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?” Jerry 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 addressed. 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.”

Bishop Miglaccio leaned forward. “There will be no basketball game this afternoon,” he said. “There never has been and never will be an athletic program in a Catholic school. You are dismissed.”

Tom walked over and knelt before Father Rodriguez. “Forgive me, Father,” he cried, “I didn’t mean to hurt you or to get you into any trouble. I just wanted to make the

 

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academy a place where fellows would want to go to school and not just have to go because their parents sent them. I wanted the fellows to be proud of the academy and have some school spirit and some fun once in a while. I’m sorry, Father. As God is my judge I am truly sorry. Please forgive me.”

Father Rodriguez made the sign of the cross. “I forgive you, Thomas,” he said. f~.

Tom stood up. “Thank you. Father,” he said. i

Tom didn’t bother going back to the classroom. He ;

knew he was going to be expelled. He went up to the dormitory instead. He got his suitcase from under his bunk and began packing. When he finished he got his bag of money from under the statue of Saint Francis and put it in • the suitcase. He would wait until noon to return the ’” money bet on the game and say good-bye to Sweyn and his friends. He was sitting on his bunk with his back toward ^ the doorway, so he wasn’t aware Father Rodriguez had ” entered the dormitory until the priest spoke.

“What are you doing, Thomas?” the superintendent asked. \

“I know I’m going to be expelled,” Tom said. “I’ll leave as soon as I say good-bye to my brother and my friends. I have some money and will take the next train home.”

“Unpack your things,” Father Rodriguez said. “You aren’t going to be expelled. Bishop Miglaccio has decided to reserve judgment until after the basketball game this afternoon.” \

Tom couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d been told that Bishop Miglaccio was going to be the referee for the game. ^

 

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“What … what made him change his mind?” he asked.

“He told me it was what you said to me,” the superintendent said. “And bless you for that, Tom.”

If Tom was surprised before, he was now doubly surprised. “You called me Tom,” he said.

“You once told me you preferred it to Thomas,” Father Rodriguez said smiling. “And now you had better be getting back to your classroom.”

When the first teams of the seventh and eighth grades took to the floor of the gymnasium that afternoon it was packed with spectators. After a few warm-ups the game began with Father Rodriguez as referee and Father O’Mal-ley using a large blackboard, chalk, and eraser to keep score.

Tom’s plan of using a five-man otfense worked quite well. His team was behind only six points at the end of the first half. But during the second half the eighth-grade team began using the system also. Going into the fourth quarter the score was twenty-eight to fourteen. With five minutes left to play Tom called for a time-out. The score was now thirty-two to sixteen.

“When we get the ball,” Tom said in the huddle, “don’t try to make any baskets. Just keep passing it around at our end of the court.”

Jerry got the ball and instead of taking it down to-ward the eighth-grade basket he dribbled it toward his own backboard. The eighth-grade team waited at their end of the court. They waited and waited and then it finally dawned on them that they were only winning by sixteen points. Down the court they came. But Tom’s team

 

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had a lot more speed and just kept passing the ball to one another until the whistle blew ending the game. Tom’s great brain had made him four dollars and eighty cents because his team was beat by only sixteen points.

Bishop Miglaccio held mass in the academy chapel on Sunday. Afterward he called Tom to the superintendent’s office.

“I enjoyed the basketball game,” he said. “And I was pleased with the congratulations Father Rodriguez and I received from the superintendents of other schools. A league is going to be formed next year. Do you know what that means, Thomas?”

“It means you have made a lot of kids happy,” Tom said.

“That isn’t quite what I meant,” Bishop Miglaccio said. “It means there will be interscholastic rivalry in basketball next year. Your eighth-grade academy team will be playing the eighth-grade teams of other schools. I shall be here for the final game of the season and expect to see the academy win the championship.”

“We will win it,” Tom said confidently. “I’ll have all summer to put my great brain to work on plays.”

“Oh, yes,” Bishop Miglaccio said. “Father Rodriguez has told me about your great brain. Have you ever thought of repaying God for giving it to you by becoming a priest?”

“I haven’t decided what I want to be yet,” Tom said.

“Now before I leave,” Bishop Miglaccio said. “I want you to tell us what you put in that letter you wrote to Pope Leo.”

“What I put in the letter doesn’t count anymore,” Tom said.

 

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“We would still like to know,” Bishop Miglaccio said,

Tom was so ashamed that he couldn’t even look at Father Rodriguez. “For one thing,” he said, “I wrote that this academy was more like a reform school than an academy. I know now I was wrong about that. If Father Rodriguez didn’t maintain discipline the kids would walk all over him and the other priests. And I wrote that I thought the punishments were too severe. I was wrong about that too. I know now that making a boy get up at four o’clock in the morning to peel potatoes for breaking a rule is going to make him think twice before he does it again. But the worst thing of all was that I asked the Pope to replace Father Rodriguez.”

Tom raised his head and looked at the bishop. “I was dead wrong about that too,” he said. “My trouble and the trouble with all the fellows was that we were afraid of Father Rodriguez. We feared him because he could hand down demerits and punishments and even expel us. And no one can like anybody he is afraid of. That is why we disliked him. But my great brain is going to change all that.”

Bishop Miglaccio stared at Tom. “And just how do you propose to overcome this fear the boys have of Father Rodriguez?” he asked.

“The same way I did it myself,” Tom answered. “I am going to convince them that they don’t really fear Father Rodriguez but themselves. They are really afraid they might break a rule or do something that will get them demerits or punishment. And if they are going to dislike anybody because of this fear, they should start disliking themselves. When I get through I’ll personally guarantee

 

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there won’t be one fellow in this academy who can honestly say he dislikes Father Rodriguez.”

Bishop Miglaccio shook his head slowly, “It will be a great loss to the Church if you don’t become a priest,” he said.

Father Rodriguez smiled. “I am glad you wrote that letter and told us what you wrote,” he said.

“You are?” Tom asked with surprise. “Why, Father?”

“It is proof you have matured a great deal since writ-ing it,” the superintendent said, “and helping boys to mature is a very important part of my job here.”

Well, all I can say is that maybe Tom did mature a great deal during his first year at the academy, but he sure as heck didn’t reform. He didn’t get any more demerits tor the rest of the school year, which made Papa and Mamma happy. But I knew it was only because Tom got mature enough not to get caught. He ran his candy store full blast until the last week of school. And he was the only kid in the history of the Catholic Academy for Boys who made going to school a profitable financial venture. When he removed the paper bag from under the statue of Saint Francis on the last day of school there was over thirty dollars in it. On the train ride home Tom sat staring out the window for a long time. “I’ll bet I know what you are thinking about,” Sweyn said. “You are wondering what you are going to do with all that money you made at the academy.”

“That’s a bet you would lose,” Tom said. “I was thinking that all the kids in Adenville must have saved up quite a bit of money since I’ve been away. And also about

 

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all the presents they received for Christmas and their birth-days. Now please be quiet. I’ve got to put my great brain to work on plans for making this a very profitable summer vacation.”

What Tom should have said was that he was going to put his great brain and his money-loving heart to work on plans for swindling the kids in Adenville during the sum-mer vacation. It had taken me a long time but my little brain had finally figured out what made Tom tick. A fel-low with a great brain and a normal heart becomes a sci-entist or a philosopher. It wasn’t Tom’s great brain that made him a confidence man but his money-loving heart.

And to think my college-educated father had been foolish enough to hope the Jesuit priests at the academy would reform my brother. I had only a little brain and a fourth-grade education but I knew better. For my money, the Pope himself couldn’t reform Tom unless he agreed to make The Great Brain a cardinal. And then just maybe Tom would reform. I say fust maybe because if The Great Brain couldn’t make a deal with the college of cardinals to make him the next pope, he would probably refuse to become a cardinal.

 

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About the Author and Artist

JOHN D. FITZGERALD’S stories of the Great Brain are based on his own childhood in Utah, where lie had a conniving older brother named Tom. These reminiscences have led to three popular earlier books, The Gicat Rrnm, More Adven-tures of the Great Brain, and Me and My Little Brain. Mr. Fitzgerald is also the author of seveial adult books, including Papa Married a Mormon. He now lives with his wife in Titus-ville, Florida.

MERCER MAYER’s delightfully droll illustrations appear in all of The Great Brain books. He is also the author-illustrator of many books of his own, including the three wordless A Boy, a Dog and a Frog books, There’s a Nightmare in My Closet, and A Special Trick. Mr. Mayer was born in Little Rock. Ar-kansas, and now lives with his wife Marianna in Sea Cliff, New York.