Part 2:
Mike and I had all the rest of our classes together that day. As we entered each room, every eye was on us, and boys whispered to one another. We had already become notorious!
Our last class was History. When Brother Martin entered the classroom, he frowned at us and said, "I trust we shall have no further explosions today! Although it might make our study of the First World War rather more authentic!"
The other boys laughed. Mike and I, however, were in no mood for humor.
As the class progressed, and Brother Martin rambled on about the Battle of the Somme, I became more and more nervous. I glanced up at the clock, seeing the minutes tick by. Finally, the bell rang. I jumped. Mike looked at me glumly. We rose from our seats and made our way out into the hall. EVERYONE was looking at us.
"Off to get your asses whipped, eh boys?" a big senior sneered.
Mike kept his eyes focused on the floor and ignored the taunt. We arrived at the room where Tony had his last class. Tony was standing in the hallway, desperately wiping away tears.
"Hey, Tony-O!" Mike said, forcing a smile, "You keep this up you'll get dehydrated!"
"I'm sorry, Mike, I can't help it. I know you think I'm being a baby! But I'm just so scared!" Tony answered.
"I know, Tony, I know, but crying isn't doing you any good!" Mike said, putting his arm across Tony's shoulder.
We walked together down the hall and descended the stairs to the basement, where the locker room was located. Ryan was waiting for us outside the door. His face was pale. "Hey, fellas," he said.
"Hey, Rye-bread!" Mike said.
We entered the locker room. "Okay, boys, time to get ready!" Mike said, trying to sound confident. It was obvious that he felt that he had to lead us through our punishment, since he'd led us into trouble in the first place. Mike opened a locker and took off his blazer. He hung it up and slipped off his red and gold tie. "Come on! Hurry it up!" Mike scolded, noticing that the rest of us were hesitating.
I, of course, knew what we had to do. But fear was paralyzing me.
"We have to.... undress?" Tony asked, his voice breaking.
"Yes, Tony, we do. Now please, don't start crying again. Just strip down to your underwear!" Mike said.
I pulled off my blazer and placed it in a locker. I took off my tie. Then I unbuttoned my shirt and slipped it off. As I undressed, I glanced at Ryan and Tony. Ryan was following Mike's and my lead. Tony had taken off his blazer and tie, but was fidgeting nervously with the top button on his shirt. I unhitched my belt, unfastened the button on my gray flannel trousers, pulled down the zipper, and lowered my trousers to my ankles, kicking my black shoes off as I removed the trousers from around my ankles. Tony had managed to unfasten one button on his shirt. He was crying AGAIN!
Mike was now stripped down to his white T-shirt, cotton briefs, and black socks. So were Ryan and I. Mike turned to Tony and shouted at him, while grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, "God_d_a_m_n_ you, Tony! I can't take this anymore! I have been trying to be nice! I have been trying to help you. And you just keep blubbering like a baby! To hell with you! If you want to stand her and cry until Brother Patrick comes, suit yourself! I'm through with you!" Mike released his grip on Tony's collar and stormed away. He took his place against the wall facing the gymnastics horse where we'd bend over to take the leather. Mike was seething with anger. I could see that he was truly angry and frustrated.
"Goddammit!" his cursed softly. "It's all my _f_u_c_k_ing fault!"
Ryan and I stayed silent. We knew there was nothing we could say or do. Two minutes passed. Then, Tony emerged from behind the lockers, stripped down like the rest of us. His eyes and nose were red, but his face was dry. He took a place next to Mike. "I'm sorry, Mike. I shouldn't have acted like such a baby," he said softly.
"Forget about it," Mike said. "Just keep your nerve until it's all over. Okay?"
"Okay."
Tony wasn't the only one struggling to keep his nerve. My heart was pounding and my stomach was in knots. I kept my eyes focused on the floor. Next to me, Ryan squirmed. "I gotta piss!" he said.
"Then go! Quick!" I said.
Ryan scurried away to the toilet off of the locker room. Ryan had just returned to his place when the door opened and Brother Patrick entered with Brother Bernard and Brother Francis Daniel. "Oh, _s_h_i_t_!" I thought, "Not Brother Francis Daniel!" Brother Francis Daniel was the biggest, toughest Franciscan I had ever seen. He'd been a boxer in his youth and had the twisted nose to prove it. He still worked out regularly with weights, and had massive biceps and broad, muscular shoulders. Everyone dreaded being on the receiving end of a strapping dished out by Brother Francis Daniel.
Brother Patrick was carrying the leather. He and the other brothers stood by the horse, facing us. We stood there before them. I knew that the others felt the same embarrassment and humiliation I did standing there in my underwear. Brother Patrick handed the leather over to Brother Francis Daniel, confirming my worst fears.
"Gentlemen," Brother Patrick said, "it is now time for you to receive your punishments. You all understand the seriousness of your offense, and the need for this to be an exemplary punishment. You will all walk out of this room very sorry young men indeed! Brother Francis Daniel will see to that, I am sure! Turn and face the wall!"
We all turned around with our backs to the brothers. When several boys were to be punished at once, they were permitted to hear, but not to see, the punishment of their co-condemned. I glanced over at Tony. He was looking straight at the wall, blinking rapidly, and swallowing hard. I could tell that he was fighting to maintain self-control.
"O'Neill! Since you hatched this scheme, and admit to being the ringleader, you will go first! Step up to the horse!" Brother Patrick commanded.
Mike turned and stepped away from the wall. He walked over to the horse.
"assume the position, O'Neill," Brother Bernard ordered.
"Ten strokes, Brother Francis Daniel. And make them count!" Brother Patrick instructed. "Brother Bernard, lower O'Neill's under-shorts."
"Ten strokes!" I exclaimed in my head. "Are we ALL going to get that?" I had been strapped twice since coming to Sacred Heart, once for cutting two classes (two strokes) and once for smoking (four strokes). Both strappings had hurt and had brought tears to my eyes. "Ten strokes! Holy Mary, Mother of God, have mercy on us sinners, now and at the hour of our death! Dear Saint Francis, couldn't you please see it in your heart to intervene on our behalf with your disciples just this once? I promise, on my mother's honor, that I'll REALLY try not to jerk off so much!"
"Are you ready, O'Neill?" Brother Patrick asked.
"Yes, Father," Mike answered.
I knew Mike was bent across the horse, with his briefs pulled down just below the curve of his buttocks, leaving his bottom bare, and his genitals safely trapped behind the waistband. He was probably gritting his teeth and trying to focus his gaze on a spot on the wall directly in front of him.
"Brother, begin please," Brother Patrick said.
I heard Brother Francis Daniel take a step back. He swung the strap. WHOOSH! It cut through the air. CRACK! It connected with Mike's bare posterior. WHOOSH! CRACK! WHOOSH! CRACK! WHOOSH! CRACK! WHOOSH! CRACK! WHOOSH! CRACK! WHOOSH! CRACK! I could hear Brother Francis Daniel grunt from the exertion. WHOOSH! CRACK!
"Ahhhh!" Mike let out a yelp.
WHOOSH CRACK! "Ahhhh!" Mike sobbed again.
WHOOSH! CRACK! "Ahhhhhh!" Mike let out a final sob. I heard him sniffle.
"Alright, O'Neill, cover yourself and return to your place," Brother Patrick instructed.
Mike stood, pulled up his briefs, and limped back across the room. He took up his place next to Tony. I glanced over and saw him daub a tear from below his right eye. He sniffled softly, but kept his head up and his back straight.
"Berrardi! I believe it would be in your best interest to get this over with for you!" Brother Patrick said. "Please come up to the horse!"
We all knew that Brother Patrick was tough, but not without compassion. It was in Tony's best interest to get his licking out of the way. If he had to stand through two more strappings he would simply have more time to become agitated.
"Brother Bernard, will you do the honors this time?" Brother Patrick asked.
Again, I reflected on Brother Patrick's basic decency. He was assigning Tony's punishment to a lighter hand. It would still hurt, of course, but not as much as it would have from Brother Francis Daniel.
"Berrardi, assume the position," Brother Patrick ordered.
"How, Father? I don't know how," Tony whimpered.
"Like this," Brother Francis Daniel said. He was obviously guiding poor, terrified Tony into position. "There, now just hold on."
"Brother Francis Daniel, Berrardi's under-shorts, please! Brother Bernard, six strokes!" Brother Patrick decreed.
"Father!" Mike said, "He didn't want to do it! I forced him! Can't you knock off a couple of strokes? Please, Father!"
"I don't recall asking you to speak, O'Neill!" Brother Patrick scolded. "However, since you have been bold enough to intercede, I will consider your request. Brother Bernard, five strokes, and make them count!"
It was a small mercy, but it was still mercy.
"Are you ready, Berrardi?" Brother Patrick asked.
"Yes, Father," Tony whimpered.
Brother Bernard took two steps back. WHOOSH! CRACK! "Ahhhhhhh!" Tony let out an anguished sob.
In my mind, I coached Tony. "Come on! Just four more. It'll be over soon."
WHOOSH! CRACK! "Ahhhhh....owwwww!"
WHOOSH! CRACK! "Ahhhh....owwwwwwwww!"
WHOOSH! CRACK! "Ahhhhhhh....owwwwwwwww!"
WHOOSH! CRACK! "Ahhhhhhhhh....owwwwwwwwwwww!"
"Alright, Berrardi. Cover yourself and go back to your place," Brother Patrick ordered.
I could hear Tony sniffling softly as he made his way back across the room. He stepped into line next to Mike. I looked over. Tears were rolling down his cheeks and he was shaking. His performance had not been exemplary, but it had been passable. He was now "one of the guys."
"You done good," Mike whispered, giving Tony's leg a gentle tap with the back of his hand.
"Fitzpatrick! I don't think you want to wait any longer either!" Brother Patrick said.
Ryan stepped out from the line and crossed the room.
"Brother Bernard, are you up to another?" Brother Patrick asked.
"Yes, Brother," Brother Bernard answered.
The ritual proceeded as it had with Mike and Tony. Ryan was ordered to assume the position. Brother Patrick announced that Ryan would get six strokes. Brother Patrick instructed Brother Francis Daniel to lower Ryan's under-shorts. He asked Ryan if he was ready. Ryan answered in the affirmative.
The strapping began. WHOOSH! CRACK! Silence. WHOOSH! CRACK! Silence. WHOOSH! CRACK! Just a soft sniffle. WHOOSH! CRACK! Another sniffle. WHOOSH! CRACK! A gentle sob. WHOOSH! CRACK! A sob and a sniffle.
"Stand up, cover yourself, and return to your place, Fitzpatrick!"
Ryan crossed the room and stood next to me. We exchanged a quick glance. Ryan's eyes were moist and he was shaking, but he'd maintained his composure. I was impressed. Delicate and sensitive, my ass! My ass? Yes, my ass. It's going to get strapped. I have to try to take it like a man. Ryan and Mike did. I will too!
"Murphy! Last, but certainly not least! Come to the horse!" Brother Patrick commanded.
I turned and walked the few feet that separated the wall from the horse. It felt like I was crossing a vast expanse. My legs were shaking, and my knees felt like Jell-O. My stomach churned violently. I stepped up the horse and waited for the command to "assume the position."
Brother Patrick gave the order. I put my stomach to the horse and leaned over, letting my arms hang loose over the other side. I braced my feet on the floor and waited.
"Brother Francis Daniel, would you take over, please," Brother Patrick said.
Wait! That's not fair! Why am I going to get it from Brother Francis Daniel? Why? I kept these protests to myself, of course. I knew that expressing them aloud would do me no good.
"Brother Bernard, Murphy's under-shorts. Brother Francis Daniel, six strokes."
Brother Bernard stepped up behind me and took hold of the elastic waistband of my white cotton Fruit of the Looms. A shiver ran down my spine. I felt utterly helpless and vulnerable. I knew this was why they pulled our shorts down for us, to bring us down a few notches and make us feel weak and afraid and embarrassed. Brother Bernard drew my briefs down to the required spot.
"Are you ready, Murphy?"
"Yes, Father." One times six is six. Two times six is twelve. Three times six is eighteen. Four times six is twenty-four. I had figured out that reciting multiplication tables got me through spankings and strappings as well as serving to ease away erections that came at inopportune moments, like whenever Sister Bridgett asked me to stand up and answer a question in Religion class.
I heard Brother Francis Daniel step back. Oh, please, Holy Mother, make him not swing too hard!
WHOOSH! CRACK! The strap connected with my small, round behind. I was aware, first, of the sound of the heavy leather strap hitting bare, fifteen-year-old skin. Then, as Brother Francis Daniel drew the strap away, it felt like a layer of skin was being pealed off with it. Oh, God! Five more like this! I'll never make it! WHOOSH! CRACK! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, that hurts! WHOOSH! CRACK! _s_h_i_t_! God_d_a_m_n_! WHOOSH! CRACK! I'm sorry for cursing, God! Honest! WHOOSH! CRACK! My eyes had been welling up with tears. They spilled out and rolled down my cheeks. WHOOSH! CRACK! It's over. Thank God, it's over!
"Alright, Murphy, stand up, cover yourself and go back to your place. The rest of you may turn around now!" Brother Patrick said.
I stood, pulled up my underpants, and limped back across the room, wiping the tears off my cheeks. Mike, Ryan, and even Tony, gave me supportive looks. We'd all made it.
"Alright, gentlemen, I trust that the brothers and I have now impressed upon you the seriousness of our displeasure at your misdeed. May I have your assurances that an incident like this will not happen again?"
"Yes, Father," we answered in unison.
"Very well. Except for the Discipline Notices to your parents, the matter is now closed," Brother Patrick said.
Brother Bernard had entered the locker room with a file folder. He took it up and issued each of us a Discipline Notice, which detailed our crime and the punishment we had received. We had to take it home and have it signed by a parent or guardian. For Mike and me, and probably for Ryan, this meant another thrashing. The brothers left the locker room.
Mike sighed. "Jesus H. Christ! Ten strokes!" Mike yanked down his briefs and examined his behind in a mirror.
Brother Francis Daniel had done a masterful job. Both buttocks were uniformly red across the fleshy middle area and down to the sit-spot. Along Mike's hip, where the tip of the strap had wrapped around, there were purplish bruises.
Encouraged by Mikes' example, Ryan and I also bared our asses and examined the damage. Not surprisingly, my behind was redder than Ryan's.
"What a _f_u_c_k_ing rotten stunt to pull! Having Brother Francis Daniel do me after Brother Bernard did you! He knows Brother Francis Daniel hits harder!" I complained.
"Quit belly-aching!" Mike scolded. "He went easier on them 'cause it was their first time. Don't you remember your first time?"
"Yes," I answered, hanging my head. I did remember that Brother Patrick had assigned Brother Bernard the task. It was obviously his policy to have a boy strapped lightly the first time and to have it given harder for subsequent offenses.
"Hey, Tony! You made it!" Mike said, addressing Tony, who was standing back, looking timid. "Come on! Show us!"
"I, I don't want to," Tony said.
"Oh, come on! We've all seen your bare ass before! You have to show us! It's part of the deal!" Mike said.
Tony turned and lowered his briefs. His behind was as red as Ryan's. He'd obviously not been spared anything. Tony pulled up his briefs. We each gave him an affirming pat on the shoulder. Then we went to get dressed.
"Well, boys!" Mike said, "Time to go home and face the Old Man! God I hope he's in a good mood!"
"Yeah, my Mom's gonna go through the roof when she find out about this," I said. "I hope Frank's there!" Frank was my Mom's boyfriend, the only one I'd ever liked. He was nice to me and tended to stick up for me when Mom got angry and decided to use her hairbrush. We'd actually worked out an arrangement. Frank had started insisting that a boy my age needed 'a man's discipline.' This made sense to Mom, and she was letting him take his belt to me. Frank never hit very hard, and the little pain a whipping from Frank inflicted was a small price to pay to escape the pain and indignity of a bare-bottom session with Mom's hairbrush!
"My Dad'll probably rant and rave about giving me a good beating, but Mom'll stop him. She's gonna be so mad at him when she finds out about the exemption, there's no chance in hell he'll tan me," Ryan said.
"My Mom'll just cry and go to church," Tony said sadly.
"I'll be happy to loan you my Pop if you want a beating, Tony," Mike said, smiling.
Tony smiled too.
When we were all dressed, we exited the school, walking down the sidewalk, four-across, our arms across one-another's shoulders, singing "Walk Like a Man!"