In the fall I arrived at Manhattan College. It turned out to be a terrific experience that helped mold and shape me into whatever the hell I am today.

Manhattan’s liberal arts curriculum was disciplined and also demanding. In my class there were two of the top kids from Regis High School in New York City. At that time, Regis was one of the most prestigious Catholic high schools in the country. During my freshman year, I found out that those Regis kids had wound up at Manhattan College pretty much the same way I had. Their parents wanted them at a Catholic college. We all got hijacked. End of discussion—if there had ever even been a discussion.

Years later, when I was working in advertising, I’d sometimes get asked how I survived in such a tough, competitive business. I’d usually shrug and say the ad world was nothing compared to high school and college under the Christian Brothers.

Before I get off the subject of the Christian Brothers, here’s one more story about Catholic-school education that folks today—especially kids—might find impossible to believe. But it happened.

At St. Patrick’s High School, we had the same Christian Brother for math and science my junior and senior years. Class always started the same way. Brother Henry—Hank—a big Polish guy with a full head of wavy blond hair and an unnerving smirk, would saunter into class and give the same opening line every day.

“Gentlemen—and I use the term loosely—anyone who doesn’t have their homework, please stand.”

Now, on most days, I had my homework. I wasn’t stupid and I wasn’t a masochist. But let’s say I didn’t have my work one day. Up would come Brother Henry and he would stand directly in front of me. He was six foot three if he was an inch.

Then he would say, “Mr. Patterson, do you know what’s going to happen to you now?”

“Yes, Brother.” Hank. You bastard.

“Do you know why it’s going to happen, Mr. Patterson?”

“Yes, Brother.” You sadist.

Then Hank would swing his huge right hand up from below his waist, fast and hard, and smack me a good one across the face.

Then on to his next victim. “Mr. Hatfield—”

“Yes, Brother. You can skip the preliminaries. Just hit me.”

Every single day before math and science class started at St. Patrick’s High School.

So, yeah, by comparison, advertising was pretty much a walk in the park on a blue-skied sunny day.