Great Brain At the Academy

by John D. Fitzgerald

  On Christmas morning Tom, Frankie, and I put on our robes and ran down to the parlor with Sweyn right behind us. Presents were all around the Christmas tree and the red stockings on the mantelpiece were filled with candy. Sweyn received a beaut of a fly-fishing rod and reel with a box of fly hooks. Tom received a watch with a fob. Frankie received several toys. And what did I get? None of us knew. My present was a large leather-covered ball and a metal hoop with a net on it attached to some boards about three feet square. Papa had bought another of his crazy inventions for my Christmas present. Even Tom with his great brain didn’t know what it was. Papa heard us talking and came into the room with a robe over his nightgown.

  “We!!, J.D.,” he said as proud as if he had given me a catcher’s mitt, “what do you think of it?”

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  “How can I think anything when I don’t even know what it is?” I said, letting him know I was disappointed.

  “It is the latest game that is going over big back East,” Papa said. “I read about it some time ago but didn’t come across it in a sport ing-goods catalogue until recently.”

  “How do you play it?” Tom asked.

  “I will show you after breakfast,” Papa said.

  During breakfast Papa told us the game was called basketball. It was originated by a man named Naismith in 1891. Since then it had been introduced as a competitive sport in several colleges and high schools back East. The board with the hoop and net on it was called the backboard.

  After breakfast Papa got a hammer and some nails-Tom and Sweyn carried the backboard down to our shed. Papa nailed it to the alley side of the shed about six feet from the ground. All the time I was wishing we didn’t have such mild winters in Adenville. Maybe if we had snow Papa would have bought me a sled instead.

  Papa laid the hammer to one side. “I realized that we didn’t have room for a regular basketball court,” he said. “That is why I only bought one backboard instead of two. But you and your friends, J.D., can have a lot of fun playing with just one backboard. You can improvise a game. Draw a line in the dirt—what we will call the foul line-about twelve feet from the backboard. You and I will play T.D. and S.D. I’ll start the game with a free throw.”

  Papa took the ball and toed the line I drew in the dirt. “The idea is to pass the ball through the hoop,” Papa said. “The team who makes the most baskets wins the

  game.

  It only took me a few minutes to realize that basket-

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  ball, even with only one backboard, was a very exciting game. I forgave Papa for not getting me the catcher’s mitt. Basketball was going to make me the most popular kid in Adenville. I was already mentally selecting teams from among my playmates.

  Tom was very much interested in the game, but for a different reason. He put his arm around my shoulders af-ter we finished playing.

  “You can make a fortune,” he said, “by charging kids to play basketball.”

  “I don’t have a money-loving heart like you,” I said. “Any friend of mine can play free any time he wants.”

  “Have it your way,” Tom said. “But you. won’t need the rule book with only one backboard. And I’ll get that sporting-goods catalogue from Papa.”

  “What are you going to do with them?” I asked.

  “This is one game we can play at the academy,” Tom said. “There isn’t room enough for baseball or football or even for tennis. But we have a big gymnasium where we can play basketball.”

  “I thought all sports were forbidden,” I said.

  “I’m putting my great brain to work to change that,” he said.

  Christmas vacation came to an end. Papa’s last words to Tom were that he expected The Great Brain to complete the rest of the school year without any demerits. For my money that was like expecting a kid not to eat any more candy.

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  CHAPTER TEN

  Basketball and the Bisko?

  FATHER O’MALLEY MET Tom and Sweyn at the depot in Salt Lake City.

  “You have a wonderful surprise waiting for you at the academy/’ he said to Tom after greeting them.

  Tom was as curious as a scout bumblebee in the early spring. But the priest refused to tell him what the surprise was.

  Father Rodriguez was sitting at his desk when Tom and Sweyn entered the office. And, wonder of wonders, the superintendent was actually smiling as he greeted them. Then he removed a letter from a drawer in the desk, handling it as if it were a precious document.

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  “This letter arrived for you two days ago,” he said to Tom. “It is from the Vatican.”

  Tom had figured it would take about a month for his letter to reach the Pope and about a month for an answer. But after three months had passed with no answer he hadn’t expected any.

  “And all this time,” Tom said, “I’ve been thinking Pope Leo wasn’t going to bother to answer my letter.”

  Father Rodriguez pressed the letter against his chest. “Dear God in heaven,” he said, “a letter from the Holy Father. What a priceless treasure. It is probably the only letter ever received in Utah from a Pope. You must let us put it in a glass case in the visitor’s room for all to see.”

  Tom wasn’t going to put the letter on display or even let the superintendent read it if it said what he thought it would. “You can exhibit the envelope with the Vatican postmark,” he said. “But I don’t know about the letter until I read it.”

  “Of course,” Father Rodriguez said. “You can go into the library and read it right now.”

  Tom went into the library and opened the envelope. He was sure regretting he had ever written the Pope about Father Rodriguez and the academy. What if on the basis of his letter the Pope and Jesuit general had decided to get rid of Father Rodriguez? Tom’s hands were trembling as he unfolded the letter. He breathed a sigh of relief when he discovered it was just a printed form which read:

  Your communication to His Holiness Pope Leo XIII has been received at the Vatican. It is impos-sible for the Holy Father to personally answer the hundreds of letters he receives each month. In

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  the event your communication seeks spiritual guidance or advice on personal problems please consult your parish priest or the bishop of your -. diocese.

  Tom folded the printed form and put it in his pocket. He knew if Sweyn and the other fellows knew he’d written to the Pope and just got back a printed form they would give him the good old raspberry. He certainly wasn’t going to let anybody but his three friends know-And that gave him an idea. Why not let Father Rodriguez think he had actually received a letter from the Pope? It just might help him get a sports program going at the academy-He returned to the superintendent’s office and handed just the envelope to Father Rodriguez.

  “I’m sorry, Father,” he said, “but what was inside the envelope is confidential.” That was no lie, he told himself. He certainly wanted to keep it confidential that all he had received was a printed form.

  “I understand, Thomas,” the priest said. “But can you tell me what you wrote to His Holiness about?”

  “It was about the academy,” Tom answered. “Please Father, may I talk to you about it later?”

  “Of course,” the superintendent said. “You are both excused.”

  Sweyn was speechless until they left the office. “Do you mean to tell me that you wrote a letter to the Pope and he answered it?” he said. “I don’t believe it. Let me see the letter.”

  “You heard me tell Father Rodriguez it was confidential,” Tom said. “And what do I care what you believe or

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  don’t believe? I’ve got the letter right here in my pocket and nobody is ever going to see it.”

  After Tom had greeted his three friends and unpacked his suitcase he told them about the printed form.

  “But Father Rodriguez thinks I got a letter from the Pope.” he said, “and that is going to help us get some changes made around here.”

  “Like what?” Je
rry asked.

  Tom showed them the rule book on basketball and the sport ing-goods catalogue. “The gymnasium has a hardwood floor and a high ceiling,” he said. “It is ideal for a basketball court.”

  Jerry was doubtful. “I can tell you right now what Father Rodriguez is going to say,” he said. “He will say we were sent here to get an education and not to play games.”

  “Not if I can convince him without lying that Pope Leo is in favor of a sports program,” Tom said. “Mean-while, I don’t see any kids eating candy, which means that we had better get the candy store open as soon as possible. I’ll make a trip to the grocery store Friday evening.”

  His three friends stared at him. Jerry was the first to speak.

  “Mean to tell me you didn’t bring any with you?” he asked.

  “Why should I take that chance,” Tom said, “when we’ve got our candy store?”

  The class in calisthenics was the last class of the day for the seventh and eighth graders. Father Rodriguez al-ways led the exercises dressed in a sweat shirt and gym

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  pants. Tom waited until the class was over on Friday. He walked up to the superintendent, who was wiping sweat from his face with a towel.

  “It is too bad the fellows don’t have anything to do between now and suppertime,” he said. “Do you believe in the old saying that a healthy body makes for a healthy mind?”

  “Yes, Thomas,” the priest answered. “That is why we have this class in calisthenics, to keep you boys physically fit.”

  “But that is only for one hour on school days,” Tom said. “A growing boy needs a lot more exercise than that.”

  Father Rodriguez finished wiping the sweat from his face and stared at Tom. “What are you trying to tell me?” he asked.

  “I think Pope Leo would like it if we had some sports here at the academy,” Tom said. “Take this gymnasium. It could be fixed up so we could play basketball. And all the boys would get to play because there are five players on each team: a center, two guards, and two forwards. We could have a first and second team for each grade. And the seventh-grade teams could play against the eighth-grade teams.”

  “I have never heard of the game,” Father Rodriguez said.

  “A lot of schools back East play basketball now,” Tom said. “And if we had basketball here we would be the first Catholic academy to introduce the sport.”

  Father Rodriguez shook his head. “Even if we could get permission from Pope Leo and the general of the Society of Jesus,” he said, “we have no money in our budget for any athletic program.”

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  “If each boy got just one dollar from his parents,” Tom said, “we would have enough money to buy two backboards, a basketball, a referee’s whistle, and enough paint for the foul lines and boundary lines. My mother always said the devil will find work for idle hands. Basketball would help to keep the fellows out of trouble.”

  “All right, Thomas,” the superintendent said. “I can’t see any possible harm in it in view of the fact that His Holiness apparently gave his blessing to an athletic program, and he must have consulted the Jesuit general about it.”

  Tom didn’t say anything. Even with his great brain he couldn’t think of anything to say without letting Father Rodriguez know he was jumping to the wrong conclusion.

  Six weeks later the first basketball practice was held in the gymnasium with Father Rodriguez acting as coach. Practice continued for one week and then the superintendent picked the first and second teams for both grades. Sweyn and Rory made the eighth-grade first team with Rory as captain. Tom and Jerry made the seventh-grade first team with Tom as captain. Tom challenged the eighth-grade first team to a game. He and his teammates soon discovered they played under a disadvantage because the eighth graders were all taller than they were. Tom put his great brain to work on how to beat them. But his team kept on losing to the eighth-grade first team, although they could beat the eighth-grade second team.

  Basketball made Tom such a hero to all the fellows that Sweyn wrote to Papa and Mamma about it-Papa considered the introduction of basketball in a western school newsworthy enough to put on the wire services to

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  the Salt Lake City newspapers. Sports writers from both newspapers came to the academy to watch a game between the seventh-and eighth-grade first teams. The stories they printed attracted the attention of superintendents of other parochial and public schools, and they requested permission to come and watch. There were so many requests that Father Rodriguez decided to invite them all to a game on a Friday afternoon.

  Tom held a secret practice with the seventh grade first and second teams to prepare for the big game.

  “My great brain has figured out a way we might beat the eighth graders this time,” he said as his teammates crowded around him in the gymnasium. “Instead of leaving one guard at our end of the court, all five of us will take the ball down to the other end. That will give us man for man instead of just four of us against their five players-And with our superior speed we should be able to get a lot of baskets that way.”

  Jerry shook his head. “I don’t think it’s wise to leave our basket unguarded,” he said.

  “Let’s try it right now,” Tom said. “The second team will use the system against us and see if they do any better than last time.”

  The second team piled up more points in less time than they ever had before and Tom was confident his system would work. But his money-loving heart told him not to bet any money unless he had a sure thing. And that made his great brain come up with a plan.

  That evening after supper he gathered the eighth graders around him in the dormitory. He opened a notebook.

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  “I have here the final scores of all the games played by our first team against your first team,” he said. “And if I add them all up you have beaten us by an average of eighteen points each game.”

  Rory grinned. “And we’ll beat you by more than that Friday,” he said.

  Rory didn’t know it but he had walked right into a trap.

  “I don’t believe you can beat us by eighteen points Friday,” Tom said-

  “Wouldn’t care to bet on it, would you?” Rory asked.

  “Let me get this straight,” Tom said. “If you beat us by eighteen or more points you win the bet. If you beat us by less than eighteen points I win the bet. Is that right?”

  Rory and all the other eighth graders nodded their heads.

  Before setting up the eighth graders for the bet Tom had got his bag of money from under the statue of Saint Francis and placed it under his pillow. He went to his bunk and took it out.

  “Step right up and make your bets,” he said, jingling the coins in the bag. “I’m covering all of them.”

  Those eighth graders were sure confident their team would win by eighteen or more points! Every one of them put down a bet. Tom stood to win or lose almost five dollars.

  But on Friday morning it didn’t look as if that game would ever be played. Father Rodriguez interrupted a history lesson to call Tom from the classroom. At first Tom thought he had found out about the betting on the game. But he knew he was wrong when he entered the superin-155

  tendent’s office. He had never seen a Catholic bishop in his life but he knew he was looking at one now. The heavyset man with iron-gray hair sitting at the desk was wearing the purple robe and the ring of a bishop.

  The Right Reverend Francis Miglaccio was the bishop of the diocese that at the time consisted of four states. He only came to Sait Lake City once a year. What brought about this unusual visit was a clipping from one of the Salt Lake City newspapers about basketball being played at the Catholic Academy for Boys. Some Catholic who was against a sports program in a Catholic school had mailed it to him.

  ”” “I am your bishop,” the man said in a commanding voice, picking up the envelope that had been received from the Vatican. “And you, I presume, are the Thomas D. Fitzgerald, Esquire to whom this envelope is add
ressed. Father Rodriguez has informed me that you obtained permission from His Holiness Pope Leo XIII to introduce an athletic program in this school. I find this difficult to believe. So you will show me the letter you say you received from the Holy Father.”

  Tom knew he was caught. There was no hope for escape. He couldn’t lie to a bishop or refuse an order given by a bishop-Not even his great brain could get him out of this one.

  “I didn’t receive a letter from the Pope,” he confessed. “It was just a printed form sent to thousands of Catholics who write to him,”

  Father Rodriguez turned pale and pressed his hand to his forehead. “But you told me you had received a letter from Pope Leo,” he protested. “And you also told me that

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  he had given his permission for us to introduce an athletic program, here.”

  “I confess that I led you to believe I’d received a letter from the Pope,” Tom said. “But I never actually said I had received a letter. And I admit I said I thought Pope Leo would approve of us having basketball here-But what I think and what the Holy Father may think are two different things.”

  Father Rodriguez clasped his hands as if in prayer. “You tricked me,” he said sadly. “I know you have always disliked me, Thomas, but I never thought you could do such a thing to me.”

  “I admit I didn’t like you at first,” Tom said. “But I like you fine now, just fine. And I also honor and respect you.”

  “Bless you for that,” Father Rodriguez said.

  Tom turned his head to look at the bishop. “There hasn’t been one student who has received any demerits since basketball started,” he said. “The game is being played in many schools back East. And this afternoon superintendents of parochial and public schools in Salt Lake City are coming to watch the game. I am sorry for getting Father Rodriguez into trouble with you but I can’t see where any harm has been done.”