Sister Mary Clyde's her name, appropriately enough. Was then back in '69 and somehow still is, despite sometime back when the nuns could switch and use their own names. Guess she liked Sister Mary Clyde and didn't want to be known as Sister Pearl Van Arsdale. I don't blame her. She did do away with the wimple like all of them did, though. Hair white as a dove now, but back then when she was our fifth grade teacher, the color of her wimple-shrouded hair was the cause of much speculation. Joey Flippant swore he climbed the tree back of the convent one night and looked into the window to see Sister Mary Clyde brushing long locks of golden red hair. That was back when we all believed what Joey Flippant said, so the matter was settled--Sister Mary Clyde was a redhead. Of course being ten-years-old as we all were then, Sister Mary Clyde, being an adult, seemed ancient, but now when you think about it she was probably no more than twenty-three, twenty-five tops at the time. "The only nun in the school who never flayed my knuckles with a yardstick," is how George Kendall always puts it. She was nice, and fun. A fun nun, I tell you, and the memory of her is probably the only thing that kept half of us practicing Catholics still practicing for years. For years after, all through the Seventies, there were always rumors that she was going to leave the convent, but she never did, unlike most of them. Now she's principal.
Anyway, back then we boys used to play basketball every recess. One bent-rimmed, rusted-backboard, no-net hoop out on the back parking lot. No wonder none of us ever became even half decent players, shooting at that devilish hoop. So one day Henry Pale was sick and we only had nine boys and we were starting to fight about whether we should kick Paulie Flugle out of the game and play four on four or let him play and just not pass to him when Sister Mary Clyde, faithfully doing God's work tending one of the ends of the girls' jump rope, saw her chance at some liberation recreation, if not theology, and said, "I'll play." Saul, on his way to becoming Paul, was not more dumbstruck than us nine boys--a nun, our nun, Sister Mary Clyde, playing basketball? Heresy. In our paralyzed astonishment, though, Sister Mary Clyde had handed over the rope to poor lazy-eyed Jane Octave, ran over to us, grabbed the dirty orange ball from me, and proceeded to knock down a twenty foot set shot from the top of the key, left-handed. "Swish," we all whispered in reflexive wonderment (since there was no net to make the sound, we were obliged to credit one another's good shot by providing the sound effect).
The upshot of it all was, much to the jealousy of the girls and the scandalized tisking of then-principal Sister Mary Philpot, Sister Mary Clyde became a regular player in our games, which relegated Paulie Flugle (undoubtedly thrilled, absolutely thrilled, he'd tell you) to jump rope duty, where he quickly became the confidant of all the girls, which in turn probably led him to his successful career as a hair stylist, which in turn led him into the arms of his longtime partner Skip Epstein. But anyway, back on the b-ball court, we all soon became acquainted with Sister Mary Clyde's potent holy elbows and her formidable shot-blocking abilities. "Man, we'd rule CYO if we could only suit her up," Joey Flippant always said. Despite the rough and tumble games, we never did catch even a glimpse of the alleged red hair, but we delighted in having played a tough game whenever we spotted a small, sweat-darkened spot on that wimple. I can only imagine how good she could have been in shorts, a t-shirt, and anything other than those awful nun shoes.
Joey Flippant, though, as always never satisfied with just a good thing, engineered a scheme. Dominic Rotini was a pretty lousy basketball player, but he was the best foul shot shooter in the school, because that's all he practiced. Unfortunately, Dominic hardly ever saw playing time in our CYO games, and when he did he was too timid to do anything but immediately pass the ball whenever he somehow got possession of it, so he never got the opportunity to shoot free throws when they counted. Anyway, Joey Flippant, after a week of badgering, finally convinced Sister Mary Clyde to agree to his bet. If Dominic Rotini could sink more free throws out of a hundred than Sister Mary Clyde, we wouldn't have homework for a week. If Sister Mary Clyde sank more, we boys would we obliged to forego a week's worth of recess and instead have to sit in the church saying the rosary for the departed souls of all the deceased nuns who used to teach at Our Lady of Perpetual Chewing Gum. Needless to say, Dominic Rotini had no say in the negotiations.
So the big day came and by then the whole school knew about the wager. God knows how Sister Mary Clyde got it all past Sister Mary Philpot, but there was the entire school arrayed around the "court" whooping and hollering as Sister Mary Clyde and Dominic Rotini took turns firing ten shots apiece at the ramshackle basket. "Ladies first," Dominic graciously offered, and I'm sure that was the first time most of us realized Sister Mary Clyde was indeed a lady. She clunked the first two shots, made five in a row, then one out of three. As Dominic stepped to the line, the eighth grade boys, thugs, all of them, as all eighth grade Catholic school boys are, each pulled out rosaries and jingled them. Undeterred, Dominic, as we teammates were so familiar with, sank nine out of ten. "Hallelujah!" screamed Joey Flippant. "A week without homework!" Then Sister Mary Philpot wrangled his ear with a little more force than we were used to and Joey Flippant was silenced for about three minutes, a world record at the time.
Over the years, at appropriate times, I have asked Sister Mary Clyde what her true feelings during the shoot-off were: Was she politely playing along but letting Dominic win out of good old Christian charity, or was she playing to win, disregarding what might become of Dominic Rotini and his standing with his classmates if he lost? She always just smiles and says, "I learned basketball from three older brothers, two of whom went on to become all-state. You don't learn anything from cheap victories. I thought meek Dominic could use the lesson if he lost. And besides, if I did lose, I knew Sister Mary Philpot would treat me a lot worse than you boys could ever dream of mistreating poor old Dominic." That's why, after ninety shots apiece, the score was tied at seventy made (not a bad percentage at all for a wimple-wearing nun and a myopic would-be accountant in Buster Browns).
By now Joey Flippant had a score of side bets going and Sister Mary Philpot looked as grim as could be, probably imagining damning (literally) phone calls from the Vatican. Sister Mary Clyde, her wimple now completely sweat-darkened, toed the line and unbelievably sank nine in a row before rimming out the last shot. "No fair!" Joey Flippant screamed, only then realizing, "She's got the Big Guy on her side." Vinny Del Corleone tossed his rosary to Joey, adding, "You're gonna need this, Flip-Off."
I do believe Dominic, who was bald as cueball by twenty-one, lost his first dozen or so hairs as he stepped to the line, needing nine out of ten to stay alive, ten out of ten to win. His first shot hit the front rim, started to crawl over, then, be it God's will or just the way the ball bounces, fell back. We fifth graders groaned, while the rest of the crowd, totally won over by Sister Mary Clyde by this point, cheered. Joey licked his perpetually chapped lips and duly sank the next eight, all soundless swishes. Equally soundless was the crowd, except for Sister Mary Philpot, who let out a loud, "Great God!" The soundlessness continued through the last shot's arc. Unfortunately for us, and especially for Dominic Rotini, there was no in-unison "swish" to accompany the descending arc. The distance between foul line and basket is fifteen feet. Gary Toole, yes, the same Gary Toole who is now a world-renowned mathematician, estimated Dominic's hundredth shot traveled 13' 7". Airball; hello rosaries.
I tell you, I've religiously said a rosary every day for the past thirty-odd years. And no matter how much I concentrate on praying for lost souls, departed souls, terminally sick souls, the saintly souls of missionaries around the globe, even the indicted souls of people like Joey Flippant, my mind always wanders, usually in the middle of the third decade, to Sister Mary Clyde and Dominic Rotini shooting foul shots. But the killer, the ultimate riot of the whole thing is that Sister Mary Clyde is now trying to raise money for a new gym, to be named, unbelievably, the Sister Mary Philpot Gymnasium (must have been part of the bargain struck between the two in order to let the thing happen in the first place), and Sister Mary Clyde, always a cagey one, isn't above leaning on her former charges, to the point that Joey Flippant, out on bail and awaiting trial at this very minute, helped arrange a re-match. Yes sir, boys, this Saturday night, March 10, Sister Mary Clyde and old Dominic Rotini will be shooting a hundred free throws each in the old gym. And everybody in attendance will be pledging money for each made shot. Joey Flippant must have a pretty good defense fund, because word is he's got about fifty side bets, all on Sister Mary Clyde. Me, I love the woman, the best thing that's ever happened to Our Lady of Perpetual Chewing Gum. But I gotta admit, I've been saying rosaries for a month now that Dominic wins. The poor guy deserves redemption.
Tune in tomorrow for the results. In the meantime, say a rosary for all those great late nuns.
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