Gaels on Three

By Don Schlenger

It's the eighties in north Jersey-big hair and bad music- and a love story set around a Catholic junior high school girls' basketball team. Will and Ramona were childhood sweethearts and neighbors from age four, who tragically broke up weeks before high school graduation in 1976. Will went right into the army, Ramona to college on a basketball s

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ink Start Media
• Release date: Sep 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9781961254374

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Copyright ©2023 by Donald Schlenger.

ISBN 978-1-961254-36-7 (softcover)

ISBN 978-1-961254-37-4 (ebook)

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual locales, events, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Printed in the United States of America.

INK START MEDIA

5710 W Gate City Blvd Ste K #284

Greensboro, NC 27407

Gaels on three

Jersey, Girls, Basketball

A Novel

Donald Schlenger

For Jackie.

Nothing is possible without you.

Dedicated to my brother, Dr. William Edward Schlenger.

My life will never be the same.

—Terrence Patrick McEntee

You wanna be friends, or ya wanna race?

—Ramona Voytek

Chapter One

Late October 1982

I was a first year math teacher at St. Ethel of the Holy Oasis Junior High School (for girls) in the early eighties. Having enlisted in the army right out of high school in June 1976, I finished college in three and a half years and was pretty much a permanent sub here at St. Ethel in the spring semester of 1982, which turned into a summer job painting, cleaning, and doing repair work in the school.

Then one day, out of the blue, I was hired for a permanent math job. Listen, Mr. Edwards, the monsignor told me, we like the way ya been handlin’ the lasses. Yer keepin’ order, they’re learnin,’ we can see that. And they seem ta like ya. And that’s a tall order for a sub. Good full-time subs are hard t’ find, so we’re gonna pay ya a full-time teacher’s salary as a math teacher, beginning in September, with all benefits included. Waddaya thinka that, boyo?

I am very pleased and honored, Monsignor. In fact, I’m delighted. Thank you. A little groveling never hurt. I won’t let you and St. Ethel down.

He was an avid hoops guy and told me the school needed a good girls’ basketball team to attract more students. And he did not want to hire someone outside of the Ethel community as the coach. I had been on a Bergen County (New Jersey) High School Championship Basketball Team six years back that had gotten a lot of ink, and some of the parents, fathers anyway, knew my name. I had played jayvee basketball for two years at the local state college, and there were no candidates other than the somewhat elderly Sister Mary Begay, a retired Dominican nun, once of the Navajo Nation on the reservation in Ship Rock, New Mexico.

That left me, Bill Edwards, as the chosen one, hired as coach in mid-October. Sister Mary, relocated to New York City as a teenager, had been a whirlwind, unstoppable basketball player in her day then later in college as well, or so the myth went. Then a college coach. Allegedly.

So now here I was a full-time math teacher and basketball coach—two jobs I hadn’t even sought out. I sort of had a minor in math, but no NJ teaching certificate, as Catholic schools were a bit more lenient than the state of New Jersey. And no breaks for veterans in those days either. No one ever said, Thank you for your service. My service kind of came and went unremarkably. That’s not a complaint.

Before he hired me as basketball coach, he asked me to come over to the rectory for lunch, served by his housekeeper, Agnes O’Toole. She was a native of county Kildare and came with the rectory. Not shy, very opinionated, but she liked me and I enjoyed her spunk. Monsignor and I had, upon several occasions, discussed our philosophies of basketball. He had hooped back in the day for the Fordham University Rams, before entering the seminary, when they still jumped center after every basket. He liked to call himself the George Mikan of the Bronx. He was a tall, broad-shouldered, former athlete who was battling his waistline. So far, the pints were inching ahead. He was a brilliant man, conversant in a lot more than basketball, as I was to discover. Out the blue, one time he asked me, You were a guard at Rutherford High, Will?

Well, sir, I said, we called what I played a combo 2 and 3, depending on who we were playing.

Ah, the game surely changed, didn’t it, then? he stated. I was a giant at six-four, you a guard at six-two.

It’s so much faster now, too, Monsignor, and more complex, I said.

He changed the subject. What did you major in again, Will?

I majored in sociology, Monsignor. Loved it, I answered.

Talcott Parsons or Marx-Engels? he asked.

Closer to Marx, I think, sir. More conflict than consensus, I said.

And that’s why there’s religion, my boy. And he let out a big laugh.

Y’mean it’s not the opiate of the people? I asked.

That’s a conversation for another time, Billy, he said somberly. And Comrade Marx, while he had many interesting ideas, was way off line on that one. Speaking of which, why wasn’t a good Catholic lad like yourself leading St. Mary’s to a Bergen county championship instead of the Bulldogs? St. Mary’s was the Catholic Church and high school in Rutherford where I grew up.

He liked to catch me off guard. Well, sir, I was baptized, made my first communion, was confirmed, and went all the way through CCD at St. Mary’s. But my parents were not in favor of a Catholic education, even though they were Catholic, I said.

I hope they have since seen the light and returned to the Lord’s bosom. I will pray for them, William, and so should you, he suggested with a twinkle in his eye.

As do I on a nightly basis, Monsignor. Pray for them, I mean, I said. His sideways glance demonstrated his lack of belief in my piety. Oh well, I wasn’t going to roll over on everything.

Truthfully, though, I could never get on top of this guy, but then I was down about 40 IQ points, I think. Probably more. Someone over at St. Mary’s, in my CCD days, had made clear to me the foolishness of trying to best a Jesuit in a debate or argument, and as a Jesuit, he had not let me down gently.

Many on the faculty thought the St. Ethel assignment was going to be his last posting before retirement. He had been a high school coach of some note, and then headmaster, at St. Peters Prep down the line somewhere, but at Rutherford High School, where I had played, we had never crossed their path. But they had been a known basketball powerhouse for years. He was quick to smile, his blue eyes lighting up his face when he did, but he could bellow like a bull. His name, I later learned, was Terrence McEntee. He was also alleged to have been born in Ireland, but Ms. O’Toole told me out of his hearing one time he was an escapee from Hell’s Kitchen. She also referred to Monsignor as himself, but in an almost reverential way.

Despite all the trappings of his office, he did retain the drive to win, as well as a brogue when it suited his purpose The big basketball question, of course, was: does every girl get to play every game? So we were both dancing around this dilemma when he blurted, Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph, boyo! Don’t start that Rec league stuff with me. They keep score, don’t they? Foot on their troat, Billy boy! Kick ’em when they’re down! We’re playin’ to win! Isn’t that’s why they keep score?

In a rare example of good judgement on my part, I decided it was best not to respond.

***

A few days later, with the actual preseason and tryouts soon upon us, and me starting to panic, I asked Monsignor if I could hire an assistant. He thought this was funny. Sister Mary will do just fine, ‘Coach.’

I’ll take care of compensation out of my pocket, sir, I pleaded while I’m thinking, You’re a rookie in a Catholic Junior High School, Edwards. You don’t even have a pocket!There’ll be no parents, he demanded.

Definitely not!

In the tried and true Catholic manner, I took his silence as consent.

Chapter Two

Late October 1982

Late the next afternoon, after school, having downed a few Schaefers to sharpen my judgement, I made a phone call to my high school girlfriend. Ramona? Hi. This is Will Edwards. From Rutherford? Do you remember…?

We had grown up together since we were four years old and were best friends throughout childhood. We were boyfriend and girlfriend throughout high school. A real tragic breakup toward the end of senior year, for me anyway. Hadn’t seen or spoken to each other since. Over six years. My hand on the phone was shaking.

Ramona: Will? Oh, for Chrissakes! Are you still at Mama’s?

This past April, her grandma had rented me a room near the school for the year and gave me Ramona’s phone number. Mama’s house, an old two-story frame, and the school were one town over from Rutherford where Ramona and I had grown up.

Will: Yes, I am, Ramona. I’ve been here since April as you likely have known. In fact, I’m sitting here in her kitchen as we speak. I’m teaching math, and I’m gonna be the girls’ basketball coach at St. Ethel Junior High School, y’know it? I was wondering if you would be interested in, uh, helping me out with the coaching.

I played two years of jayvee basketball in college; she had a four-year Division II ride at Bloomsburg State Collge in central Pennsylvania. We were both First Team All Bergen County in High School. She twice, me once.

Ramona: "Me help you out? You’re kidding, right?"

She was a better basketball player than me, and this was her way of telling me, in case I had forgotten.

Will: Why would I be kidding? Really, Ramona, why would I be kidding? No, actually, I wasn’t kidding, but you know what?

Ramona: Tell me.

Will: I can see this phone call was a big mistake, Ramona. Sorry to have wasted your time. It was nice talking to you. Really. You take care of yourself.

And I hung up. Oh, man, what a great feeling!

What the hell, maybe the monsignor was right and Sister Mary would work out. She had played and coached in college. Okay, it was a long time ago, but she and I had talked hoops and she had kept up with the game and she knew a lot of basketball. Or maybe my jayvee teammate from Montclair, Jake Walker, would be interested. He was around the area somewhere. I was a little bit insecure about it, thought I could use some backup.

The phone rang and Mama answered, completely ignoring my waving arms and No! I’m not here!, or pretending to, and said, Oh, hi, honey. Yes, he’s right here. Vill, ees Ramona for you, and gave me a big smile.

Ray: You hung up on me, you asshole! Whatsamattawithyou? After six years?

Jersey forever.

Will: Yeah, I did, Ramona. So what? It wasn’t as hard as I thought. Did you want something?

Ray: "You called me, rosebud!"

Will: "Well, golly! You’re right, I did. I asked you a question, didn’t I? Am I right on this, Ramona? It was ‘Did you want to help me out coaching at St. Ethel?’ And I got an answer, too, didn’t I? ‘Me help you out?’ Now how do you suppose I took that? Well, Ramona, I took it as a solid ‘Get lost!’ Why, I surely did!

Like the great Ramona Voytek would stoop so low. I got the message, so yeah, I hung up. I’d say it’s a QED, wouldn’t you, Einstein? End of story? So like I said to you a few minutes ago, ‘You take care of your—"

Ray: Stop that right now! God, you’re still such a wiseass. Can you just stop it for a minute? For an f—— minute? Six years go by and nothing? Then outathe blue ‘Wanna help me coach basketball?’ You need to work on your game, buddy…Could we just put down the weapons and get together for a while and talk? Fill in some blanks? I’m free tonight.

Will: Well, I’m kinda of busy and I have to find an assistant coach, and I don’t know where you live, Ramona.

Ray: And I’m not telling you.

Me: "Jesus, Ramona, did I ask? What’s the point anyway?"

Ball in Ramona’s court.

Ray: The point would be, sunny Jim, that after six—no, six and a half years—I would like to see you. Y’know, just out of curiosity.

Will: Oh, I get it. Y’know what, Ramona, I’m too f–— busy to satisfy your curiosity like something in a zoo. So, no thanks, I’ll pass.

Ray: Oh, give it a rest, will you?

Will: I think I did that already. Pause. Deep breath. Time stopped. Okay, listen. I’ll be at Sullivans, remember where that is? Good. Tonight till 8:30, okay? If you’re there, we’ll talk, or at least you can look at me, right? I still look pretty much the same, maybe a bit taller. If not, I’ll still be looking for an assistant. I hung up.

Not sure if this first encounter had a winner. I knew I folded, but I might still get an assistant coach. Okay, I wanted to see her. I really wanted to see her. But she wanted to see me just as bad. God, this was worse than bein’ sixteen.

Sullivans was the local Irish pub in my neighborhood. I had become a regular and could walk there in one direction from Mama’s, to the school in the other. I sat at the horseshoe oaken bar talking to Liam Dooney, a father of one of my students and foreman at B+D in East Rutherford. So you’ll be coachin’ the girls is the word, Will.

Looks like, I said, been doin’ some studying and thinking about it. Monsignor’s gonna let me have an assistant, plus Sister Mary will help, too. She coached in college, y’know.

Oh, really? he asked, attention on the TV, not seeming all that interested.

Yeah, like twenty years at Caldwell College, into the sixties. For Chrissakes, Liam, ya think she might know more than all of us combined? I said, a little defensively, put off by his disinterest.

Liam shrugged and returned to the hockey on the TV. The Devils were on tonight from the Garden against the Rangers. I wasn’t much for hockey, but the Irish guys loved it, and the bar was busy. They seemed to especially love the fights, and occasionally, one erupted at the bar, which is why Sully kept a 36" Louisville Slugger Mickey Mantle under the bar. Story was that the Mick had hit one with it back in the early fifties when he first came up, and its age attested to how long the bar had been here.

In truth, the legend was they had possessed one of the Babe’s bats but had to sell it back in the twenties during Prohibition when they couldn’t make the weekly contribution to Frank Hague’s Widows and Orphans Fund, which also had the magic effect of keeping the Treasury Agents out of the neighborhood. While Sullivans was not within Hudson County, Hague’s fiefdom, it was close enough for those enterprises willing and able to contribute. So that’s really how old the place was.

And for those sticklers for punctuation, the missing apostrophe goes back to World War II. Five brothers named Sullivan were killed when their US naval ship was sunk in 1942 at Guadalcanal in the South Pacific. This tragedy led to a naval rule that siblings could not be assigned to the same ship. The story was also made into a Hollywood movie in 1944. The apostrophe was removed in late 1944 out of respect for the Sullivan family and as a patriotic gesture.

Looking at the bar clock, I saw it was past 9:15. School night, I jokingly said to Liam. Gotta hit the road. Night, lads.

Out the door and to the left, halfway down the block. Get back in there, Willieboy, she yelled at me. You’re buying me a Smirnoff and a Schaefer back!

Nice to see you, too, I said.

Hollow leg, Ramona had. Going back in, all eyes on Ramona, a chorus of School night for me. I shrugged, gave them all the finger, and winked, like Wish you were me, lads?

I could see the cause of Ramona’s lateness: clearly some time spent before the mirror doing whatever women do there. Yeah, last time I saw her she was a girl. Not no more, as we used to say in Ruddifid. Wow! Whatever it was, I was completely speechless. God, she was more beautiful than even I remembered. I had no plans of disclosing this to her tonight. But right then, she took my breath away.

The bar’s reaction was her reward, like a standing O for a Broadway star. She was five-ten; dark, really dark brown hair with auburn streaks (a new touch); dark blue eyes; a lythe, athletic figure, and she moved like a panther, or a runway model, when she chose to. She drew attention when she entered any room, yet still had not grown comfortable with eyes on her..

Amidst hoots and whistles, I carried our drinks to a semiquiet corner booth.

Ray: You were leaving? You were f——g leaving?

Will: Hold on there, Missy. You were due forty-five minutes ago. So I figured you blew me off. Not like it would be the first time. More your style, as I remember.

Ramona had a way of ignoring what she did not want to hear and charged ahead.

Ray: You kind of took me by surprise today, Will.

Will: What, no excuse for almost an hour late? Like I’m some piece of dog shit stuck on your shoe?

Ray: Oh, Willie, come on…

Now it’s Willie, is it?

God, I hadn’t realized how mad I still was at her. And hurt. Damn! I thought I was past all this.

Will: Why is that anyway? That I took you by surprise? You knew I was at Mama’s. You’ve known since April. You coulda come by, you coulda called. What the hell, Ramona? I just figured you were engaged or had a boyfriend. I think Mama woulda told me if you were married or had a kid.

Ray: It’s complicated.

Will: Oh, gimme an f—— break, Ramona. Wait, why didn’t you say that in the first place, that explains—

Ray: Oh, just shut up, Will. Can’t we just do some catching up? We haven’t talked to each other since forever. Don’t you think it’s time? Ve ah real peoples now? Remember when we used to say that? Don’t you want to? It’s over six years, for God’s sakes. Put the knives away for a while, okay? I can if you can. I really mis—

Will: You go first.

Ray: Okay. She smiled and looked me straight in the eye, took a dramatic deep breath, and said, Here we go. Been waitin’ a long time for this. Okay, back to high school. I got the full ride to Bloom. I loved the school. It was much bigger than I thought and harder. God, physics/ed double major nearly killed me, had to go an extra summer just to keep up.

Will: C’mon, you were the smartest kid I ever knew.

Ray: "Yeah, but in college, in physics, they’re all smart. And here, we, you and me I mean, didn’t have any academic background or guidance at home. Neither of our parents had any books in the house, right? I loved science from the time we were little kids. We made it up as we went along, I worked my ass off, you glided—"

Will: You know that’s not true. I made people think that—

Ray: Anyway, the kids at Bloom were really nice, not wiseasses like us. I mean, not simpletons or hayseeds, but decent, open, just so not-Jersey. Bloomsburg is a nice town, y’could live there if it wasn’t so damn cold in the winter. And it’s all surrounded by cornfields. I mean—

Will: Boyfriends?

Ray: Not going there. Anyway, nothing serious.

Will: Hoops?

Ray: That’s the thing, Will. It’s a job. Of course, I loved playing basketball, but the coaches are just looking for their next job. And, man, when the school is paying the freight, they got a lot to say about what you can and can’t do. I almost left after freshman year.

Will: Ooh, that sounds serious. Because?

Ray: They wanted me to put on fifteen pounds of muscle. I wasn’t having it. I knew I had to lift, we all did, but fifteen pounds? Not happening. Told them I’d go home and play D III with Carol at Montclair. You remember Carol, right? I wasn’t the best on the team, but I was close so I had some clout. If they benched me, I would have come home. I was going to start. Which I did. All four years. Scored a thousand. But it was a battle. I survived more than succeeded.

Will: That’s a hell of a story, Ramona. Really, congratulations.

Ray: Anyway…Hey, it was my dream to play in college. It came true. And I got a free education. Not bad for a child of immigrants, eh? That’s American dream stuff, right? I mean, really? You know what? I learned I was tougher than the PA kids, too. They gave in all the time to the bastard. I fought him for four years. Jersey, baby! Wasn’t fun, though. Not like high school. Anyways…tell me about the army.

Will: Okay, I’ll give you the whole schpiel. You know how I wanted to go to what I thought then was a really good college, like one of those little Ivies in New England? 1180 SAT, top 10 percent of class, pretty good, but not full academic ride good? Not even close. No bucks at home. Couldn’t swing the money. Folks were tapped out. I thought about it for months, finally said, f—— it, I enlisted in the army. Other reasons too, maybe.

Quick side-eye glance from Ray.

Y’know, looking back, I never talked to Ms. Thompson about this, remember our senior English teacher? I loved her, she was great. I used to sneak in after school and talk to her. She put a story of mine in the literary magazine at the end of the year, no one could believe it. You didn’t know that, did you? I shoulda talked to her about the whole mess. I was like a f—— zombie. I didn’t talk to anybody.

Ray: I read the story. It was good, made me cry. I didn’t know you could write.

Will: Anyway, raised some eyebrows, and my socialist US history teacher, Mr. Golden, remember him? Never spoke to me again, except for, Ya’know, Willie boy, you been hangin’ around with the tough guys too much, boychik. The dumbrowskis. You’re cuttin’ off your nose to spite your face? So you didn’t get into some WASP paradise! You coulda kicked some serious ass in the city. The chicks are much better lookin’ than those WASP shicksas, anyway. What the f——’s amattah with you?"

Yeah, Mr. G, I coulda had class. I coulda been—

Get outa my sight, you goyisch schmuck! And I’m not signing your ferschluginah yearbook, either!

He had me all but enrolled in City College of New York. But what the hell, it was 1976 and Vietnam was over. I had older friends, you know, Al Stone and those guys, Meredith, Piccarelli, Smith, and them. The car guys who were always polishing their cars on Sundays at Lincoln Park and got all the hot girls. They gave me good advice. And I had killed the ASVAB, you know what that was?

Nah. Some army thing? she asked.

"Army test for aptitude. Anyway, I scored really high, enlisted, and I was on the bus to Ft. Dix seven days after graduation.

Basic was culture shock, a real kick in the groin. Just do what the sergeant says, you understand it, you know it’s stupid, shut up and grind. None of that made a dent. Fights. Race shit. Drugs. Still got my ass kicked. But I was a platoon