Sister Theresa and the Evil Patrol
by Mike Lambert
Author’s Note: This is an excerpt from a 5-chapter story I wrote after participating in the Trickster creative writing course this past summer in the OLLI program at SFSU. I invite the reader to identify any use of Trickster characters or writing techniques. Who is the Trickster in this case—the characters, or the author?
In the beginning of her assignment as the Director of Youth Education at Old St. Mary’s Church in downtown San Francisco, Sister Theresa was pleased with her new position and the possibilities for doing good work. The three Sister staff she had inherited from Sister Mary Margaret, who had suddenly been called to the big Convent in the Sky, seemed quite competent. Sister MM had held her position at OSM for nine years and had been well regarded by the three Ss when Gabriel’s trumpet called.
Father Fitzgerald, the elderly Priest at OSM, said many kind words in his heavy Irish brogue about Sister MM when he had welcomed Sister T to her new assignment. “But, I feel she was getting out of date with the new trends. You know, Sister, we can’t get too far behind our parishioners in their styles of speaking and dressing and in their interests, or we will lose our flock.”
“Yes, Father, I agree,” she had replied. She wanted to get off on the right foot with FF since he might be crucial in determining whether she succeeded in her new assignment. The Mother Superior of the Sisters of Mercy, ST’s Order, was way back in Oshkosh, Wisconsin and could hardly be counted on to provide support and guidance to the Sisters holding the field positions.
ST was secretly pleased to be back in San Francisco, where she had spent her childhood. She felt she had sacrificed enough by working in the mission in Africa for the last four years, although she realized she had taken a vow to serve wherever God and his Assistants sent her. While being afield, she longed for the Crab Louis salads and the Cioppino stews that she remembered from her childhood days, growing up in the North Beach section of the City, and being raised by her beloved Grandmother Maria, who had come over from the old country early in the twentieth century.
Alas, FF was called to a new Ministry in the Sky six months after ST’s arrival at OSM. There was quiet gossip down in the kitchen among the cooks and some of the ladies in the Catholic Women’s Club of OSM about cirrhosis of the liver, but ST thought it better not to think in unkind ways about the recently departed.
A tall, dark and handsome man arrived quickly to take over the lead role in the Parish, Father Juan-Diablo. The cooks and the ladies of the CWC were quickly all atwitter about the new Parish Priest. The word was that he had distinguished himself as a Staff Theologian at the Vatican and had been sent to San Francisco to straighten the Parish’s path.
ST was pleased when she was summoned to FJ-D’s study the very afternoon after his first Sunday of presiding over services. “I would like you to tell me about your education curriculum for our young people, Sister,” he announced in his deep baritone voice. “We have to get them on the path to virtue early in their life. Don’t you agree?”
“Oh, yes, Father. The early years are crucial.”
“I noticed there were some young people dressed inappropriately for Church today. The girls were wearing sleeveless dresses and the boys had pants that were close to falling down around their legs. Don’t the stores have decent clothing for the young people here? It was not like that in St. Peter’s Cathedral.”
“Oh Father, I have been concentrating on what goes into their minds, not so much on how they are dressed.”
“Sister, both their minds and manner of dress are important. Surely, you have a dress code for the Catechism classes, don’t you? I hope I don’t have to have this discussion with you again. Come see me next Sunday and tell me what progress you have made.”
ST was shaken to the core by FJ-D’s comments. She had not seen anything unusual in the dress of the young people at Church that morning. She felt she had been dismissed from FJ-D’s study without being given a chance to fully discuss the fine young children whom she was tutoring towards the path of righteousness. She stewed about her plight and FJ-Ds admonishment to her all the way back to her quarters in the Rectory.
When she reached her room, she went directly to the closet and wadded up the two pair of OshKosh-B’gosh overalls that she had acquired when she was a Novitiate in the Mother Convent. She liked to wear them when lounging in the evenings in privacy. The overalls had been very useful when she had helped the African villagers dig the trenches for the new outside privy the previous year and for the irrigation canals for the field crops. FJ-D would not understand such tasks, nor such apparel, she concluded. She put the overalls into a black plastic garbage bag and took them to the trash bin. She sighed as she closed the lid.
In his second week as Pastor, FJ-D quickly became involved in the civic affairs of his new city. He accepted standing invitations to the Pastor of OSM to attend the weekly luncheons of the Rotary Club, the Chamber of Commerce, and the Commonwealth Club.
Since OSM was located in the heart of the City’s Financial District, FJ-D walked to the luncheons which were held in nearby downtown hotel dining rooms. On those to and from walks, he got his first vision of the noontime crowds and the polyglot of people who were on the streets at midday. He noticed that many of the young women were dressed in skimpy attire, showing much of their ALL. He noticed that the men no longer wore suits and ties to their jobs, as his father, and grandfather before him, used to do when working and living in Seville, where FJ-D had grown up. Nor did the people of San Francisco look like those he used to see in St. Peter’s Square in Rome on his lunch breaks from his Vatican office.
A final demonstration of the Evil which pervaded downtown SF was shown by a young couple he observed sitting on the front steps of OSM, who were kissing and caressing each other openly while passersby paid them no attention. When he asked the couple to get off of the Church property, the young man stood up, sneered at FJ-D and his pants slipped down to his knees. The young man nodded his head to FJ-D, pulled his underwear down to expose half of his behind, and shouted, “Whadda ya think of that, Father High and Mighty?” The couple went down the steps laughing loudly after the girl helped hike the young man’s pants up so he could walk.
FJ-D walked briskly to his study in the Rectory, steaming about the wicked mores of the City to which he had been assigned by the Cardinal in Charge of the Dante Center for Promulgation of Faith. “What could he do, what should he do?” he fretted to himself about the situation. After a few minutes of introspection, he arrived at a plan: Start an EVIL PATROL to scout the streets of the City and bring to their senses, or to justice, all the EVIL DOERS on the streets.
“But, how to get that done?” he wondered. He recognized that he was in a foreign land, far from St. Peter’s Square where he knew the terrain and the denizens. “The probable cause of all this EVIL is the lack of proper education,” he thought to himself. Whereupon, FJ-D was struck by a plan of attack: make Sister Theresa a deputy in the EVIL PATROL.
FJ-D went to the intercom on his desk, pushed the button for the Sisters’ quarters and said, “Sister Theresa, please report to the Pastor’s study as soon as you can. Bring your notebook.”
Father Fitzgerald, the elderly Priest at OSM, said many kind words in his heavy Irish brogue about Sister MM when he had welcomed Sister T to her new assignment. “But, I feel she was getting out of date with the new trends. You know, Sister, we can’t get too far behind our parishioners in their styles of speaking and dressing and in their interests, or we will lose our flock.”
“Yes, Father, I agree,” she had replied. She wanted to get off on the right foot with FF since he might be crucial in determining whether she succeeded in her new assignment. The Mother Superior of the Sisters of Mercy, ST’s Order, was way back in Oshkosh, Wisconsin and could hardly be counted on to provide support and guidance to the Sisters holding the field positions.
ST was secretly pleased to be back in San Francisco, where she had spent her childhood. She felt she had sacrificed enough by working in the mission in Africa for the last four years, although she realized she had taken a vow to serve wherever God and his Assistants sent her. While being afield, she longed for the Crab Louis salads and the Cioppino stews that she remembered from her childhood days, growing up in the North Beach section of the City, and being raised by her beloved Grandmother Maria, who had come over from the old country early in the twentieth century.
Alas, FF was called to a new Ministry in the Sky six months after ST’s arrival at OSM. There was quiet gossip down in the kitchen among the cooks and some of the ladies in the Catholic Women’s Club of OSM about cirrhosis of the liver, but ST thought it better not to think in unkind ways about the recently departed.
A tall, dark and handsome man arrived quickly to take over the lead role in the Parish, Father Juan-Diablo. The cooks and the ladies of the CWC were quickly all atwitter about the new Parish Priest. The word was that he had distinguished himself as a Staff Theologian at the Vatican and had been sent to San Francisco to straighten the Parish’s path.
ST was pleased when she was summoned to FJ-D’s study the very afternoon after his first Sunday of presiding over services. “I would like you to tell me about your education curriculum for our young people, Sister,” he announced in his deep baritone voice. “We have to get them on the path to virtue early in their life. Don’t you agree?”
“Oh, yes, Father. The early years are crucial.”
“I noticed there were some young people dressed inappropriately for Church today. The girls were wearing sleeveless dresses and the boys had pants that were close to falling down around their legs. Don’t the stores have decent clothing for the young people here? It was not like that in St. Peter’s Cathedral.”
“Oh Father, I have been concentrating on what goes into their minds, not so much on how they are dressed.”
“Sister, both their minds and manner of dress are important. Surely, you have a dress code for the Catechism classes, don’t you? I hope I don’t have to have this discussion with you again. Come see me next Sunday and tell me what progress you have made.”
ST was shaken to the core by FJ-D’s comments. She had not seen anything unusual in the dress of the young people at Church that morning. She felt she had been dismissed from FJ-D’s study without being given a chance to fully discuss the fine young children whom she was tutoring towards the path of righteousness. She stewed about her plight and FJ-Ds admonishment to her all the way back to her quarters in the Rectory.
When she reached her room, she went directly to the closet and wadded up the two pair of OshKosh-B’gosh overalls that she had acquired when she was a Novitiate in the Mother Convent. She liked to wear them when lounging in the evenings in privacy. The overalls had been very useful when she had helped the African villagers dig the trenches for the new outside privy the previous year and for the irrigation canals for the field crops. FJ-D would not understand such tasks, nor such apparel, she concluded. She put the overalls into a black plastic garbage bag and took them to the trash bin. She sighed as she closed the lid.
In his second week as Pastor, FJ-D quickly became involved in the civic affairs of his new city. He accepted standing invitations to the Pastor of OSM to attend the weekly luncheons of the Rotary Club, the Chamber of Commerce, and the Commonwealth Club.
Since OSM was located in the heart of the City’s Financial District, FJ-D walked to the luncheons which were held in nearby downtown hotel dining rooms. On those to and from walks, he got his first vision of the noontime crowds and the polyglot of people who were on the streets at midday. He noticed that many of the young women were dressed in skimpy attire, showing much of their ALL. He noticed that the men no longer wore suits and ties to their jobs, as his father, and grandfather before him, used to do when working and living in Seville, where FJ-D had grown up. Nor did the people of San Francisco look like those he used to see in St. Peter’s Square in Rome on his lunch breaks from his Vatican office.
A final demonstration of the Evil which pervaded downtown SF was shown by a young couple he observed sitting on the front steps of OSM, who were kissing and caressing each other openly while passersby paid them no attention. When he asked the couple to get off of the Church property, the young man stood up, sneered at FJ-D and his pants slipped down to his knees. The young man nodded his head to FJ-D, pulled his underwear down to expose half of his behind, and shouted, “Whadda ya think of that, Father High and Mighty?” The couple went down the steps laughing loudly after the girl helped hike the young man’s pants up so he could walk.
FJ-D walked briskly to his study in the Rectory, steaming about the wicked mores of the City to which he had been assigned by the Cardinal in Charge of the Dante Center for Promulgation of Faith. “What could he do, what should he do?” he fretted to himself about the situation. After a few minutes of introspection, he arrived at a plan: Start an EVIL PATROL to scout the streets of the City and bring to their senses, or to justice, all the EVIL DOERS on the streets.
“But, how to get that done?” he wondered. He recognized that he was in a foreign land, far from St. Peter’s Square where he knew the terrain and the denizens. “The probable cause of all this EVIL is the lack of proper education,” he thought to himself. Whereupon, FJ-D was struck by a plan of attack: make Sister Theresa a deputy in the EVIL PATROL.
FJ-D went to the intercom on his desk, pushed the button for the Sisters’ quarters and said, “Sister Theresa, please report to the Pastor’s study as soon as you can. Bring your notebook.”
