Gremlin Court

In a little frame shack, near Dallas' St. Matthews' Cathedral, a group of teen-aged boys sat cross-legged on a wrestling mat, listening to an Episcopal priest. His language was not out of the King James Version. "Now, I don't want any of you lugs referrin' to Benny as a murderer. I know his story. Got it from the D.A. Now, he's gonna tell it to the Gremlin Court." Benny folded his arms and told the Gremlins his tale. After an hour and a half of questions from the court, Benny passed the stiff admittance test and became a Gremlin himself.

The Hard Way. In his year in Dallas, Vern Swartsfager, Curate of St. Matthews' Cathedral, has rescued hundreds of teen-agers like Benny from crime and the police. He has won the respect of gangsters, delinquents, tycoons and teachers. But Father Swartsfager himself has not always been so singleminded. The son of an artificial limb manufacturer, he was thrown out of three schools and two universities (Temple and the University of Pennsylvania) for "recalcitrance." He had no idea what he wanted to do ("All I knew was that I didn't want to be an artificial limb manufacturer"). He became a sportwriter, later switched to advertising ("Seeing all that dough, I thought of poor editorial me. I decided it was the admen who got the gravy").

Then, one day in Dallas, he met Dean Gerald Gratton Moore of St. Matthews'. They became fast friends, and before he knew it, Vern Swartsfager was studying for the priesthood.

Five years later, a full-fledged priest, he returned with his family to Dallas, moved next door to the cathedral. But he could not sleep. Every night someone stole into the cathedral and started tolling the bell. One night, Father Swartsfager hid a baseball bat under his cassock, waited to ambush the bell-ringer. Soon, a tall boy crept out of the shadows. The priest grabbed him.

Cowards & Coyotes. Terrified, the boy confessed that he rang the bell as a signal for his gang's nightly "operations"--burglary, smashing windows, bombing. Father Swartsfager ordered him to summon his gang. When the boys showed up, one by one, he started preaching. He called them cowards and coyotes, threatened to pin their ears back. The boys listened aghast. Soon, they were confessing their crimes. They led him to their hideout, turned over lead pipes, brass knuckles, revolvers. On the spot, Father Swartsfager organized the Gremlin Club ("I'll teach you to be real tough guys--mentally, physically and spiritually").

Over the months, the Gremlin Club grew. The Padre, as the Gremlins called him, took other boys out of police courts, made himself responsible for their behavior. He organized boxing lessons, lectures, hot-dog parties. Whenever a Gremlin slipped, the boy went up before the Gremlin Court for punishment. Sometimes the sentence was a match with the club's best boxer. Once a group of Gremlins were arrested for bombing a schoolhouse. They confessed, but said that they had done it the night before they had met him. After a little sleuthing, Father Swartsfager found they were telling the truth, went into court, got them released to his charge.

Only two or three of the Padre's boys have ever failed him. And the fame of the Gremlin Club has spread throughout Dallas. Last week, the citizens of Dallas launched a campaign to build the Padre a vast "Kid's World Community Center" for industrial education, vocational education, recreation and study. Sheriff Guthrie raided the Dallas slot machines and turned over the money to the Padre. The Center would cost about a million dollars. To Dallas, the Padre and his work were worth every cent of it.

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