Stories of Paul Ruddy of Lewis: Funniest Man Ever

 “Great stories happen to those who can tell them.”

Ira Glass

The first time I remember seeing Paul was at Joliet Catholic High School when I was a freshman. Walking through the old gym, I saw a gangly junior practicing free throws and a buddy of mine said, “That’s Paul Ruddy. He’s on our team.” What struck me the most was that his eyes were closed, and he was shooting underhand. And making the shots.

Living in Braidwood and commuting on the bus every day, I never had the chance to see any games that year. Instead, I attended almost every Reed-Custer game in my hometown. I knew every Comet player because I saw them or their families routinely. Paul Ruddy wasn’t on my radar although I would hear his name along with Chuck Pisoni and Don McGann at school. That team turned out to be one of the best in Illinois in 1956. After their graduation, Don would go on to play for Notre Dame and Paul to DePaul University coached by Ray Mayer.

I wouldn’t meet Paul until my senior year at Lewis. Once I finally did, it was clear that he was a classic story teller, relating tales about himself in a fashion that was entirely his own. The five stories in this blog might provide a glimpse of a man who was a dear friend and colleague. People who knew him are likely to have a list much longer and perhaps more entertaining, but this is my reflection about a true legend, a man who enriched our lives by being himself.

Story #1

It was a game he played in his junior year when the Purdue team played at DePaul. A player from Purdue gave Paul a “cheap shot” elbow that knocked Paul to the floor. Not one to turn the other cheek, Paul struggled up but couldn’t play the rest of the game because of the injury. “I will get you next year, you ###, just wait.”  Legendary coach Ray Meyer made Paul promise there would be no retribution. And Paul agreed.

Next year at Purdue, with all good intentions and promises made, Paul vowed to Coach Meyer not to do anything that would violate good sportsmanship. 

On the first play of the game, Paul tripped the offender, knock him down, and started pummeling him. He was thrown out, with Coach scolding him…” If you ever do anything like that again…” 

Fast forward to 1961-62 at Lewis College. Paul Ruddy became the assistant basketball coach under Gordie Gillespie and I am in my senior year. Our Lewis team was coming off an outstanding year in 1961 when we knocked off Illinois State University (at Normal) and then were eliminated the next night, one game away from the NAIA nationals. Sadly, our starting team had been comprised of all seniors except for me. We struggled to be at .500, but I did get to know Coach Ruddy and found him to be a hilarious partner to Gordie.

After teaching and coaching in high school for five years, my new job at Lewis in 1967 would be co-director of intramurals and assistant baseball coach.  For the next five years, Paul and I would become the best of friends and colleagues creating a bond that was cemented in numerous ways.

When we weren’t on the job, the two of us would sometimes visit the local establishments where we might analyze the basketball game, discuss the Cubs, or ponder life in general. Our favorite haunts were Pastore’s and Skinny’s Tap. Skinny’s had a particular appeal since it offered burgers, beer, and fish bait, a tough combination to beat. At these times, his story-telling talent surpassed anything that I ever heard, much of it being directed at himself.

Summers offered Paul and me even more time together. Since we were on 9-month contracts, we were always looking for jobs that might supplement our salaries. Our families were growing, and the Lewis pay-scale was quite low. One summer, Paul and I became insurance salesmen, even going to Dallas for a week of training. The following year, we painted huge towers at Acid Area #3 at the Joliet Arsenal. 

Story #2

Another summer, we worked construction at Lewis under old Fred Ludeman, the director of Grounds and Maintenance. Fred was known for his historical knowledge of buildings, underground pipes, and construction. Our assignment in concert with the Athletic Department was to build a storage garage adjacent to the baseball field. Paul and I would do the work and Fred would periodically supervise. We were officially in the building construction business, albeit apprentices. On one occasion, Fred checked to see how we were doing, and to demonstrate our skill, Paul hammered a nail that evidently hit another nail from the other side. Fred was unimpressed seeing the point of the nail returning to the surface. We did not gain credibility.

But the garage project turned out fine. We did it in 10 weeks and we were proud of our skills and our masterpiece. A few years later, I was less proud when Danley put up a garage behind my house in Wilmington. In one day. By one guy. I was further disheartened to learn that our Lewis masterpiece had to be torn down because it was built over a gas line. I guess old Fred forgot about that part.

The stories about Paul may be even funnier.

Story #3

Players will tell the story of Paul’s days as assistant basketball coach. Being with Coach Gillespie at half-time of a game is a time of fiery inspiration and motivation. Gordie would point out areas for changes and alterations, then get the guys revved up for the second half. With things at fever pitch, he would look to the assistant coach and routinely ask if he had anything to say, expecting nothing. On one occasion with the team stomping at the bit to go, Paul offered some advice. “I noticed that some of you guys are improperly getting your water from the team squirt bottle. Make sure that you hold it away from you and don’t put your mouth on it.” Paul demonstrated and proceeded to squirt water down his tie. The team laughed their way to the floor.

While Paul was teaching his class, stories would abound regarding his style of directness and “Don Rickles” approach without malice. No student was immune to his humorous barbs, but I doubt that his cynicism and ridicule were internalized to any degree because of his good nature. 

Succeeding Gordie as a basketball coach would be, at best, a huge challenge for anyone and Paul was to lead the team during one of the most difficult times in our history. The late 1960’s and early 1970’s was a period of social unrest that made coaching much more difficult, but Paul’s teams were always competitive. After he retired from coaching on the sidelines, Paul became a superb, innovative athletic director. (He did, however, continue his coaching from the bleachers.)

Story #4

When Paul became the head basketball coach, Gordie was his assistant. Gordie would do anything to help Paul be successful, so he tried to stay low-key while contributing any way he could.  Just before half-time of a game, a Loras player took a shot almost at the same time as the horn sounded. Gordie was furious that the ref called it “good.” As the team walked toward the locker room, Gordie continued his tirade and when the ref said, “Ask your coach,” Paul nonchalantly said, “I thought it was good.” Gordie was crushed. 

After his basketball coaching days were over, Paul adroitly combined his hobbies and job responsibilities during the spring. He taught a morning course in fishing, sometimes taking students to the Kankakee River, and then he accompanied his golf team to their practice or matches in the afternoon, interspersed with lunch at Lewis. The rest of us were envious.

Story #5

Paul’s faculty role extended beyond the fishing banks to at least one other venue: skiing. The Lewis 1970-71 academic calendar included an “interim” 3-week session in January, prior to the second semester. Unique courses could be offered for 1-2 credit hours either in the classroom or off-campus. He and I put together a skiing course that would be conducted in Lisle at “Four Lakes.” Instruction was provided by ski instructors and our only role was to make sure that the Lewis students were in attendance.

Paul and I climbed to the top of the hill’s level backside. Carrying a briefcase in one hand and the registration list in the other, Paul checked off each student. Once his duties were completed, he filed the sheet in his briefcase and we were ready to depart.

I still can visualize Paul in his dress shoes starting to slip, and without saying a word, he was launched on an unintended, irreversible journey down the slope. As if in slow motion, he gained speed, his briefcase as ballast, and trench-coat flapping, down to the bottom. The crowd of students and instructors were in awe and cheered, knowing that such a feat could never be repeated.

During his later years at Lewis, I would have the occasion to see Paul periodically. He could be found at lunchtime in the faculty dining room where he entertained faculty and staff with his fish tales, baseball predictions, and vivid memories. His captivated audience included coaches, Christian Brothers, and faculty members. He was respected and revered by all. 

Paul was one of those rare individuals that you remember every day. I find myself repeating his jokes and expressions almost verbatim. We loved him dearly because he was the real deal, the most extraordinary and unique man one could ever have as a friend.

 “People are hungry for stories. It’s part of our very being. Storytelling is a form of history, of immortality too. It goes from one generation to another.” 

Studs Terkel