Author's note: This story gets its basic inspiration from a scene in the movie "Heaven Help Us" (also released as "Catholic Boys"). The story is a work of fiction and fantasy. I make no claims for its factual accuracy. I'll beg the indulgence of graduates of REAL Catholic boys' schools and invite them to enjoy the fantasy! This story appears here in two parts. Part 1, below, is the long introduction and lead-up, which introduces the characters and sets the scene. Corporal punishment is mentioned but not represented. Part 2 contains the actual "spanking". If you aren't into a long story and just want to get to the "good part," you can skip Part 1, although, personally, I think you'll enjoy Part 2 more if you've read Part 1 first!
Part 1:
We four – Mike O'Neill, Ryan Fitzpatrick, Tony Berrardi, and I, Thomas Patrick Murphy – sat on the hard wooden bench outside Brother Patrick's office. Above us, on the opposite wall, a marble Madonna extended her small, white hands to comfort us, while above our heads, Saint Francis talked to sparrows in a massive painting. We knew we were in serious trouble. We had not been told why we had been summoned together to the office, but we all knew the reason. We had set off several chains of Chinese firecrackers in the third floor staff washroom. Clearly, someone had seen us, or heard us talking about it after the fact, and had turned us in.
"I'm sorry, fellas," Mike said. He had been the instigator of the prank and the supplier of the firecrackers. "I wish I hadn't gotten you all into trouble like this." Mike was a born trickster, but he also had a strong sense of loyalty and depended on our friendship. It was obvious that he was as worried about having us angry with him as he was about the trouble he was in.
"It's okay, Mikey," Ryan answered, "we went along with it. You aren't to blame."
"Besides," I observed, "it still was a hell of a prank! I thought Brother Dominic was going to _s_h_i_t_ in his robe when they started going off!"
Tony remained silent. Silent, that is, except for the occasional soft sniffle. He was crying. He'd been crying since we'd arrived together outside the office with Brother Bernard, the vice-principal.
"Hey, Tony, come on buddy! Pull yourself together! It's not so bad! Come on!" Mike said, putting his big, strong arm across Tony's skinny shoulders. Mike was like a big brother to Tony, sometimes mercilessly cruel in the teasing to which he subjected him, but always ready to stick up for him when he was bullied, and always ready to comfort him when he was upset.
Tony sucked back his tears, sat up, and wiped his face with his hands. "I'm sorry. I'm just so scared. We're going to get the leather, aren't we?" Tony asked.
THE LEATHER – that was what we boys called the punishment strap they used at Sacred Heart Senior Boys' Academy. And, typically, we spoke of "taking the leather" when we referred to being punished with the strap. 'The leather' consisted of a thick, heavy piece of brown cowhide about the size, shape, and thickness of a good quality razor strop, attached to a wooden handle. Brother Patrick, the principal, kept it hanging on the coat tree in his office, and determined when it would be applied to the backsides of boys at Sacred Heart. He typically delegated the actual task of strapping a boy to Brother Bernard or to one of the gym coaches, Brother Jerome or Brother Francis Daniel. Taking the leather was no laughing matter. Rare was the boy who stood up after taking his licks without tears in his eyes. Many boys simply yelped and sobbed through the whole ordeal. Most of made a real effort to avoid having to take the leather – either by being good (which wasn't much fun), or by making sure we didn't get caught (which WAS fun!). If one was not good, and one got caught, then one accepted a strapping as the necessary price to be paid. Remember, we were Catholic boys. If we got nailed, we knew we deserved it....and much worse too! Compared to the fires of Hell or the afflictions of Purgatory, a licking with the strap was a minor inconvenience!
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! I hate the way they make you wait and wait!" Mike exclaimed, looking at his watch. It was a Mickey Mouse watch, and any other boy would have gotten beaten up for wearing it. But Mike was big, strong, and popular. If Mike wanted to wear a Mickey Mouse watch, Mike wore a Mickey Mouse watch!
Mike's invocation of the Holy Family apparently was heard, for just then the door opened and Brother Bernard emerged from the office. "Gentlemen, you may come in now," he said gravely.
We stood and filed into the office. Once inside, we lined up with our backs to Brother Patrick's bookcases, facing his big oak desk. Brother Patrick was standing in front of the desk, holding what remained of a chain of firecrackers. He stepped up to us and stood facing Mike. He began his familiar but always intimidating routine. He focused his eyes on Mike's shoes and then slowly raised his eyes until he made direct eye contact. Then, without speaking, he took a step and repeated the process with Tony. I was next. Finally, Brother Patrick gave Ryan the once-over. Then, he walked back along the row of boys, his hands folded behind his back, bent slightly at the waist, his eyes directed at the ornate carpet on the floor. He then turned ninety degrees and walked to his desk. Then he spun around snappily and held up the firecrackers.
"Does anyone know what these are?" he asked.
Silence.
"It is an easy question. Surely, one of you knows what these are! Murphy?" Father Patrick looked straight at me and held out the firecrackers.
"Father, they're firecrackers," I answered.
"Yes, Murphy, they're firecrackers! You move to the head of the class!" Brother Patrick responded.
I could see Brother Bernard smile slightly at Brother Patrick's performance.
"Now, gentlemen, where do you suppose I got these?" Brother Patrick continued.
Silence.
"Berrardi! Care to hazard a guess?"
"Um, Father, I don't know." Tony was shaking visibly and swallowing over and over as if he was about to vomit.
"Berrardi! John 8:32!" Brother Patrick said, raising his voice.
"Father?" Tony asked, his face contorted with fear, his lower lip quivering, and tears filling his eyes.
"And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free!" Father Patrick recited.
"Father, I imagine you must have found it in the third floor staff toilet, Father," Mike offered.
"Yes, O'Neill, that is the correct answer, but I do not recall asking you the question!" Brother Patrick snapped. "Now! Would anyone care to tell me how these firecrackers found their way to the third floor staff toilet, and how it happened that they went off at the beginning of third period?"
"I put them there, Father," Mike answered, straightening his back. Mike had chosen his words carefully. He was not going to implicate us. There was a real chance that some of us, at least, might get away with it.
"You? Just you, O'Neill?" Brother Patrick asked. "Are you saying that these other had nothing to do with it at all? Is that what you are saying?"
We waited for Mike's answer. Would he lie?
"Father, I can't say," Mike said.
"I see. Well, perhaps the others can! Murphy! Were you involved in this prank?"
"Yes, Father," I confessed, certain that he already had enough evidence to prove my guilt. I was not about to make things worse by lying.
The same question was directed at Ryan and Tony. Both also confessed. The four of us stood there, guilty by our own admission, waiting for Brother Patrick to lay into us.
"Gentlemen," he began, speaking very softly, even cordially, "I do not object to an occasional innocent prank. I pulled pranks when I was a boy. I know that they make life more exciting. You know that I did not seek to punish the boys who decided Our Lady would look good in go-go boots and a sun hat. I did not become upset when I received a letter from the Bishop telling me that I had been accused of heresy. In fact, I found that prank rather a lot of fun! I even read the letter at assembly! I even managed to overlook an incident in which Sister Bridgett found a small, white mouse in her desk drawer. Mother Superior wanted every boy in the school expelled. I talked her down to consigning you all to eternal perdition! HOWEVER, I have no tolerance at all for stupid and dangerous pranks. What you four did was inexcusable! You yourselves could have been injured, not to mention others! You created rather a panic amongst both staff and students. You also damaged school property! I AM VERY DISAPOINTED WITH ALL OF YOU!" Brother Patrick's volume had risen throughout the lecture, until, with the final sentence, he was addressing us in what we called "homily mode," that is, loud enough to be heard by an old lady with a hearing aid seated at the back of the cathedral. In his small office, his volume made the door rattle and made us jump. Tony burst into tears. "You all really ought to be expelled!"
Our mouths dropped open. Expelled! Kicked out of Sacred Heart? Tony began to sob loudly.
"However," Brother Patrick continued, "Brother Bernard and I have given the matter careful consideration, and we have decided that expelling you would serve neither Sacred Heart, nor you. Instead, you will all receive a severe enough punishment that you will fully understand the severity of our displeasure, and so that the other boys will be dissuaded from following your example. Three of you will take the leather. A fourth member of your group, unfortunately, has a corporal punishment exemption on file. I will have to subject him to a one-week suspension."
"Father!" It was Ryan. We all knew that he was the one with the exemption. His mother was convinced that her son was too sensitive and too delicate to be subjected to the brutality of a strapping. Ryan was one of only seven boys in the whole school who had such an exemption. Most of our parents would have objected violently if the leather had been retired from office. Most of us, in fact, could anticipate another beating at home for having gotten beaten at school. I knew my mother's hairbrush was waiting for me. "Father, it isn't fair!" Ryan sputtered
"Did I ask you to speak, Fitzpatrick?" Brother Patrick asked, raising one eyebrow.
"No, Father. But, please, it isn't fair to give the others the leather and suspend me," Ryan said.
"No, Fitzpatrick, it isn't fair. And I assume you mean it is not fair to your friends! I am being more than fair to you!"
"Yes, Father. That's what I meant. I'd rather take the leather, so we all get the same."
"Don't worry about it, Ryan," Mike said.
"Shut up!" Brother Patrick snapped. "You will speak when spoken to and not otherwise! Is that clear, young man?"
"Yes, Father. I'm sorry, Father," Mike replied.
Brother Patrick returned his attention to Ryan. "I am pleased to see how loyal you are to your friends, but I cannot over-ride the exemption."
"But my Pop could," Ryan offered.
When Ryan had first spoken, I had been astonished at what he was saying. But a moment's reflection gave me to understand that he was doing what the rest of us would have done in the same circumstances. Ryan hated being different. He hated being "exempted." He didn't regard it as a favor. The exemption put him in the class of the sissies and sickly boys. Ryan wanted to be one of us, one of the boys who faced the reality of the leather. He knew, as we did, that the leather was a source of solidarity among us. Trying to misbehave while avoiding getting it was a game we all played, while getting caught and taking it was a test of courage, with a generous margin for success. As long as a boy bent over and took his licks, he could yell and cry all he liked. The key was to take it. And once a boy had taken the leather he was never the same. He got more respect. He found others, both those who had been strapped, and those who had not, wanted to be his friends. Some boys, having gone through their freshman year without getting strapped, actually went out of their way to get it at the start of their sophomore year, so as to shake any hint that they were "too good." Only boys who got strapped for being bullies or totally delinquent were shut out from the solidarity of the leather. As long as boys got strapped for acceptable wrongs – showing disrespect for incompetent or abusive teachers, pulling pranks, swearing, smoking, skipping school, cheating (as long as this wasn't at some else's expense), fighting (if it was a fair fight and 'honor' was at stake), or mild vandalism that didn't cause real harm to the school – he rose higher in the pecking order the more times he got it. He was respected for being willing to test the limits. Even the brothers seemed to show a grudging respect for boys of this type. School legend had it that the boy who graduated each year with the most strappings to his credit almost always went into the priesthood. Rumor had it that both Brother Patrick and the Bishop had been record-holders in their day.
"Are you telling me that you want me to call your father and ask him to take back the exemption?" Brother Patrick asked.
"Yes, Father," Ryan answered.
"And what about your mother?"
"She doesn't have to know."
"I see." Brother Patrick walked over to his desk, sat down, opened Ryan's file, which was on the desk with our files, picked up the receiver of his telephone, and dialed out. "Hello, I would like to speak to Mr. Brian Fitzpatrick. Could you tell him it is the principal of his son's high school. Thank you." Brother Patrick waited. "Hello Mr. Fitzpatrick. No, please don't be alarmed. He's fine. It is just that we have a problem here. Ryan was involved with some other boys in pulling a rather dangerous prank – setting off firecrackers inside the school – and he and the others are going to have to be punished. As you know, we do use the strap here. Ryan has an exemption, which your wife signed, but Ryan doesn't wish to use the exemption. He'd rather take the strapping with his friends."
Even across the room we could hear Ryan's father answer, "Well, then, strap the boy!"
"And your wife, Mr. Fitzpatrick? She did sign the form." We couldn't make out the answer, but we saw Brother Patrick nod and slip the exemption form out of Ryan's file. "Yes, Mr. Fitzpatrick. I understand. Thank you. Let me assure you that it is parents like yourself who make my job a pleasure. God bless you. I'll see you on Sunday." Brother Patrick hung up the phone. He stood, holding the exemption form. He walked over to Ryan. "Tear it up. I want you to do it, so there is no doubt about it."
Ryan took the form and tore it down the middle, held the two pieces together and tore them through, and held those pieces together and tore them. He handed the small pieces back to Brother Patrick, his jaw set and his back straight. Brother Patrick took the torn paper and dropped it into his wastebasket.
"Gentlemen, return to your classes," Brother Patrick ordered. "You are to report to the locker room after school and be ready and waiting by 3:30. Understood?"
"Yes, Father," we all answered. We filed out of the office.
"We're going to get it after school?" Ryan asked Mike when we were in the hall.
"Yes," Mike answered. Tony was still sniffling. "Come on, Tony! You have to stop this blubbering!" Mike scolded. "You'd think you were expecting to be executed or something!"
"But I'm scared!" Tony whined.
"We're all scared!" I snapped. "But you're the only one who's acting like a baby!"
"I'm sorry," Tony answered, sucking back his tears. "It's just that this'll be my first time. It's going to hurt, isn't it?" Tony was the baby of our group in more ways than one. He was a freshman, while we were sophomores. He was a year younger than we were. He was also thin and slight, with delicate, almost feminine features. He was extremely bright, extremely shy, and extremely sensitive. He'd been picked on constantly during the first two weeks of his freshman year.
Then, Mike befriended him. We knew Mike had a heart for underdogs. He regularly got into fights defending other boys against bullies. His fiery temper was easily aroused at the sight of someone stronger picking on someone weaker. For Mike, chivalry wasn't dead. Mike was not just inspired by his personal values. He had also been asked by his mother to take Tony under his wing. Mike's mother knew Tony's mother, and Mrs. Berrardi had confided to Mrs. O'Neill her worries about her son. Mike had tremendous respect for his mother. Thus, his own personal code, combined with a desire to do what his mother wanted, meant that he made a real effort to help Tony. He'd protected him, but he'd also worked at toughening him up. He teased him, and he often hit him, demanding that Tony at least control his impulse to cry, and at best, tease and hit back. In return for Mike's friendship and protection, Tony gave complete loyalty to Mike, as well as tutoring in Latin and History.
"Yeah, Tony-O, it's gonna hurt! And you'll probably cry like a baby! But you'll take it, or you'll have to deal with me! Got it?" Mike was obviously being harsh because he believed this was what Tony needed.
"Got it," Tony answered, sniffling.
"And stop crying, for Christ's sake, or I'll really give you something to cry about!" Mike said, clenching his fist under Tony's nose.
I knew Mike felt especially responsible for getting Tony into trouble. He'd pressured him into joining us in the prank, ignoring his protests and his all-too-wise predictions of disaster. He could, I supposed, have begged Brother Patrick to let Tony off. But I knew that Mike thought this would have been worse for Tony than taking the leather. Escaping the strapping would have confirmed Tony in his outsider status. Taking the leather with us would mark him as a "regular guy" despite his appearance, his mannerisms, and his 98% in Latin.
When it was time for Mike and I to leave Tony and Ryan, Mike patted Tony on the shoulder and said, "Hang tough now! I'll come and meet you at your English classroom. Okay?"
"Okay," Tony answered, biting his lip.
Mike and I walked away. "_f_u_c_k_! I feel like _s_h_i_t_!" Mike confided. "He's so _f_u_c_k_ing scared, and it's all my fault he's in trouble."
"You know," I said, "he didn't have to come along. He could have walked away. He didn't. None of us did. Besides, as bad as it is, its gonna help him with the other fellas if he takes the leather."
"And what if he makes a big fuss and they have to drag him kicking and screaming over to the horse, like that Reilly kid last year?" Mike asked.
"He won't. I know he won't."
"I hope you're right."
CONTINUED.