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A Memoir of old St. Paul's College.

Article Excerpt
I returned to my room one day after class and found a note pinned to the door. "Please come to the rector's office." This was my introduction to Father Sutton, a brisk, florid-faced, no-nonsense type who moved quickly and gave the impression of always being in a rush. There was no salutation, rather he launched right into the purpose of this meeting:

"McGuinness: you've been here now for several weeks and you still haven't told us what your sport is going to be. Every Crusader must have at least one sport."

I did not respond immediately, mainly because of the shock. After all, I was not in great shape. I had been involved in a shipwreck. I had spent eleven months in bed in hospital. I had lost forty pounds. I had a heavy brace on one leg. To get around I needed a walking stick. Does this man think I'll try out for the football team?

I mumbled something about mobility problems, but I was cut short by this impatient man. "I know all about your condition. Despite that, there is something you can do in the sports field. I suggest you see the director of athletics right away." With this, he turned to the stack of files on his desk as I limped away.

Within minutes I had introduced myself to the athletics man and, after a helpful chat, I was appointed manager of the senior hockey team. Yes, I was still on the limp, but I certainly was well enough to buy hockey sticks, make bookings for games, and order a bus if the team was playing beyond the reach of the Winnipeg street cars.

In the office next to the rector's was the man I always felt really ran the institution: Father Charles Joseph Kelly. He was the bursar. This was a non-academic specialist; he had to pay the bills, a daunting...

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