John Fitzgerald GB 04 Great Bra (16 page)

“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.