood 6 foot 6 inches and wore a one piece brown robe or cassock that made him look even taller. Father O'Brien had a very large head and an Irish smile that could charm donations from Scrooge. O'Brien spoke about the changes that we would see in ourselves in the next four years.

"If you could see yourselves four years hence, you would not recognize yourselves. You'll see physical, mental and spiritual changes forged in part by Mount St. Mary's in the same way we worked with your fathers and uncles and older brothers. However, the trip calls for tremendous stamina and courage. You need to reach deep down within and call forth your best efforts to see you through. Mount Saint Mary's is not just a school for athletes; it is not just a school for scholars. It is a school for those who exert an effort to be their best."

After passing through a few quick classes, we went down to the gymnasium, which was an ancient solid-looking facility. Like the other rooms in the school however, the gym was clean and freshly painted. The basketball court had just enough room on its edges for bleachers that rolled out of the walls. Above the gym, you could see a second story running track that ran the perimeter of the place. At one end of the gym floor was an alcove that served as open area for wrestling mats and equipment. Directly above the alcove were the gym offices and handball courts. Hanging high on the walls above the gym were the banners that proclaimed the feats of the legendary Mount Saint Mary teams. Major sports championships earned by the school easily outnumbered those of any other school in Chicago.

For the second presentation, we were the captive audience for Mr. Quigley, the physical education teacher and wrestling coach. For this presentation there were over a hundred freshmen sitting on bleachers facing Quigley, who had the demeanor of a drill instructor with a touch of human kindness hid behind his deep blue eyes and ruddy red face. Quigley looked like James Cagney in Yankee Doodle Dandy. Like Cagney, his walk was one hundred percent athleticism, but in a choppy jerky way.

"Well, I hope you men have a good sense now of what has to go on to your brains in the next four years. I am here to tell you what's going to go on to your body. First, we are going to get you in shape and that means work. You'll do more push-ups, jumping jacks, sit ups, and other calisthenics than you can count. Then you'll run and run and run some more. You'll go farther than you ever thought possible."

Quigley stopped for a second and looked menacingly at one of the kids in the front row of the bleachers who was talking and giggling. He walked over to him quickly and stood directly in front of him.

"Say, what's your name?" he demanded.

"Harrison, Sir." said a thin blond haired boy.

"Well Harrison, you've got a goofy looking face that seems to go with your goofy behavior, but if you like that goofy face, you better change your behavior. Are we clear on this?" the coach asked.

"Yes" said the tall blond boy who to our surprise did not look intimidated in the least.

"As I was saying," continued the coach, "be prepared to work your butts off in this class, and from what I have seen, a lot of you guys have a lot of butt to work off. Don't forget to bring your entire gym uniform including jock straps, we'll check for those. And don't try and give me any phony doctor's note about how you can't run or exercise. I'll check each and every note out. See you tomorrow freshmen." The coach ended his speech with a sneer directed at Mr. Harrison.

Third stop was a speech by Father Kevin our religion teacher who was there to tell us about our spiritual selves. Father Kevin was a tough-looking rubber-faced little man with a flat top crew cut that he would sport all during the longhaired 60's and beyond. He was just a few inches taller than five feet so he was shorter than most of us. He had small hands and short legs, but he had a developed sense of decency about him that more than made up for his lack of physical stature. Father Kevin’s enthusiasm for life had rubbed off on thousands of graduates and would rub off on thousands more before he was finished teaching. He was one of those teachers that former graduates always asked about when you ran into a Mount Saint Mary alum.

Father Kevin spoke to us in a classroom and while he wore a modern black suit with a Roman collar, he had an executive look about him—flat top crew cut or not. His suit was new, his shoes were perfectly shined and his silver rimmed glasses gleamed as the sun came into the room. This was a special day for Father Kevin and on his special days he looked his best.

"As part of your Catholic upbringing our goal is to provide you with a decent Catholic Education. However, unlike grammar school we will not start and end with the 10 Commandments and the Catechism. We'll talk about marriage, dating, children, responsibility and other issues and behaviors that need to be rooted in your beliefs. In today's world you have more freedom than ever before, but there's a price you pay for it and you need to understand the ramifications of your behavior before you make important decisions. Religion really isn’t a subject so much as the faith you take with you and use to guide your actions throughout your life."

Our next stop was back to the gymnasium for a large all school speech by the Principal, Father Stanton Lonergan. Father Lonergan was straight out of Boston and spoke with a thick accent like John Fitzgerald Kennedy. He was not a man who established close bonds with the students, but he was a brilliant administrator and a good forty points higher on the IQ scale than most mortals that I know.

"Men of Mount Saint Mary's let me first tell you how pleased I am that you have chosen our humble little school. We are small in a physical sense, but big on achievement. The students that have graced these halls before you have accomplished great things and we'll expect no less from you. Authors, athletes, political leaders, judges and scholars all walked these halls before you. Who of you will achieve great things in this world it's difficult to say, but we hope that every one of you achieves some measure of success. We are here to help you, to guide you, to motivate you and to push you. And if we can't do anything with you, we'll throw you out. You will not graduate from Mount Saint Mary's unless you meet the school’s high standards. It will take the grace of God and everything you have.”

Our last stop was to the cafeteria where we were given a few minutes to buy a snack. It was a dark cavernous building without a single window. Endless rows of long dark metal long picnic benches surrounded the perimeter of the place. After I bought chocolate milk and a small pie, I made my way to one of the tables where I met Jan Kobieski from what was called the east side of the city around the steel mills. While Mount Saint Mary’s drew a lot of Irish kids from the southwest side, the southeast side contingent was primarily of eastern European decent, including many Poles and Czechs. As it turned out, our lunch table was to include Shanahan, Flannigan, Monaghan, O’Brien, Callaghan, and Hannigan as well as Gwyzdulski, Kobieski, Kobus, Nemcyck, and Martinez and Lopez for good measure.

In no time at all, we were back on the "brown and white" traveling through the streets of Chicago once again heading back to our safe little corner of the world. I quickly walked through Kennedy Park to the little tan slate-sided Callaghan residence on Washtenaw. I sat on the third wooden step of our house, where I had planted myself thousands of times. The step was my security blanket and was sacred to me. I looked at our street thinking about my day. I looked up and down the street at the small two bedroom homes in which resided mostly four bedroom families. The large maple trees seemed to hold their breath as I glanced around trying to get my bearings on my new life in high school.

One thing I understood from my first day was that I would always be a little uncomfortable at this school. There would always be an edge there for me. There was always an element of threat and struggle that would affect me deeply and call up all my survival instincts. I would always be trying to prove something to my classmates, my teachers and myself. Everyone at the school was challenging us and their message was clear. Our future is in our hands so don't screw it up. You are privileged to be here so make sure you survive as one of us.

For me the high school experience began as a medicinal four-year program. Culturally, intellectually, physically and spiritually I was in for some tough times. As a beginning freshman, it seemed like it was all a tough strenuous exercise. What I didn't know was that we would all somehow work within and outside the construct of the school to make it a very human experience filled with laughs and good times as well as stress and strain. The human spirit in all of us, teachers and students, would break out from the educational methods and structure.

Copyright Sporting Chance Press

This story is taken from The Brown and White. 

Beam Me Up Part Four

That morning we approached school from Stony Island Avenue, a great broad street solidly in the heart of Chicago’s black belt area of the city. While the Avenue was alive and thriving in large sections, the area closest to the school was decrepit with boarded windows and doors. A few bars still showed signs of life, but every building had steel gates that were swung closed and locked in the early morning hour as we passed. These are common in many cities, but we had never seen them in our neighborhoods.

We turned down 64th Street and we could see a huge beige brick school looming regally in the distance. At first, some of the kids on the bus who had only seen Mount Saint Mary’s in pictures or once for their placement test, mistook this for our school. But, we went right past the beautiful building, which was a large public grade school. Just beyond the grade school we could see a complex of old brick buildings facing us that appeared to be much older than the school we had just passed. This was Mount Saint Mary.

Ahead and on our right, we saw an immense dark Quonset hut that resembled some of the bowling alleys that peppered Chicago. This was the cafeteria. Next, there was a sturdy brown brick and grey stone gothic structure that was the school administration, gymnasium and classroom building. To the left of these buildings was a very large apartment building that was a monastery that housed the priests and brothers. Further to the left was a row of occupied apartment buildings.

Across the street from the school facing west was a smaller school building with “St. Joseph's College” chiseled in stone above the door. We later found out that this building dated back to when the Mount Saint Mary priests who ran Saint Mary’s had operated a small college, trade school and high school at the site. The entire operation was consolidated into the High School when a new building was constructed about 50 years before our class set foot in the place. “Saint Joseph’s College” was now our library.

The school was indeed framed by things urban and resided right smack dab in the center of a community that was in urban decay. A few blocks to the South was the headquarters for the Blackstone Rangers, the most powerful gang in Chicago during the 60's. A block to the North was a declining business hub. To the East was a checkerboard of empty lots and old buildings that eventually led to Jackson Park and the lake. To the West was the raised bluff of the IC train tracks and beyond that a residential neighborhood of homes and churches.

There was a courtyard between the Administration Building and the Cafeteria where we congregated that morning before class. I looked around to scope out the kind of kids I'd be going to school with for the next few years. "Tough" seemed to be the best way to describe their overall demeanor. While many of the kids dressed in Levis, CPO jackets and other clothes that were popular, some of the kids seemed to come from another decade or a set from an old time Bowery Boy movie. They wore clothes their fathers may have worn in the 1930’s or 1940’s. Baggy tan pants, blue collar work shirts, strange looking hats of every kind, steel toed work shoes, cardigan sweaters--all kinds of clothes that many kids that age would not be caught dead in. These guys were definitely not out there to make a fashion statement on the only day in the school year when we didn't have to wear dress pants and a dress shirt.

Copyright Sporting Chance Press

This story is taken from The Brown and White. 

Beam Me Up Part Three

As my thoughts wandered between past and present, I kept watch for the bus. Jim Kasuk, an older kid from the neighborhood who had graduated from Mount St. Mary's High School, told me that there was no mistaking the MSM bus. "It's huge, it has one of those big noses on it like the old time buses. It's two-toned — brown and white made up from parts of all kinds of different buses that Brother Earnest got from junkyards. It's the ugliest bus on the road; the Frankenstein of buses. You can't miss it!" Jim had explained.

As I waited for the bus by myself, little did I know there were groups of kids up and down the avenue awaiting the same fate. We were like streetlights at uneven intervals. Later in the year, we would start to come together, to pull in the strings of lights tighter making larger clumps of kids and fewer stops for the rolling monster.

After what seemed like a hundred standard yellow school buses passed, a Brown and White “blimp” could be seen down the street. It was enormous, round and cartoon-like as it sailed towards me. I gave the driver the "a panic wave" using both arms in rapid motion to insure that the ship would stop to "swallow me up". Once the bus stopped, a wide mechanical door swung open and I hopped up the huge stairs whipping out my new bus pass in one slick move.

As I looked up from the stairs to the driver, I blinked in amazement. Did Santa Claus have a second job as a bus driver? There in front of me, the captain of the MSM Brown and White was a little old man who was a mix of pirate and cherub.

"Well son, don't juss stan dere, take a seat." He said. "My name's Willie."

As I walked a few rows back, I looked over this small chubby man dressed in Maytag repairman baggy grey pants and matching shirt. He had a wide almost toothless smile and a kindly grandfather’s face with a hint of mischief. What little hair I could see from around his grey cap was pure white. The lines around his mouth and eyes suggested someone who smiled and laughed a good measure. I did not know it at the time, but I had just met one of the great Mount Saint Mary characters whom I would remember for the rest of my life.

I could not help but notice that towards the back of the bus there was a tough group of older boys staring at me as I came in. "Marking" the new recruits, I thought. I could sense that underclassmen were not welcome past the middle of the bus. I took a seat about three rows back from the bus driver.

A few blocks into the trip as we came upon 107th street, a short little chubby kid hopped onto the bus who actually looked more scared than myself and sat right next to me. He was about five feet tall, bespectacled, and roundly shaped. In his hand was a sweet roll the size of a Frisbee. He was a little Irishman, named Hannigan. We would later call him "Hannie"; the upper classmen called him butterball that freshman year. Hanni would turn out to be one of the best guys in the school and a good friend to me and many others.

Copyright Sporting Chance Press

This story is taken from The Brown and White. 

Beam Me Up Part Two

One of the greatest things about Kennedy Park was the huge cement drinking fountain that sent a healthy shot of cold water constantly into the air. The fountain was gigantic and round and the part that you drank from, the bubler, was as thick as a garden hose. Even the biggest kid in the neighborhood could get his fill in about 20 seconds. And it was cold wonderful Lake Michigan water.

The fountain also served as a meeting place for groups of guys and girls. As I glanced toward the fountain, I thought about a couple summers back. My buddy, Tom “the Pope” Adams posed a big question right there to Susie O'Halloran in a boy-girl gathering on a warm summer night. Tom had said in a hushed tone as he took Susie to one side, “Can you find out if Renee Smith would consider hanging out.” This move took a lot of guts since Tom was a pimply 5'5” and Rene was a sleek blond of 5'9". Tom was my best friend at the time. Although he was small, he was one of those fearless guys who would fight anyone at the drop of a hat so his stature among the guys was greater than his size would have suggested.

Susie and the conference of girls climbed up a tree like a group of monkeys, as was their custom. Up in the tree they were free to discuss the match for over an hour. The boys always had a softball and bat in hand, so we went over to a field to play ball while waiting. Susie came back to announce that Rene liked Tom, but not "that way." They did bring news of another girl who was interested in him, Peggy Leary who was more of a physical match. Of course, as is always the case in these circumstances, Tom had no interest in Peggy. Much to my surprise, they also came to ask me if I liked Trish O'Neal. At the time, I wanted no part of Trish because she was a big girl who looked more like someone’s mom than a seventh grader.

Not far from the fountain was an ancient swing set with huge wooden plank seats that hold more memories. The swings served as the setting for a series of photographs my mom had taken of my three older sisters as they were growing up. My three sisters were all very beautiful in those photographs. When they were very young they were sitting on the swings in their pure white underwear in post World War II black and white. As they got older they were pictured with pretty colored ribbons and checked dresses. By the time I came along, they had graduated from swings to boys.

Copyright Sporting Chance Press

This story is taken from The Brown and White.