A White Sport Coat and a Pink Carnation

By Joseph Murphy

The story is a fast-paced human drama. High school is a time of innocence, a time for fun, when adolescents establish a set of values that will last a lifetime. In 1957, teens were carousing all across the country, as the 1950s were in full roar. The Bronx, New York was no different. Relive the adventures of the in crowd at St. Helenas Catholic high school as they learn the importance of friendship and the meaning of love.

On a lark, four high school seniors celebrate an 18th birthday party in the school cafeteria. The only problems were that the school was closed for the night, and they brought along a keg of beer for the party. The nuns living three floors above, hear the commotion and think a rape is in process and phone the police, causing all Hell to break loose.

The influence of the church and school seemed limitless. Most of the clergy served as a maturing authority to guide their students along the straight and narrow path. However, one rouge administrator had his own interpretation of the Lords missive. From this Brothers prospective, it was the principle behind the punishment that mattered. Responsible adults would be developed out of irresponsible boys. His actions and excessive punishments aimed at breaking down a select few pranksters would only serve as a rallying point to unify the student body and faculty to support the targets of his vengeance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 1, 2000
• ISBN: 9781462823017

Joseph Murphy

Joseph Murphy wrote, taught, counseled, and lectured to thousands of people all over the world, as Minister-Director of the Church of Divine Science in Los Angeles. His lectures and sermons were attended by thousands of people every Sunday. Millions of people tuned in his daily radio program and have read the over 30 books that he has written.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Earth Angel, Earth Angel

Please be mine

—The Penguins

Eisenhower was President, probably one of the most successful of America’s twentieth century Presidents and the decade when he ruled (1953-61) one of the most prosperous in American and indeed world history. The world was more secure too. By the end of the decade, a sort of stability had been reached, lines drawn, rules worked out, alliances and commitment settled across the globe. It was a good time to be young and alive. In 1957, life was uncomplicated and drugs were something relegated to hospitals, why most couldn’t even spell the word narcotics. Pal Joey, was one of the top musicals, the lead portrayed by Frank Sinatra, flanked by Rita Hayworth in her last bloom, and cool ash-blonde Kim Novak. Competing with it was the Pajama Game with Doris Day. The Milwaukee Braves won the World Series by beating the New York Yankees in Game 7. Mickey Mantle was named the American League’s most valuable player. A relatively unknown published his four thousand word manifesto, in which he openly proclaimed that, once in power, he would pursue an active foreign policy against other Caribbean dictators. His name was Fidel Castro. That was also the year the Ford Motor Company introduced the Edsel.

Like the Twenties, it was prosperity all over again. Less frenetic and more secure but with far wider social expanse. The Fifties was the decade of affluence. It was a time of America’s paramountcy and the capital of that affluence was New York City. The richest borough of The Big Apple was the silk stocking borough of Manhattan. But, the Bronx was the heart of The Big Apple and the epicenter of that heart was Parkchester.1

Once described in a New York Times magazine article as a town within a city, Parkchester, was located on 110 acres in the southeast Bronx. Twelve thousand five hundred families lived in what were seven story or twelve story buildings divided into North, South, East and West quadrants. It was commonly referred to as the projects. The epicenter of the quadrants was the Oval, named as such because it resembled a large circular pool which contained three extremely large bronze fish statues spewing water out of their mouths, salvaged from the 1939 Worlds Fair. At the base of the circulating water were large fantail goldfish. Four pathways, lined with exotic landscaping, led visitors out to the applicable quadrants.

Catholic teenagers living and growing up in Parkchester had a choice of several parochial high schools to attend. One was Saint Helena’s High School, which became part of their definition. For the most part, they had the instincts of sheep, lemmings and herrings. They trundled along with the herd on the path of least resistance. Their parents had trained them exquisitely in the fine art of obedience.

The weekly event of St. Helena’s High School was the Sunday night dance held at the church’s auditorium. The church, located on Olmstead Avenue in the Bronx, was sandwiched between the Lexington Avenue subway and the Parkchester projects. Everybody who was anybody went to the Dance; it was the social event of the week. It was a time to mingle with the opposite sex, fall in love, end a budding Romance or, protect your turf. Many a Sunday heralded fistfights with members of other crowds who might be hitting on one of your crowd’s girls. It was a time when the biggest issue in your life was who was

going steady with whom. All this for a quarter and your High School I.D. card.

Each crowd staked out a section of the auditorium. Rarely were the imagined lines crossed. The bathrooms were situated a flight above the dance floor. Once there you could overlook the whole floor. The disc jockey was located adjacent to the bathrooms. He would usually open the dance with the latest hit but more often than not with „Earth Angel by the Penguins and close with Teresa Brewer‘s, „Til I Waltz again with you.

While the dance music played, the Pastor, Monsignor Scanlan, for whom the school would later be renamed, would sit on the stage of the auditorium at the opposite end of the floor from the bathrooms and the disc jockey, and read the Bible. The assistant pastor, Father Carney, would move among the gyrating couples and instruct them to leave room for the Holy Ghost. If the young Irish priest was not completely satisfied with the space between a couple, he took their I.D. cards and threw them out. Such banishment was considered demeaning.

It was a time when all the girls wore sweaters and all the boys would gape at how sweaters could take on new shape and meaning. It was a time when some young men bragged about scoring with girls, yet these same lugs thought one could become pregnant by French kissing; so much for their scoring. It was a time that every young man wanted to be like Jimmy Dean and drive hot (fast) cars, yet few could afford them. McGill‘s crowd, commonly referred to as the North crowd because of its location in the North quadrant, had at most four cars, at anyone time. It was some time; it was some era.

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PART I

Fall

CHAPTER 1

Flashback

Well, be-bop-a-lula

She’s my baby

—Gene Vincent

The Principal’s arm came up swiftly and caught Murphy across the nose. The boy flew backwards. As he hit the wall, he tried to bring his hand up to deflect the next blow. It didn’t work; the Principal’s clenched fist caught him high on the right cheekbone, driving him backwards, down three or four steps. A dazed Murphy called upon all his inner resources to move out of the way of the next blow as he scurried away from the wall to the exit door. The Principal closed in and caught him with a country boy roundhouse that sent the gangly youth flying through the first set of double doors leading outside and bouncing off the second set. The roundhouse was a good, heavy blow. As he struggled to get up, Brother James, the burly cigar smoking Principal, pounced on him again and threw another roundhouse driving him violently against the second set of doors that burst open. He fell with a crash on the hard stone steps leading to the schoolyard. Don’t you ever come back into my office again, you wise ass . . .Glaring at the figure at the bottom of the stairs the Marist Brother quickly realized that there were several females from the Girls school gaping at him and the scene he created. As a result, he quickly turned and pushed his way back through the doors and disappeared into his office.

The repeated punches to the face drew blood from the nose and a torrent of blood. Murphy, sprawled on the ground, tried to fight off the nausea that came in waves. There was a flare of agony in the small of his back as he was helped to his feet by his black leather-jacketed friend Charlie Ramsdell. Charlie stood between 5 foot 10 inches and six feet tall, depending upon when he straightened up. He was a good looking youth with fine features and shiny black hair. He was slow talking and slow to anger but when aroused he became a tenacious bulldog. Not one to apply himself in school, he was, nevertheless, brilliant.

„You have quite a nasty lump on the side of your face. What the hell did you do to warrant that?" asked Ramsdell.

I don’t know, replied Murphy. All I asked the hump to do was sign my yearbook under his photo.

Let me see the damn yearbook. yelled Ramsdell as he yanked the yearbook from his friend, who was still shaking off the effects of being slugged.

„No wonder he belted the piss out of you, look at this. he pointed to the photo next to the Principal‘s. It was that of the Principal‘s sexy secretary Mrs. Evie DiFini. In writing across her face was written „To Joe Murphy-love and kisses Mrs. Evie DiFini.

„When I find the bastard who wrote that in my year book, I‘ll kick his ass from one end of the school grounds to the other." barked Murphy.

„No matter." Ramsdell responded as he pondered what had occurred to both of them over the past several months. With graduation only weeks away, they had gone from being top bananas on campus to also rans. As they walked away, he thought angrily, bits of memory breaking through; moments of the past buried in Ramsdell‘s subconscious started to come to the fore.

*   *    *

Ramsdell took the flashlight from his pocket, flicked the flashlight on and off twice. It worked. He then pressed the small button above the on-off switch and shielded the beam to strike the electrical box on the wall. Mike McGill‘s nose was numb, his cheeks felt frostbitten and he was shivering. He gestured his gratitude by giving Ramsdell a thumbs-up, and Charlie squatted there in the cramped space until McGill had finished his work.

The building went black as soon as Mike McGill pulled the master switch in the building‘s basement. Ramsdell turned his flashlight and signaled both McGill and Murphy to get out of the building before the cops came. The three teenagers moved quickly out the basement door into the night air. They were laughing so hard tears were coming down their faces. The „Mad Switcher" had struck again and several of Parkchester‘s multi-family twelve story buildings were in complete darkness.

„How the hell did you ever get the master key to the whole project" Murphy asked.

McGill looked at his tall partner in crime and said „Joe it was easy, I stole it from the maintenance supervisor when he parked his bike outside one of the buildings while he was in doing a job." Michael McGill was a blond blue eyed lanky teenager who had the misfortune of being a polio victim, early in life. Nice looking but always a bit disheveled, as after a bawdy weekend in New York City.

He never complained and learned to live with a slight limp. Like Charlie, he didn‘t apply himself but was also extremely bright and quick witted. Every time he got into a tough situation, he used his wit to get out of it. Every time! True to his Celtic background, he would find „Whiskey to be his Devil."

„Knock off the chit chat. Let‘s get out of here before the Dolly sisters arrive."

The moon spilled out from behind a cloud as they started running from the crime scene. McGill turned to Ramsdell, as the silvery light smoothed out the anxious lines in his face, and said, „It‘s Murphy‘s birthday next week, what are we going to do to celebrate? He is the first one in the crowd to turn 18. Winded from a mixture of running and the cold night air burning his lungs Ramsdell responded by saying, „We have to do something spectacular. Let‘s talk about it tomorrow at school. With that the three dispersed heading for their individual apartments.

*   *    *

The school bell rang and the boys in History 401 settled in their seats awaiting the lovable Fat Dan. Brother Daniel Michael, was a six foot four 325 pound bearish looking Marist Brother. He was large without being muscular, and his neck spilled out a little over his collar. He was so big he could have been the nose tackle for the New York Giants football team. From his assigned seat next to the door, Murphy saw the likeable brother coming down the hall. As he turned to look across the classroom aisle for McGill, a white light flashed in front of his eyes and a searing pain roared down the side of face. His chair toppled over with schoolbooks flying all over the place. He got to his fours and shook his head. What the hell was that for? as he looked up at Fat Dan hovering over him with a broad smile. That’s for all the crap you do today, behind my back, without getting caught! The obese brother turned and went to the blackboard to outline the topics for class discussion. As he started writing in chalk on the board, Murphy picked himself off the ground and gave him the finger, which broke up the class especially McGill and Ramsdell.

Without breaking stride and with his back to the class Brother Dan calmly told Murphy to approach the desk on his knees. Murphy, still smarting from the open handed slap to his head, proceeded to the desk as instructed. He knew the drill all too well. At the desk he awaited retribution. Finished writing on the blackboard, Fat Dan put down the chalk and slowly moved to the desk and sat down. Murphy noticed the Brother‘s hands were as big as meat cleavers and his right ring finger contained an enormous college ring. In one vicious swing without leaving his chair he once again knocked Murphy ass over teakettle into the front row of desks. Bleeding from the cheek, the youth rose to his feet visibly shaken.

Now take your seat mister.

‘Yes sir." Came the meek reply. All his brashness was gone now. Indeed he looked, almost pitiful as he stood there, his lower jaw

drooping and his cheeks twitching.

*   *    *

Ramsdell lit a cigarette and took deep puffs, turning the match packet round and round in his finger. He then said, I say we do something spectacular.

Like what Charlie? asked Carleton, a stocky handsome teenager who looked like an Elvis Presley double.

„Something that no one will ever forget!" cried McGill.

„Look he‘s 18, he‘s legal. Why don‘t we buy some beer and celebrate his coming of age." responded Ramsdell.

Big deal, what’s so special about that? inquired Carleton.

Yeah! How about a keg of beer! exclaimed McGill.

Whoa! said Carleton. „Where do you drink a keg of beer without everybody knowing about it?"

„I got an idea! How about drinking it in the woods next to St. Helena‘s High School?" responded Ramsdell.

You mean the place where we have our back-to-school bashes? asked Carleton.

Yo man thee very place. What a great idea Rummy! screamed McGill. Ramsdell cringed at the nickname that he had been labeled with, but responded by saying Let’s go over it in more detail at the Sunday night dance.

Satisfied with their plan, the three youths proceeded to find Murphy.

*   *    *

January 14, 1957 started out like any other cold mid winter day. It was cold and the cold grew even more intense as the morning sun tried to break through the moving clouds. However, this day was special for Joe Murphy, it was his 18th birthday and he knew the crowd was planning something extraordinary and that alone got his adrenaline going. He left his apartment at 11 Metropolitan Oval and proceeded through the Oval in the North quadrant and, as usual, picked up his buddy Jack Adams, in the south quadrant. Together they walked to the bus stop at Hugh Grant Circle to catch the Q44 bus to school. At the bus stop, he started horsing around with Ramsdell and McGill and tried to find out what was on the menu that evening.

You’ll find out soon enough grunted a bundled up McGill through his navy pea coat, with the collar pulled up over his ears to protect against the increasingly colder weather. Rummy laughed that devilish laugh that was uniquely Ramsdell.

They slapped their hands against their sides and stamped their feet to keep their chilled blood moving. The thermometer had fallen to as low as ten degrees.

Listen you guys, tonight is one thing, okay, but I want you to concentrate on how to get back at Fat Dan. Murphy spurted through the cold air as his breath condensed on his nostrils and lips, and on the upturned collar of his coat. His hands were thrust deep into his coat pockets.

Your brain cells are working, guy. I can tell you have something in mind, what is it? asked Adams, as he jammed his hands into his parka and rocked on the balls of his feet.

Murphy’s eyes lit up as he laid out his plans to his mischievous comrades.

They passed the time as best they could despite the discomfort waiting for the Q44. The