Freddogg Off The Chain

THE BOYS WHO CRIED WUFF!

Four hundred hungry Catholic boys sprinted to the sunken cafeteria in the middle of the high school at the sound of the lunch bell. For all the stringent discipline inside the classrooms at Bishop Egan in early Sixties the hallways were freeways or as they were known by Phillt boys in those days, Super Highways.
Access to the Cafeteria with its green hardwood tables bolted to the floor and swing away round seats bolted to the tables was from the rear on opposite sides. Father Ed, the priestly alcoholic cafeteria monitor, stood caressing a fat chrome microphone like at any minute he would break into a medley of Johnny Mathis’s greatest love ballads.
“In the name of the Father and of the son…” Everybody froze in the motion of action like in a science fiction movie. “Bless us O lord and these thy gifts which we are about to receive from thy bounty and may perpetual light shine upon them (dead thing-doesn’t belong here!) In the name of the Father da da da Amen”!
Gnarly, aptly described white haired Father Edwin and most of the time he was nice except when his hands were shaking. None of my buddies lived with a full fledged totally blossomed alcoholic so we couldn’t interpret the “Whole Lotta Shakin” behavior! Father Ed, always in need of a drink, or already had one too many we just didn’t understand his non discovered disability.
One fine day, as the song goes, Father Ed, he was Mr.Ed before he was a priest, visited our table, apparently in a jovial mood, wanting to share his jocularity with some lower middle class Catholic boys. We had all bought hoagies for lunch and orange drinks and tastycakes except for the Werewolf of Croydon Acres, Robert Duran. Duran was a poor kid and brought his lunch in a paper bag. Duran played no sports and looked spawned from peat moss but he was one of the boys. The priests at Eagan dogged the Werewolf unmercifully.
“How ya doin boys, ”Father Ed said, circling our table immediately after grace. “I see everybody is supporting the cafeteria except for you Werewolf. Did your mother sit on that sandwich boy? How did you get it to lay so flat and look so wet? I see you like your bologna with mustard.”
“It’s mayonnaise Father, ”said the congenial werewolf, not smelling out the setup.
“Son, take the top piece of bread off of that sandwich and look real close and tell me what you see.” Duran was so stupid and Father Ed was so wrong and such a punk. So there was Duran bent over about four inches from his open faced bologna with mayonnaise when Father Ed grabbed the back of the Werewolf’s mane and smashed his face into the sandwich. Duran reared up, with a bologna sandwich pasted between his eyes.
“By god son, you were right. That is mayonnaise. And the next time I’m saying grace don’t you move or I’ll shove your stupid sandwich up your nose.”
I ripped my sub in half and handed it to Duran. “You all right man?” “Yea, I’m all right Fred.” That’s good, that stupid asshole priest” Then I delivered a double forearm shiver and knocked Duran off his seat onto the floor. Cosmos stuck his sub inside his zipper, tapped the kid behind him, who turned around to find himself giving Comos a hoagie job. Joe Nolan walked by, grabbed Hank the Tank by the back of his sport coat and pulled him onto the floor. This behavior was a daily release from the pressures inside the classroom.
Every first Friday of the month the entire school went to mass. The theological dogma taught that if you attended nine first Friday’s in a row in the state of grace and went to communion that all your sins would be washed away and all accrued purgatory time expunged and you would go directly to heaven. I always thought impure thoughts during the mass itself probably jeopardized that deal.
On the way into the auditorium Duran was smiling and looking happy just to be going somewhere. I nudged him and gave a head nod towards the front door way where the Opossum was lurking in stillness and stealth silence. Father Canice was nicknamed the Opossum because he struck without warning and mostly without reason. Nobody made eye contact with the Opossum except for Duran.
“How you doin Father,” Duran said, in greeting the Opossum? “Looking forward to a great mass”?
I knew Duran meant nothing by the remark but I also knew that he was deader than a Opossum on a super highway.
“How you doing Creep,” Canice asked the Werewolf, with his James Cagney delivery.
Canice went into sadistic mode: “Listen Creep! Pick a hand! Do you want the right or the left?” Duran had no idea what he was walking into. “I’ll take the left Father.” Canice struck with blinding speed, creaming Duran’s face with a vicious open handed left. Duran looked bewildered but there was no hatred in his face as he walked into mass. I stared deep into the death trap of the Opossum’s soul. I could see he was a coward because he flinched. And I wished Duran was a real Werewolf the way Stymie wished Cotton was a watermelon.
Full moon arrived for the werewolf in the same cafeteria where Father Ed turned him into sandwich spread.
I thought of Lawrence Talbot talking to Abbot and Costello in a Frankenstein movie and pleading with them,” Please lock me in my room tonight,”Talbot begged. “When the moon is full I turn into a wolf.” Yea you and 50 million other guys,” Costello said.
We were sitting in study hall and the Opossum was a substitute. He said that he was going to lead everybody in saying the rosary. The rosary was a fate worse than death for a Catholic teenage boy. All those prayers followed by droll responses. It was just too dam long.
Canice came right to the end of our table and said the first part of the prayer. He barely moved his lips and sounded like a gangster planning a bank robbery. His routine became hysterical because we knew the first guy who laughed would be knocked silly.
Canice seemed to be mimicking himself as Duran, Kerr, Cosmos, Nolan and myself struggled not to explode into laughter. Of all the sets of eyeballs Duran’s seemed to be the happiest. I knew Canice hated the thought that The Werewolf of Croyden Acres and his bologna eating self was making sport of the Opossum.
Religion being the opiate of the masses Duran was virtually stoned following Canice’s Hail Mary’s. Maybe the bologna sandwich of the masses is a more apt expression. But somewhere after “Holy Mary Mother of God” and “Pray for us sinners” the Opossum smashed Duran with an opened handed full faced round house that put the Werewolf on the floor. It was an ugly, uncalled for assault, in the middle of a Hail Mary.
Duran arose barking! He had been transformed into a real werewolf. He barked and growled and snapped at anyone and everyone who came near him. The Opossum faded against a support column and played dead. Father Ed came rushing from an outside door and grabbed Duran by the arm. The Werewolf bit him. I asked Father Ed if he wanted some mayonnaise. The Werewolf bit him again. “How about some mustard Father Grace before meals”? And the Opossum stayed dead. And he never goes out when the moon is full. Duran became an alcoholic. Father Ed was his first drink. I became a comedian. Nobody’s laughing!