Read Online The Letter Killeth by Ralph McInerny - Free Book Online

invisible elements of the infrastructure of Notre Dame. When she had gone to work there, Mrs. Grabowski might have done better just about anywhere else, but the idea was that her employment would smooth the way for Henry’s admission as a student. And he had worked his tail off at St. Joe High, just as he worked his tail off all summer earning his tuition for the year. In high school, he had gone out for freshman football and been all but laughed off the field, but no matter, his sights were ever on the SATs, which together with his mother’s employment at Notre Dame would get him admitted to the student body. Mr. Masterson, his advisor, encouraged him and, when the time came, wrote a recommendation.
    â€œDon’t put all your eggs in one basket, Henry. Apply at Purdue. Apply at IU. Of course, there is always IUSB.” The South Bend campus of the state university. Henry had smiled away the suggestion. It was Notre Dame or nothing. And nothing is what he got.
    He had applied for early admission so he didn’t have to wait for the crushing disappointment. He read the bland letter so often it was etched into his memory like the legend over Dante’s Inferno. He was devastated. His advisor suggested Holy Cross College, just up the road from St. Joe High, it, too, run by the Brothers of Holy Cross.
    â€œLots of kids are admitted from there as sophomores, even juniors.”
    Henry said he would think about it. But he was filled with a terrible proletarian wrath. He threw out his video of Rudy. His whole imagined future was ruined. He was filled with hatred for the university that had rejected him and all his youthful dreams. His mother was philosophical about it.
    â€œYou can get a job on campus.” She added, “For now.”
    Maintenance, maybe even campus security. She had talked to a young man on traffic patrol, a South Bend native, Larry Douglas. She actually brought him home to tell Henry of the great opportunities to be had in Notre Dame security. So Henry applied but without hope, sure it would go the way of his application to be a student. He had been accepted, to his mother’s delight. When he filled out the final forms, Henry felt he was becoming a permanent member of the underclass.
    He and Larry became friends, more or less. What could you think of a guy who thought riding around campus on a bicycle dispensing parking tickets made him an integral part of the Notre Dame community?
    â€œThink of the benefits, Henry.” Larry meant hospitalization and retirement. Maybe also wearing the stupid uniform.
    Henry’s SATs meant that he had been more than qualified for admission. He just hadn’t been admitted. As he wheeled around the campus, wearing a helmet and dark glasses, he told himself that he was as at least as smart as any of the carefree students he passed. Those years of study at St. Joe, the reading he had done on his own, now seemed a joke, but he couldn’t rid his mind of what he had learned, and he couldn’t drop the habits he acquired. He began to collect syllabi of the courses he might have taken, and read the books assigned. He got to know Izquierdo when the professor came up while Henry was writing a ticket for his misparked Corvette.
    â€œI’m about to leave,” Izquierdo said, getting behind the wheel.
    â€œI can’t just tear this up.”
    â€œGive it to me.” He took the long slip and tore it into pieces, grinning at Henry. “Now you don’t have to.”
    â€œYou’re a professor.” This was clear from the sticker on his windshield.
    â€œIs that an offense?”
    â€œWhat do you teach?”
    â€œEnglish.”
    â€œYeah, but what exactly?”
    â€œA survey of British literature.”
    â€œDo you do The Vicar of Wakefield ?”
    Izquierdo looked at him. “Have you read it?”
    â€œTwice.”
    â€œWhat are you doing handing out traffic tickets?”
    â€œIt’s a long