Great Brain At the Academy

by John D. Fitzgerald

  Tom had to admit the grounds looked nice with trees and shrubs and a green lawn. But one thing surprised him. There were statues of saints all over the place. It

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  looked as if every Catholic in Salt Lake City had donated a statue of his patron saint. A gravel circular driveway led up to the entrance, where there was a huge statue of Saint Ignatius Loyola, founder of the Society of Jesus.

  “Well, Tom,” Father O’Malley said as they stopped at the entrance. “What do you think of the academy?”

  “Well, if you don’t mind my saying so, Father,” Tom said, “I think it could use a little more paint and a few less statues.”

  “You are so right,” the priest agreed. “But I suppose we should thank the Lord that enough money was donated to remodel the home into an academy. You boys go right in. Father Rodriguez is expecting you. I must return this horse and buggy to the livery stable.”

  Tom followed Sweyn up stone steps and into the academy. They entered a long hallway with white painted walls and a highly polished hardwood floor. There was a statue of Saint Paul in one corner, one of Saint Anthony in another corner, and between them a statue of the Vir-gin Mary with child. Sweyn put down his suitcase and pointed to a large room at the left. It was furnished with chairs and tables and there were bookcases filled with books covering two of the walls.

  “That is the library and visiting room,” Sweyn said. “On the same side down the hall is the dining room and beyond it the kitchen. On the right is Father Rodriguez’s office and next to it his bedroom. Then comes the chapel and the bedrooms of the other priests. The stairway at the end of the hall leads up to the classrooms on the second floor and the dormitory on the third floor. Maybe you can sneak up to the washroom and clean up before we see Father Rodriguez.”

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  “It wouldn’t do any good,” Tom said. “Father O’Mal-ley is sure to mention to him how I look.”

  “We will leave our suitcases here,” Sweyn said. Then he walked over and knocked on a door that had a brass plate on it reading:

  FATHER RODRIGUEZ

  SUPERINTENDENT

  “Come in,” a baritone voice called.

  If Tom had known what that deep voice had in store for him, he would have taken Sweyn’s advice and tried to sneak upstairs. But the trouble was that Tom judged all Jesuit priests by the only priest he knew, Father Joe-His real name was Father Giovanni but nobody could pronounce it right so everybody called him Father Joe. He was known as “the priest on horseback” because he covered such a big territory all over southwestern Utah. Father Joe only came to Adenville once a year for one week. During that week he baptized Catholic babies, mar-ried Catholics, and held confessions and masses in the Community Church because we didn’t have a Catholic church in Adenville. Father Joe was a regular fellow who smoked cigars and wasn’t above taking a nip now and then.

  During Father Joe’s last visit to Adenville Tom had borrowed books from the priest about the Society of Jesus and spent hours questioning Father Joe. Tom believed he had to know all about the Jesuits because he was going to a Jesuit academy.

  He learned that the Society of Jesus was founded in 1534 by Saint Ignatius Loyola and six companions in Paris. They submitted a constitution for the religious or-der to Pope Paul III in 1540. It was approved a year later

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  and Saint Ignatius was elected general of the order. The society grew in numbers until the 1660s and 1670s, when monarchs jealous of the Jesuits’ power suppressed the or-der in the Spanish dominions and in France. Later Pope Clement XIV dissolved the order and it ceased to exist except in Russia. It was reestablished in 1814 by Pope Pius VII and became the largest religious order in the Catholic church.

  The Jesuits distinguished themselves in three fields:

  their foreign missions, Jesuit schools, and their study of the arts and sciences. They were the first Christian missionaries to live with the American Indians, where they were known as the Black Robes. They preached Christianity and taught many Indian chiefs the French and English languages.

  Tom learned that it took sixteen years to become a Jesuit priest. A novice had to spend two years in spiritual training and then take the three vows of chastity, poverty, and obedience. He then became a scholastic. He spent five years studying the arts and sciences, five years teaching, three more years of theological study, and finally another year of spiritual training before he could be ordained a Jesuit priest.

  Oh, yes, Tom knew a great deal about the Jesuits. But what he didn’t know was that the only resemblance between Father Joe and Father Rodriguez was that both of them were Jesuit priests.

  The superintendent was sitting behind a desk in a very sparsely furnished office when Tom entered with Sweyn. The only furniture was the desk and a chair and a large bookcase. There was a large crucifix on the white

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  wall behind the desk and near it a narrow board with a peg, from which hung a ring of keys. There wasn’t even a carpet on the floor. Tom began to think that if this was the best they could do for the superintendent, the students must have to sleep on the floor.

  Father Rodriguez was a man Tom judged to be about forty-five. The priest was wearing the traditional black robe with the hood pushed to the back of his neck. He had jet-black hair and a swarthy complexion inherited from his Spanish ancestors. But the dominant impression Tom had of the superintendent were the eyes and the face. The eyes were as black as wet coal and the stern face looked as if it would break if the priest smiled.

  “Welcome back to the academy, Sweyn,” he said in his deep voice. “I see that God has treated you well during

  your vacation.”

  “Thank you, Father,” Sweyn said. “I am happy to be

  back. May I present my brother Tom, I mean, Thomas.”

  Father Rodriguez stared at Tom with those coal-black eyes. “Well, Thomas, what have you to say for yourself?” he asked.

  “I guess you mean about the way I look,” Tom said. “I rode in the cab of the locomotive from Provo to Salt Lake City. And please, I would rather be called Tom, not

  Thomas.”

  If Tom expected the superintendent to react the same way as Father O’Malley, he was as mistaken as a rab-bit Chat challenges a hound dog to a fight.

  “We expect our students to be presentable when they arrive,” the priest said sternly. “Your punishment for arriving in this condition will be five days of peeling potatoes

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  in the kitchen. And here at the academy, Thomas, you will be known by the name you were baptized.”

  Tom didn’t think the priest was being fair. It was a great honor to ride in a locomotive. Father Rodriguez acted as if it was no more than riding a horse.

  At home Papa always encouraged us boys to speak up if a punishment seemed unfair. So Tom said, “I don’t think I should be punished for doing something every kid in the world dreams of doing.”

  “What you think and what I think are two different matters,” Father Rodriguez said sharply. “And your in-solence to your superiors is going to cost you five demerits. There is more to getting an education than just putting knowledge in your head. The purpose of this academy is to guide, nourish, and stimulate a boy’s mind and heart. And to develop intelligent, spiritually vigorous, cultured, healthy, vocationally prepared, and socially minded American Catholics. And part of that training is to instill in you respect for your elders and superiors.”

  Did that shut Tom up? Heck no. He was so angry that he didn’t use his great brain at all.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I still don’t think it is right to be punished for riding in a locomotive.”

  “That remark is going to cost you another five demerits,” the superintendent, said. “We shall tame your tongue and your temper, Thomas, and believe me we shall tame you.”

  Sweyn tried to put in a word for Tom. “Please, Father,” he pleaded, “my brother isn’t used to priests. We only saw a missionary priest once a year back
home. He really doesn’t mean to be disrespectful.”

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  “I am aware that your brother has received very lit-tle religious instruction,” Father Rodriguez said. “But neither did you and we had no trouble at all with you last year. You were a well-behaved and model student.”

  “Tom is different because he has a great brain,” Sweyn said.

  “Do you mean he is a precocious child?” Father Rodriguez asked. “That could possibly account for his being temperamental.”

  Tom didn’t like having the priest and Sweyn discuss him as if he weren’t even in the room.

  “I’m not a child,” he said. “I’m almost twelve years old. And I’m just as levelheaded as the next fellow.”

  The superintendent’s eyes seemed to become even darker and the stern face more unyielding as he looked at Tom.

  “Your father wrote me that I could expect some trouble with you,” he said, to Tom’s astonishment. “I will now give you a fair warning, Thomas. If you want to re-main here you will obey all the rules and regulations and show proper respect for your elders and superiors. Is that understood?”

  “Yes,” Tom answered.

  “Yes what?” the superintendent asked.

  “Yes, Father,” Tom said.

  Tom admitted he felt completely defeated at that moment. It wasn’t due to Father Rodriguez. Just knowing that Papa had so little confidence in him, he felt as if his own flesh and blood had deserted him.

  Then the superintendent appeared to relax a little as he leaned back in his chair. “If you have any money you want to turn over to me,” he said, “you may do so. There is

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  no place to spend it inside the academy. And one of the rules of the academy is that candy is forbidden except on every fourth Saturday. It is bad for a boy’s teeth and health. If you have any candy you must turn it over to me. I will send it to the orphanage.”

  That was one time Tom sure as heck wanted to say what was on his mind. If candy was bad for the teeth and health of the boys at the academy why wasn’t it bad for the kids in the orphanage? But he used his great brain and kept his mouth shut, knowing it would only mean more

  demerits.

  Sweyn said, “I knew better than to bring any candy

  with me.”

  Tom knew he couldn’t lie to a priest but the candy had cost him sixty cents. His great brain came to the res-cue.

  “I haven’t any candy on me,” he said, which was the truth because the candy was in his suitcase and not on his person.

  Sweyn looked so startled Tom was afraid our brother would spill the beans. Fortunately the superintendent was looking at him, not at Sweyn.

  “You two are the last to arrive,” Father Rodriguez said. “Sweyn, you take bunk number ten on the eighth-grade side and show your brother to bunk number ten on the seventh-grade side. You are both excused.”

  If I had been in Tom’s shoes I wouldn’t even have unpacked my suitcase. Any fellow who could get ten demerits in about ten minutes was sure to get another ten in a hurry and be expelled.

  “It didn’t take you long to get Father Rodriguez down on you,” Sweyn said when they were in the hallway.

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  “And you get caught with that candy in your suitcase and you will be expelled for sure.”

  “You signed a statement not to interfere,” Tom said as they picked up their suitcases.

  Sweyn just shook his head as they walked down the hallway.

  “Want to see the chapel?” he asked.

  Tom had never been inside a Catholic church or seen a chapel.

  “Sure,” he said.

  Tom was surprised at how beautiful the chapel was after the austerity of the superintendent’s office. The altar was made from stone with a crucifix and a tabernacle to contain the reserved Host in the middle. There were small statues of saints in niches on the walls. On one side of the altar was a statue of the Virgin Mary and on the other a statue of Saint Jude Thaddeus. Next to each was a confessional. And the chapel was one place where there was carpeting in the aisle.

  “Don’t they have an organ and a choir?” Tom asked.

  “They are going to try to raise enough money to buy an organ this year,” Sweyn answered. “And Father O’Mal-ley picks just six boys each year for the choir. I’m going to light a candle and say a prayer to Saint Jude for you.”

  Catholics only prayed to Saint Jude when their troubles seemed hopeless and desperate. Sweyn did the right thing in asking Saint Jude to help Tom. He knew he was going to need all the help the saint could give to prevent The Great Brain from being expelled from the academy.

  Right then Tom was feeling pretty hopeless and desperate himself. He had only been in the academy about fifteen minutes and already had received ten demerits

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  and five days of peeling potatoes as punishment. But he didn’t want Sweyn to know how he felt. So he knelt in the back row of the chapel and said A Universal Prayer for all Things Necessary to Salvation. It was a good choice in my opinion because part of that prayer was asking God to make Tom always remember to be submissive to his superiors.

  They left the chapel and after picking up their suitcases walked up to the second floor.

  “The seventh-grade classroom is on the left,” Sweyn said, “and the eighth-grade classroom on the right. There is a washroom and a dispensary at the end of the hall. Father Rodriguez takes care of any boy who gets sick.”

  Then Sweyn put his arm around Tom’s shoulders. “As brother to brother, do me and yourself a favor, T.D.,” he said, calling Tom by his initials because that is how Papa often addressed us. We all had the same middle name, Dennis, because of a family tradition.

  “What favor?” Tom asked.

  “Get rid of the candy in your suitcase,” Sweyn said. “We can go into the washroom on this floor and open window and throw it down into the street.”

  “No,” Tom said.

  “If it is the money you are worrying about,” Sweyn said, “I’ll give you the sixty cents to get rid of it.”

  That, for my money, was a darn generous offer for Sweyn to make. But did Tom accept? Heck no. His money-loving heart wouldn’t let him.

  “Why should I sell the candy to you for sixty cents when there are kids in the dormitory who will give me a dollar and twenty cents for it?” he asked.

  That made Sweyn angry, and who could blame him?

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  To try to save Tom he was willing to hand over a small fortune. “There is a limit to my brotherly love,” he said. “If you think that I’m going to let you connive me out of a dollar and twenty cents, you are sadly mistaken, little brother. Go ahead and get yourself expelled. I’m afraid even Saint Jude can’t help you.”

  “Know what your trouble is, S.D.?” Tom said. “Like all people with little brains you worry about things that never happen.”

  But Tom was going to learn as time passed that even people who have great brains can get into plenty of trouble.

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  CHAPTER FOUR

  Tom^s First Day at the Academy

  I DON’T KNOW if it was Saint Jude helping out or not but Tom did get through his first day at the academy without any more demerits. His next letter told me all about it.

  He and Sweyn walked up to the third floor. There was a statue of Saint Francis in one corner at the end of the hallway. Sweyn told Tom the dormitory and washroom were on the right and there was a big storeroom on the left. The dormitory was a rectangular room with white walls and a bare wooden floor. There were ten beds, ten desks, ten lockers, and ten chairs lined up on each side of the room. On the wall at one end was a colored picture of

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  the Sacred Heart of Jesus and on the wall at the other end a large crucifix.

  Several eighth graders who knew Sweyn crowded around to shake hands and say hello. He introduced them to Tom. A boy named Rory Flynn who had dark hair and flashing eyes pointed at Tom’s face.

  “What happened to you?”
he asked. “Did you fall into a coal bin on your way here?” He laughed.

  “I rode in the cab of the locomotive from Provo to Salt Lake City,” Tom said.

  All the kids stared at Tom as it he had just said he’d descended from heaven.

  “It’s the truth,” Sweyn said.

  That made Tom a hero. The boys wouldn’t even let him go wash up until he had told them all about the ride. Then he went to the washroom with a red-headed seventh grader following him. The boy waited until Tom had cleaned up and then held out his hand.

  “My name is Jerry Moran,” he said. “I’ve got bunk number nine, next to you.”

  They shook hands and then returned to the dormitory. Tom put his suitcase on his bunk and began to un-pack. When the kids saw the candy they all crowded around his bunk.

  “Didn’t you tell your brother bringing candy into the academy is against the rules?” Rory Flynn asked Sweyn.

  “I told him,” Sweyn said, beginning to unpack his own suitcase.

  An eighth grader with a thin face pointed at Tom. “You lied to Father Rodriguez,” he said.

  Tom walked over and stood in front of the boy. “No-body calls T.D. Fitzgerald a liar and gets away with it,”

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  he said. “You take that back or fight me.”

  The boy was older and bigger than Tom. But it was as plain as a fly on your nose that he was a coward. His lips began to tremble.

  “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I take it back.”

  Tom accepted the apology and then faced the other kids. “Just so you all understand,” he said, “Father Rodriguez asked me if I had any candy. I told him I didn’t have any candy on me. I wasn’t lying because the candy was in my suitcase.”