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

Catholic Moms Back in Post War

Moms were in a league of their own during my Catholic grammar school days. First, many of the dads had fought in World War II and these vets lived lives that were a lot tougher than most men today. Moms seemed focused on dads’ happiness and did an incredible job keeping things together in the post-war family. Many moms of the Era would famously say that at times they thought of murdering their husbands, but they never considered divorce!  

Our dads were hard working and many of them had second jobs. So, the moms were often the ones to run all the errands: take the kids to doctors, deal with the schools, buy all the groceries and clothes, and many others that are shared today—at least in part. Sure, the dads could be tyrannical at times and bossy, but I remember moms ruling the roost. 

Our next-door neighbors were Lithuanian immigrants who came over after World War II. Mr. Sankas was an engineer, a mechanic, and a restaurant owner. Mrs. Sankas was beautiful and we got a kick out of her English—well, the little English she knew.  The Sankases had an airplane in their garage, a Studebaker bullet nosed car, a yellow Rambler station wagon, a vast collection of opera records, hundreds of Popular Mechanics and National Geographic’s magazines, and enough electronic gear to manage communications with relatives all over the world should an invasion take place here in America.  

My friend, Mike the Menace, used to hide in the bushes when Mrs. Sankas came out of her home at dinner time to call her sons in. She would yell out, “Stanleeey, Seeleey (Sylvester), and my friend would yell out from the bushes in his South Side Chicago accent, “Coming Ma.” Mrs. Sankas would look puzzled at the response, but she would turn around and head inside thinking that Stanley and Sylvester had heard her call. 

Another noteworthy mom in the neighborhood was Mrs. McCarthy, Mike the Menace’s mom. She came from rural Canada and was a mom who could cook anything including a variety of game that her older sons had hunted. For most of us, the only meat we ever saw had been processed by a butcher and was wrapped in plastic.  We were city kids after all! But Mrs. McCarthy would not only cook the food, she would skin and clean the animals by herself.  I remember walking down in their basement one day and seeing a pile of dead squirrels on a chopping block that were in various states of butchering. It was an eye-opener for me. I was told they taste just like chicken. 

Mrs. O’Meara lived across the street and had an Irish temper.  Like a lot of moms, when she was mad at one of her kids, she would yell at them using their formal first, middle, and last name: “John Kenneth O’Meara, you go out in that yard and pickup your baseball mitt and DON’T LEAVE IT OUT THERE AGAIN!” Sometimes we could sit across the street and hear an entire 10-minute tirade from Mrs. O’Meara word for word. 

Most of the women took pretty good care of themselves.  Men might be the boss at times, but the women placed limits on what they would tolerate from their men. And when the women got angry, the men would fold up the tent in a hurry.  

We did have one exception and that was Mrs. Lonus. She was one of those women who was a housewife and cleaned houses for a few wealthy people outside the neighborhood. The plight of Mrs. Lonus was always on the mind of my mother. Mrs. Lonus was always taking the bus to her work, but her husband took the car to his job. When the Lonuses pulled up to their house with bags of groceries in their trunk, Mr. Lonus would walk into the house empty handed. Mrs. Lonus on the other hand could be seen carrying heavy bags of groceries in. My mother was not prone to swearing, but when she saw Mrs. Lonus carrying the groceries in to the house, my mother’s colorful curses echoed through our house to describe her absolute loathing of Mr. Lonus.  In fact, her voice would sometimes carry up and down the block like one of Mrs. O’Meara’s tirades.  The final judgement on Mr. Lonus came from his total absence from Mass attendance. Mrs. Lonus was at church every Sunday and she walked. But Mr. Lonus used the time to wash his car. And as far as my mother was concerned, anyone who would do unnecessary work on Sunday and not attend Mass, was destined for HELL.

Most of us got comfortable with our moms around the neighborhood.  Our neighborhood friends knew the odd and the whacky aspects of our families. But when we got together for rare gatherings with all those we knew from our parish in public places, we were often a little embarrassed by our parents when our other classmates or teammates might see them.  

The worst place for embarrassment was at football banquets—especially my 8^th Grade Football banquet. First, most the time at St. Cajetan, we had good teams, but that year we had not excelled. So, our celebration wasn’t much to look forward to after the season.  Second, depending upon how many of our neighborhood friends showed up, I might end up spending the entire night sitting with our parents. Third, I knew my mother had no interest in sports at all and she would be looking for other ways to entertain herself. 

It was winter and icicles had formed all around the old neighborhood houses. I had just received an old blazer from my cousin and I was sporting it that night. The tan, green, and gold plaid blazer could have been a fashion coup for me, only it was several sizes too large. I was also sporting one of my dad’s wide ties—something that Dick Tracey might have worn. 

My parents’ car was an oil-burner. On the trip to the fancy banquet hall, black smoke flew behind us.  I ducked down in the back seat so no one could see me.  When we came to the banquet, I was anxious to get inside, but my mother was taking her time—this was a date for her and she wanted all the validation that came with it. My father opened the car door for her and held out his arm for her journey to the entrance. My mother was wearing a hat that I despised. It may have been influenced by something Jackie Kennedy had worn in France, but the American Discount Department Store version of it looked like it had been created in five minutes with some glue and rose-colored toilet paper. It was a times like this that moms went heavy on the make-up and perfume. Not the kind of stuff that endeared them to their sons. 

The banquet hall was a typical variety of garish chandeliers, marbled carpet, and white cloth-covered round tables spewed out in a generous room. It included rectangular tables in the front for dignitaries and a hundred cheap plastic trophies on another group of tables. The guys couldn’t keep their eyes from the plastic golden prizes, but we were later disappointed to find that they had “participant” engraved on them. A podium stood front and center.

It turned out that night that 8^th Graders were required to sit with their parents, but several of the cool guys had managed to come by themselves. So, tables were a mix of parents and their kids with a few lucky stragglers. The usual banquet food flowed forth as the speakers came up to the podium and talked briefly about the positive influence of athletics. I remember a bad joke about a swearing priest who was out playing golf with a Rabbi and a Protestant Minister. And then the trophies were handed out with great speed as the night was coming to an end. 

I was feeling embarrassed and I expect many others were feeling the same way as their parents were sharing stories with a few beers for lubrication. The kids had maneuvered to what became all-kid tables and were shooting the BS. The ever-dapper Dennis Costello was talking about girls and holding court. He sat back in his seat sporting a suit that was altered to fit his thin physique. Costello suddenly paused and asked if any of us had seen one of the moms, Mrs. McQueen that night. Most said no, and suddenly Dennis stuck his pointer finger out in the direction of the ladies’ room. There was Mrs. McQueen prancing across the way with a short mini skirt, a low-cut blouse, high heels, and a bleached blond beehive. 

With a collective sigh, we all looked at each other a little less embarrassed about our own moms. 

Copyright 2017, Sporting Chance Press

Lawrence Norris is the author of The Brown and White, a fictionalized memoir of Chicago Catholic high school days that takes place during the late 1960s.