Here is an except from my book, The Brown and White, which is Copyright by Sporting Chance Press:
Perhaps you can remember a brief moment in time when nothing you had done before seemed important or relevant. Perhaps you can remember a time when you were aware of every sound, every image and every smell around you. Perhaps you can remember a time when you felt your entire body tense like a wild animal sensing a life and death struggle about to occur. If you could weave all these feelings into one, then you can understand how we felt that first Friday afternoon on the Brown and White. That Friday night was the school's first football game and for the upperclassmen, it was time for their ticket-checking ritual.
After the bus was on its way for about fifteen minutes and pulling out of the most dangerous neighborhood in the world, a team of upperclassmen came forward. Perry Houlan, a big lanky guy with dark short cropped hair, a pug nose and a face full of pimples spoke for the upperclassmen.
"Ok all you freshmen need to pull out your football tickets. This is an official ticket check and no excuses are taken. So dig into your pockets and let's see 'em!"
The first kid, John Riley, a little nerdy freckle faced red haired kid squirmed nervously in his seat and began to plead with Houlan.
"I was going to buy my ticket at the gate tonight. I didn’t have the money today to buy my ticket and lunch. Gimme a break."
Before Riley could get another word out he was pulled out of his seat and thrown to the back of the bus to the howls of the mob that awaited him. The bus rocked sideways as the weight shifted from one side to the other. Riley was pounced on by a gang of upperclassmen. Bloodcurdling screams came from the little freshman followed by menacing howls of the boys in the back of the bus. In a flash, the older boys pulled up Riley's shirt and grabbed the elastic waist band of his underwear and began pulling towards the roof of the bus. Riley's underwear was no match for his weight and it was immediately shredded into several pieces. Riley had been “webbed.”
More Freshmen who did not have tickets were sent to the back of the bus one by one. The terrorist upperclassmen pounced on the high school Lilliputians and grabbed their “wares” (underwear) one right after another. If the underwear was strong, the underclassman would actually bounce a few times and hit his head on the ceiling before the wares would finally rip and come off in the hands of the menacing upperclassmen.
The sheer terror we felt that day was incredible, but through it all we began to laugh about it as we saw some of our compatriots come back to their seats apparently no “worse for the wear."
After the entire underclassmen were checked for tickets and those without summarily "webbed", the pieces of underwear were collected. The shreds were passed on to the upperclassmen in window seats who waited until we passed a particular intersection on 95th Street that was always populated with a large number of Catholic girls on their way home from the Saint Ann’s, an all-girls’ school, that attracted many of the southwest side girls. The remnants were tossed to the girls with some appropriate ceremony and pronouncement.
“Here you go girls, we wanted to give you a ticker-tape parade.” Or, “here’s some “holey” relics for you girls.”
Since I was determined that I was not going to experience the "Webbing Ceremony" and had been tipped off beforehand, I faithfully bought my football tickets. However, the next Friday the upperclassmen decided that every freshman was going to get webbed.
All at once a gang of upperclassmen came to the front of the bus and we were all summarily hurdled to the back of the bus to insure that we all participated in the ritual at least once. I was pushed towards the back of the bus feeling as if I was in suspended animation. I could see dozens of arms and hands come after my underwear all at once. I was so nervous I did not notice that I was being scratched as my underwear began to disintegrate before my eyes. I was glad to see my own personal wares were torn up so badly that no one could really tell whether they were completely clean. I could only imagine what might happen if the upperclassmen had pulled out a handful of brown-stained wares from someone.
Unfortunately, my friend Hanni, who was pushed down the aisle just after me, was wearing boxer shorts with little red triangles that menacing Friday. As the hands from Hell began to grope wildly at his waist, a loud hoot was sounded in the melee. After bouncing from one side of the bus to the other and up and down for what seemed like dozens of time, his boxers finally tore in half with one section going to a group on his left and the second going to a group on his right. The upperclassmen quickly made a couple flags from the rags and waved them out the window for most of the trip that night. Poor Hanni was one sore freshman.
The webbing initiation rite was one that all those who rode the brown and white remember until the day they die. It was a high school bungee jump. Once you experienced it, you felt like you had somehow matured immeasurably. Once you had the underwear torn out from under you, a lot of the other crap you experienced seemed minor by comparison. You were ready for most anything.
On that Friday night when all the freshmen were webbed, we were numbed by the experience. It seemed like the bus sailed in slow motion to the famous intersection on 95th where the Saint Ann’s High School girls waited for public busses in large groups. At the sight of the girls, we woke from the shock and our hormones kicked in. We all congregated to one side of the bus to see the girls and as usual the bus tipped to the one side. The windows came down with a metallic bang and we could see the record-breaking amount of shredded underwear fly out the windows like confetti. Hanni’s red triangles floated down on one plaid skirted girl with braces. The poor girl’s mouth was open and a shred of cloth caught on the metal and hung over her lower lip. She swatted it off like it was a fly and gave us all a stern look and shook her fist up at the bus.
I turned to Hanni and pointed at the girl who was sneering at us.
“She doesn’t like your confetti, Hanni and by the look of her, she’d probably doesn’t like much of anything. She’d be a good teacher,” I joked.
“No,” said Hanni, “I’d say she’ll work for the park district, one of those snotty people who hand out the balls and bats―making you sign in blood for ‘em.”
Toward the back of the bus we heard an upper classman say, “Hey, I know that girl―she is the girl friend of one of the football players, Jim Duggan.” The bus grew quiet for a few seconds as all the heads turned around and around as if turrets on a tank to see if Duggan was present. As soon as it was determined that Duggan was not present, conversation continued. Dollar, who was sitting in front of Hanni and I, said in a husky voice, “It doesn’t matter whoever she is dating, she is still a b#*@h.”
I shook my head in disbelief at Dollar’s statement. “The man must have a death wish, “ I whispered to Hanni. Duggan’s girlfriend was no great beauty, but Duggan was a big ugly lineman, who must have outweighed Dollar by a hundred pounds. “It’ll catch up to Dollar,” I said.
Some of the other girls who received the confetti snow fall look annoyed with their lips forming the words “gross” or “yuck,” but most of them just looked up and laughed. Most of the girls did not take us too seriously. If nothing else, the Brown and White was great entertainment.
As the bus pulled away from the High School girls, I looked up at the large review mirror that hung over our elfin bus driver’s head. The old boy Willie had his famous nearly toothless grin going strong. He didn’t say anything, but you could tell that he was proud of us and happy that another class had withstood the web ceremony on his old Brown and White.
We had our little tickertape parade honoring the beauty of Catholic high school girls and we celebrated our coming of age at the same time. I thanked God that my older sisters who had graced that same corner may years previously had graduated long before my days at Mount St. Mary’s. I was also thankful that my little sister was a few years behind me at Saint Sean’s and was not yet there.
Copyright 2016, Lawrence M. Norris
Amazon Description of The Brown and White.
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.
