“THE YOUNG woman wearing the crimson jacket in the center of the picture is Nellie. She is in seventh grade, but is the leading scorer in the North Side Catholic League. The three rather hefty girls immediately behind her are angry at that injustice. They have promised her that they will break her arm this afternoon. Such is the practice of liberation theology at this rather unusual Catholic school.
“The attackers seize her and pummel her. One of them grabs her left arm and tries to twist it.
“This woman here, we have learned, is the Principal of the school. Note that she makes no attempt to stop the fight. It will be interesting to hear comments from the Archdiocese chancery on this incident. The noise you hear is the sound of cheers. We have had to cut the cries of the attackers which are mostly obscene.
“Nellie, however, is slippery. She dances away from her foes, discards her crimson jacket, and assumes the stance of martial arts defense. One of them tries to capture Nellie with a stranglehold. She replies with a slice of her hand to the girl’s throat, which incapacitates the attacker. A second heavyweight strives to land a punch. Nellie fends her off with another slicing hand. This attacker screams in pain and complains to the principal. The third one backs off. Nellie walks away.
“Then the third one, a real heavyweight, picks up a large stone and runs after Nellie. She intends to hit Nellie’s head with it. Nellie hears her coming, turns around, and kicks her in the stomach. The girl collapses and screams a curse, which we have cut out. Nellie picks up the stone, walks over to the principal and drops it at her feet. Then, accompanied by her brothers and sister, she walks away.”
“Your name is Nellie.”
“Yes ma’am.”
She is wearing her crimson jacket again.
“What were those obese young women trying to do to you?”
“They said they would break my arm.”
“Why?”
“So I couldn’t play in the St. Wenceslas game tomorrow.”
“Why would they do that?”
“They hate me.”
“Why do they hate you?”
“Because I am in seventh grade and I play on the eighth grade team. Coach and Captain asked me to.”
“Why?”
“I rebound.”
A boy next to her, much shorter, says, “Highest scorer in the league.”
Nellie ruffles his hair.
“How many points did you make last week?”
“I don’t count.”
Pert little girl: “I do! She made twenty-eight!”
“My fan club.”
“You have a black belt?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Do those other girls know it?”
“They do now.”
Then this woman appears on the scene, running full speed at Nellie, and knocks her into the mud. Then she grabs the young basketball star by her long hair and pushes her head into the mud while screaming curses at her. Nellie’s family rushes to her rescue and tries to pull this woman, not a lightweight, off their sister. The woman throws the little girl, Nellie’s sister Socra Marie, onto the concrete section of the school yard. Nellie slips away from this new assailant and rushes to her sister, who struggles to her feet, fighting mad. Nellie picks her up. The woman charges again. Nellie spins around and kicks the woman in the stomach, sending her into the deepest muck. The woman, the mother of one of the original attackers, we learn, shouts the same obscene words. Security forces flood the yard. The assaulting mother is taken into custody. The parish priest emerges to join the principal in demanding her release. The security people ignore them both . . .
We encounter Nellie again, covered with mud and carrying her little sister, who has a muddy face with blood streaming down it.
“Will you play at St. Wenceslas tomorrow, Nellie?”
“Sure will,” little sister shouts.
“Nellie, is there any future for you at this school?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Our school!” the little tyke exclaims.
“That woman who hurt both of you is the mother of one of the eighth graders who attacked you . . .”
“She doesn’t take her meds anymore.”
“So here at St. Joe’s, a ‘progressive’ Catholic school, young women basketball stars are assaulted by obese girls who endeavor to incapacitate her and by adult women who throw little girls on a concrete basketball court.”
The scene shifts to Dr. Fletcher, her eyes grim and her lips a straight line.
“The principal explained it to us.”
“We believe in the fundamental equality of all Catholics. There should be no distinctions based on family background, intelligence, or athletic skill. Sometimes it takes a little revolutionary action to establish this equality.”
“Violent attacks on other students? Bullies beating up on little kids and taking money from them?”
“We feel—and I include most of our laypeople—that Catholicism means a passion for equality.”
“And the Cardinal?”
“He is a nonentity from whom this Catholic community has nothing to learn.”
“This is Mary Alice Quinn, Channel 3 News, in the St. Joe’s Catholic school yard.”
Anchor: “Mary Alice, the chancery tells us that the Cardinal will have a comment for the six o’clock news.”
We had been watching the 5:00 news on tape, most of us in horrified silence. Me wife, home from Madam’s lessons, held Socra Marie in her lap and had her other arm around Mary Anne, who still wore her muddy crimson jacket as though it were a garment of honor.
Nuala had arrived just as the Channel 3 trucks pulled away and the police cars with the Finnertys left in the opposite direction. She rushed up the stairs to find Julie putting a large Band-Aid on Socra Marie’s hairline. The whole family, including Julie, were covered with mud.
“It’s good I wasn’t here, Dermot Michael. I would have turned the dogs loose on them.”
I switched off Mary Alice’s tape, which had been spliced seamlessly with the tape I had removed from my TV monitor, and found Blackie gazing at us. He was wearing his silver Brigid pectoral cross and his New Grange episcopal ring.
“I was dismayed to see the report on Channel 3 from the St. Josephat school yard. The situation there violates all the traditions of Catholic education and is totally unacceptable. The parish buildings are the property of the Catholic Bishop of Chicago, a corporation sole. Oddly enough, I happen to be that person. Acting on the authority that comes with ownership I am locking down all the buildings on the parish property and closing the school pending the outcome of an investigation by the firm of Connor and O’Connor, which have reviewed suspect Catholic behavior in the past. I have removed both the Principal, Lorraine Fletcher, and the pastor, Father Frank Sauer, from involvement with the school for the present. I promise all the teachers employed by the school that they will be paid their salaries by the Office of Catholic Education. Father Richard Neal, Vicar for Education, will have de facto jurisdiction over the school. I dispense all members of the parish from the obligation of Mass attendance this weekend. They may of course attend the sacred liturgy at other churches if they wish. I have asked the relevant officers in the Chicago Police Department to protect the parish property. I promise the people of St. Joe’s that I will reopen the school as soon as I am persuaded that the abuses there have been stopped and not resumed.
“We have received letters about the situation at St. Josephat.” He gestures at a small pile of letters. “I have urged the pastor repeatedly to put an end to all bullying activities. It is evident that he has not done so. As someone who was a prime target for bullies when I was in school—one that had to be rescued frequently by big sisters—I do not like bullies. I will not tolerate them in schools for which I am responsible. I direct all questions to Father Neal, except one, Miss Quinn, that I will answer before you ask it. I do not have the authority to suspend athletic contests between Catholic schools. Therefore the games scheduled for this weekend may continue.”
“Good on you,” Finnbar Burke said. “I like the man!”
“He’s great craic,” his true love agreed.
“We can put all of them in jail,” my sister announced, “on any number of charges. We can sue the Archdiocese for any number of reasons. I can prepare briefs over the weekend if you wish.”
“Nuala?”
“Can we send them to Devil’s Island for all eternity? All I want is that the school yard bullies have to pay back the money that they took from the little kids. And I want that awful Maureen Finnerty woman put under a heavy peace bond and on probation too.”
“Nothing more?”
“We don’t want revenge, do we Sorcie?”
“Jesus say no revenge except he do it.”
“What about them two polecats?”
“I can call this Father Neal and tell him that unless they are banned from all contact with schoolchildren in the Archdiocese. We will seek a court order.”
“No problem with that,” I agreed.
“And those three terrible girls have to be expelled,” Nuala insisted.
“There’s no room for them and me in the same school,” Mary Anne, as she was now called again, said firmly.
“I think we can wait for the Archdiocese’s report before we take action on individual cases, but I hope we find something for which we can drag them into court.”
The phone rang.
“Dermot Coyne.”
“Your big brother.”
“You want to protect me from bullies in the school yard?”
He actually laughed.
“As priests in the diocese have been saying for years, never mess round with Blackie Ryan.”
“I can’t tell him that.”
“I thought he was wonderful. Tell him that.”
“Me too!”
“So does Socra Marie!”
“Great . . . Hi, Sorcie!”
“Hi, Uncle George!”
“Cyndi is already preparing motions.”
“Tell Rick Neal a mountain is going to roll over him.”
“He needs the experience.”
Nuala Anne grabbed the phone before I could hang up.
“Your Riverence, tell that nice Father Neal that the bad guys will try to organize a riot tonight and there should be a lot of police there. We’ll get some of Mike Casey’s people to guard our house.”
“We’re all going to the game tomorrow, aren’t we?” Finnbar Burke asked, waving one of his crutches like it was a broadsword.
We did, of course. Channel 3 reported that Nellie Coyne, who was beaten up by bullies yesterday in the St. Joe’s school yard, had broken the North Side Catholic League record by scoring forty points. There were four shots of herself sinking three-pointers.
“Coach wanted me to start,” Mary Anne told us, “and said he’d take me out only when I’d hit forty.”
The cops snuffed out the riot the first night and addressed a half dozen people for disorderly conduct. The three bully girls were arrested for throwing rocks at our windows. Saturday night was quiet. The worst was over.
Except on Sunday night, they set fire to our house.