AT 29 (12 page)

“That block sprung Tucker. Took'm a half hour to rumble into the end zone with you screamin' at him to go, go, go!! Jeez, he was mad at you after that.”

“I remember.” Jimmy smiled. “I embarrassed him.”

“He was madder when you quit the team.”

After their twice-weekly conversations had exhausted all of the typical reminiscing, they were left with the deeper curiosity each had avoided. George struck first.

“So what're you doin' here? I mean it's funny findin' you servin' up food in a place like this.”

“Taking a little time for myself. I'm enjoying it.”

George mulled this for a moment. “A lotta kids showed up for an unofficial reunion when the word got out about the school closin'. How come you didn't come back?”

“I never had a warm feeling for the place.”

“Brother Patrick woulda enjoyed seein' you.” The stoic face of Kendall's Headmaster came into focus. Jimmy remembered most of his interactions with the tough, but fair man who tried in vain to keep the school open long past its prime. It was Brother Patrick who took a special interest in him, like he somehow found a way to do with all of Kendall's students. George continued, “He always made you boys a little nervous.”

Brother Patrick was responsible for Jimmy going to college. Much of the faculty's attention was devoted to writing recommendations for other Kendall students who were more aggressive. Jimmy never sought their aid and fell through the cracks. One morning, Brother Patrick collared him in the hallway before class.

“What are you doing next year, Mr. Buckman?” Jimmy remembered cowering before the headmaster as he explained his passive efforts, but the rebuke he expected never came. Brother Patrick simply ordered him to report to his office after classes.

“Brother Patrick pulled some strings for me, got me into Saint Virgil's.”

The afternoon meeting in the Headmaster's office included another man. He was introduced to Jimmy as a recruiter from a small liberal arts school tucked in the mountains of northern Vermont. Jimmy had never heard of it. After the introductions Brother Patrick left him alone with the recruiter.

“I haven't even applied,” Jimmy stammered.

“Brother Patrick thinks you should.”

“I don't have the grades to get in.”

“You're right. I wouldn't be talking with you today if Brother Patrick didn't call. We make the time when we hear from educators we respect.”

“I don't want to flunk out.” Jimmy remembered his fear.

“Then don't.” Came the terse reply.

He brought his eyes back to George. “Where is he now?”

“Married.”

“He left the order?” Jimmy was shocked.

“A lotta them did. There was a lotta dissatisfaction around the time Kendall closed. I mean with the diocesan regime. They all figured some money shoulda been put up to keep the school runnin'. The Bishop did a Pontius Pilot. A few a the younger Brothers got disillusioned and turned in their collars. The older ones took posts at other schools. Brother Patrick coulda taken over at another place or even some colleges, but
when he reconnected with Sister Catherine his outlook changed. Big shock when they both put in their papers. They settled out west somewhere, Arizona maybe. There was some bitterness from their families and, of course, the diocese.”

“Reconnected?”

“He and the good Sister grew up together in South Boston. You know the old Irish. They think a religious vocation is the whole family's ticket to heaven. Plenty of pressure on both of'em to commit, so they did. Went their separate religious ways, but kept in touch over the years. When she got stationed at a grade school a coupla towns over they had the chance to see each other again and that was it.”

Jimmy decided to put George on the spot. “Why are you taking meals here?”

“Am I down on my luck you mean?”

“I tried not to put it that way.” Over the weeks Jimmy had studied his old friend closely. His clothes were worn, but clean. He arrived at the soup kitchen clean-shaven with no obvious hardship. If he stood out from the others it was because he didn't seem to be troubled or in need.

“I'm doin' good. I have a room on Dutton Street near where I work at Hinckley's gas station. I get kinda sick of my own cookin' so occasionally I come here. Before you showed up maybe I came in once a month. I'm only comin' more now ‘cause it's nice to chat with a Kendall boy.”

“What happened to you after the school closed?”

“I thought about leavin' Liston, but where was I gonna go? I don't have no family nowheres and I like it here. I've been pumpin' gas and doin' oil changes at Hinckley's ever since. Not so bad.”

“Mind if I ask how old you are?” Jimmy always wondered.

“I'm comin' up on seventy.”

“Never married?”

“Yep, still am. Met her in Germany at the end of the war. When my hitch was up in forty-seven I retired from the service and we got married. Germany was still a mess, so I brought her over here. We settled in Florida where I took a job as a waiter in one a them resorts on the beach in Miami. She was a nurse, worked nights.”

“You live together in a room?” Jimmy stifled his disapproval.

“No, no, she ain't here. We tried to have a kid, but nothin' happened. She didn't like Florida much. After a while we started to argue. She wanted to go back to her family in Germany. I came home from work one day and she was gone. No note, no explanation. I figure she went back to Mannheim where she grew up.”

“Why didn't you get a divorce?”

“I thought she might come back someday. It's not like I didn't love her. I wrote a few times, even after I moved up here. I think she got the letters ‘cause they never came back. Anyhow, I never heard from her.”

“What brought you to Liston?”

“Boom and bust. Every time a hurricane hit I'd get laid off. I got sick of it and decided to try my luck up north close to where I grew up. I got the job at Kendall and that's where I stayed.”

“I don't mean to pry.”

“No problem.”

“Just one more thing. Why'd you stay so long at Kendall?”

“Some places just feel right. Brother Patrick said the school needed somebody, couldn't pay much, but I could have room and board. Sounded fair so I took it. That was 1954.”

“You were an institution there.”

“Well, I don't know about that. I never had no kids of my own, but I'm thinkin' I got a lotta the same feelin' from all of you. Plenty of ups and downs, just like you'd have with your own family. I loved the sports most of all, them games and track meets, three seasons of pure fun, watchin' you boys from the first day to graduation. This little school with maybe four hunnerd students, tryin' to compete with them big schools around Boston with five times as many, held our own most of the time, too. That's what kept me around, you kids. I made it a point to get to know all you boys. I figured if I told a few jokes now and then and listened, I'd be helpin' a little bit.”

“You did.”

“Not for you, I think. Course you was only one of a lousy bunch.”

Jimmy smarted at the jab. “You mean the drug bust?”

“Yep. That bust was the beginnin' of the end for Kendall. Your problem was somethin' else and we both know who.”

Jimmy recalled that strange day in spring of his senior year. In the gym, where everybody congregated before classes, the usual rough housing and loud talk were replaced with a hushed atmosphere. The tougher kids, who often stood together in the corners, were nowhere to be seen. The leaders, Jack O'Keefe, Brendan McGrath, Marco Antonucci and Tomasz Markoski were missing. After the bell sounded the silent climb upstairs to class was deafening.

Once in his seat, Jimmy looked around, suddenly intent on deciphering what might be happening. There they were, Jack, Brendan, Marco and Tom, seated glumly a row away. Brother Gabriel was standing sentry near their desks, visibly rattled. As the last of the students entered and took their seats, Brother Gabriel walked to the front of the room and closed the door. Then he turned to face the class.

“Open your books!” His voice was strained. “Read silently. Absolutely no talking!”

One of the boys up front raised his hand. “I forgot my…” The class was shocked when Brother Gabriel stepped forward and slapped him hard across the face.

“What about ‘no talking' don't you understand!”

Fifteen minutes went by. Brian McGrath, Brendan's cousin who sat next to Jimmy, passed a note under the desk.
‘Cops'
.

The events of the next few minutes were hazy. Jimmy remembered Brother Patrick entering the room, followed by five uniformed police officers and a burly detective in plain clothes. The detective coldly called out the four names.

As each boy stood, the cops rushed forward and put handcuffs around their wrists. Tomasz, the toughest of the four, struggled, but two of the cops grabbed his arms and held them until the cuffs were locked. Brendan started to cry. Brian shook his head as he watched his cousin being led with the others from the room.

“I never understood what happened. How did the cops know and why did they come to the school? It seems to me that they could have just picked them up outside or even at their homes.”

“Brother Patrick was on to 'em for weeks.”

“So?”

“He had a meetin' with the faculty, not the lay teachers, just the religious. Some of them knew, too. They seen the kids on the street in front of the school. They never dealt with that sort of thing before. They debated what to do, wantin' to keep the school's name out of it. Eventually, they decided that he should call the parents.

“Brother Patrick told the families to withdraw their boys from Kendall. He met a brick wall with the whole crowd, outrage. The McGrath family, actin' for all the others, called the Bishop. They reminded him of all the things they done for the church, money ya know. The Bishop came over with a bunch'a his lackeys and had a closed door meetin' with Brother Patrick. I don't know what was said, but we all knew they didn't like each other. Couldn'a been a good meetin'.”

“Did you know about the drugs?”

“I saw them four hopped up a few times, bad bunch. Anyway, with the parents causin' trouble and the Bishop stonewallin', the Brothers let things go for a few more weeks. Then a detective showed up one afternoon. Brother Gabriel was called in cause he had all four in his class. Remember him? Kinda high strung, not the most reliable guy in the clutch. Once that happened the cat was outta the bag.”

“What do you mean?”

“Brother Gabriel went off half-cocked. He confronted O'Keefe and Markoski, typical naïve religious stuff. Told'm to go to confession of all things.”

“Nobody knew.”

“You didn't know cause you never paid any attention to things at Kendall.” Another jab, Jimmy frowned. “The Brothers knew, I knew, and, now them four knew they was bein' watched. The cops decided they had to act.

“The day it went down the detective called Brother Patrick real early before school started. Said he didn't want to arrest 'm at home, woulda taken too many cops. He told Brother Patrick to isolate the kids once they got to school cause they was comin' to pick'em up at Kendall.”

“So, that's why they were already in class when the bell rang.”

“Yep. Brother Patrick and Brother Gabriel stuck them four in the room until the cops showed.”

“You said that was the beginning of the end for Kendall?”

“Just my theory. After that the enrollments dried up. The McGrath family went on a rampage with all kinds of behind the scenes shenanigans with the Bishop. Wanted Brother Patrick replaced and more, I think.”

“More?”

“They wanted the whole order out, but the Bishop didn't have the power to do that. All's he could do was withdraw his little financial support. That's what did it. It always comes down to money. The Brothers tried to raise tuition, but that drove enrollments down even more.”

A few days later the conversation edged closer to where Jimmy didn't want to go.

“You want to tell me what you're doin' here?”

“I told you.”

“Killin' some time, sure.” George didn't believe a word.

“Music. I used to have a band. Now I don't.”

George looked at Jimmy with renewed interest. “Well, I'll be. That's the last thing I woulda ever expected from you.”

Jimmy smiled at his surprise. “Why? Was I supposed to become a jock?”

“We'll get to that. Right now, I want to know about this music.”

“I learned how to play guitar during the last couple of years at Kendall, before I went to Saint Virgil's in Vermont. After college it sort of all came together.”

George sat back and studied Jimmy for a moment as if calculating his next query. He had an ear for detail. “You say you had a band? What happened to it?”

“It's a boring story.”

“I got time. Bore me.”

“We split up after our last concert.”

“I said bore me.”

Jimmy described the last performance in Atlantic City. When he finished George had stopped looking at him, instead staring down at the table. It was a thirty seconds before he spoke again. “You mean to tell me you're famous and now you're sittin' here in a soup kitchen?”

“Small success, George. I was never a big star.”

“But you threw it away?”

“I'm not blaming anybody else. Yes, I screwed up.”

George drummed his fingertips on the table then reached across and tugged at Jimmy's sleeve. “For some of us at Kendall you was a disappointment.”

“There everyday, never caused any trouble. It was a long ago, George. It doesn't matter.”

“Just a kid who showed up ‘cause you had to. Is that what you was doin' in Atlantic City?”