The Legend of the Cartoon Nun

As my friends know, I’ve considered the Outcast Jazz Band my second family for thirty years. This past weekend, the band played its first private gig since before the pandemic. Making the evening even more exciting, the event took place at a classic venue, the Ridge Country Club at 103rd and California.

The event celebrated St Xavier University’s 175th anniversary. We came ready to entertain in our traditional black shirts, ties, black pants, and even fancy shoes. However, at our proposed start time, the group was just beginning to migrate from their stronghold of the bar space to the dining room.

That’s when the speeches began, then videos, then more speeches, probably. I don’t know for sure, because by that point, we all wandered away to make our own speeches. After a full hour, the speeches subsided, and the music could begin. As we returned to the bandstand, I found a stranger waiting for me on my stand, this ghostly nun figure. She stared at me, something sinister lurking in her gaze. What was it?

All at once, my nun memories came rushing back through my veins. Nuns from the past. Good nuns and yes, even bad nuns.

Nuns always seemed to hang around in some capacity throughout childhood. They played guitar and sang songs. They made appearances at family parties as the unknown lady who looks like an aunt, but from which family? All short hair, dull colors, and lacking any tell-tale habits. So, you may not have known with a casual glance that the lady was a nun. I remember we had to act especially polite, but that seemed kind of pointless, given that without their outfits, they obviously could not access their super powers.

Once I got into Notre Dame, an all-boys high school, we faced a new breed of nun: the relentless morality enforcer. Looking back, they faced a nearly impossible responsibility: keeping obnoxious, smelly, juvenile, depraved teenagers focused on education and off of their hormones.

Sister Matthias proved most unwavering and resolute in keeping us in line. She taught religion class with no patience for nonsense. She spoke with a stern tone, and loaded us up with homework.

Her most memorable disciplinary lecture came in response to one of our most problematic behaviors. As she addressed one irresponsible group of young men, and our lack of respect for her one rule, she scolded us one last time, making one demand, expressing one disappointment over one inexcusable violation. What was this one thing? Well, I honestly have no idea, because as I sat in the front row, a mere two feet from her, facing directly into furious eyes, she emphasized her one pet peeve by holding up one finger in front of her face: her middle finger.

She held it up the whole time. For five whole minutes, Sister Matthias angrily gave us all the finger.

After that, I could not take nuns seriously. That’s how I ended up promoting a restaurant on Michigan Avenue as a character that managed to capture the attention of a Chicago Reader photographer, as seen here.

Back at Ridge Country Club on Saturday night, this mysterious cartoon nun watched me from my music stand. What could she possibly want from me? Why this visit? Why now?

Then, all at once, a second nun figure grabbed my attention from across the room. This human-sized cutout of the cartoon nun had been gawking, and I somehow missed it. I could ignore her no longer. Our eyes met, and her wide-eyed, single-minded hold on me seemed to last a lifetime. She had come to serve some purpose. Both the life-sized cutout and the bite-sized cutout had some intention, but what?

The music started, and even though no one danced, and the crowd seemed to escape the dining room through some secret exit, as we never saw them leave. We began to wonder if the event had ever had guests in the first place.

I floated home, exhausted from a spirited, mystical evening, ready to take advantage of every minute of the extra hour from the time change to regain my strength. As I drifted off, I reflected on the true joys of the evening. Turns out, we didn’t need a crowd to enjoy ourselves. Let them have their speeches and fade away. We had Sister Cartoon Figure.

With a smile, it occurred to me, that nun knew exactly what she was doing. She served the noble purpose of entertaining the entertainment.

Then, it hit me. I bet Sister Matthias was another nun who knew exactly what she was doing.