During the ninth grade two incidents in particular stand out in my memories. Living next door to my siblings’ apartment, was a girl whose father was a photographer for the “Spokesman Review”, the main newspaper in Spokane. Her name was Cathy Lewis. At the time, I was MADLY in love with Elvis Presley. Her father was assigned to photograph back-stage pictures of Elvis for the newspaper when he came to Spokane for a concert. It was held in a football stadium outside because that was the only place large enough to accommodate all of those wanting tickets. I told Cathy about my undying love for Elvis and she talked to her father. They promised me that I would meet Elvis and have my picture taken with him! I was in seventh Heaven!
I got very dressed up, and painstakingly did my hair and make-up. My sister let me wear one of her nicest most expensive dresses. My father’s boss’s wife, Wanda, had purchased about 15 dresses for Beverly in Chicago...dresses that she got to choose out of Vogue and Bazaar Magazines! Wanda did this for Bev when she started College. We didn’t have many clothes because we always wore uniforms.
Finally, the night came. I had a ticket to attend the concert. Cathy told me to go to my seat and her dad was going to take the pictures during a half-time break. I waited. I watched the entire concert (in ecstasy) waiting for her to come and get me. The concert ended and she never came! I had driven with them to the concert so we found each other after the show.
She told me that they couldn’t find me!!! The photo session occurred before the show rather than at half time and I was not in my seat! I was heart broken. It turned out that I was seated in seat # 4-G-5 and I was supposed to be in seat # 5-G-4! I just knew, that if Elvis had met me, I would have been the love of his life!
After he developed the film, I saw several pictures of Cathy with Elvis. Years later, I would (once again) miss...by just a hair...meeting Elvis; which I will talk about later in my story. That night her father had taken pictures of me prior to leaving for the concert. I had some of the best pictures of me that I had ever taken at the time
*******
The second incident was when I was listening to the radio at school and they had a contest. I decided to enter. The radio station was one located in Seattle. The contest was “Win a Date with Jimmy Bowen”. Jimmy Bowen was a partner with Buddy Knox and together they had a hit record. Knox had one side of the 45 called “Party Doll”, and Bowen had the flip side called “I’m Sticking With You”. Both songs were hits and both of them were very popular in 1957 when I heard about the contest.
All you had to do to enter was send in a photograph of yourself with a brief description (age etc). I sent one of the pictures Cathy’s father had taken of me on the night I went to see Elvis. To my utter amazement, I WON the contest!! As excited as I was, my father would not let me go on the “date” unless he went along (much to my embarrassment and dismay).
I waited months for this “date” to happen. Then, I was notified by the radio station that Jimmy Bowen could not go on the date. He had recently married Keely Smith (who had been married to Louis Prima (they were a singing duo). I later learned that Bowen had also quit the business as an entertainer and got into the production end. He also became the President of several Record Companies. He is still a Magnate in the music industry, especially Country.
So, the radio station (I believe it was KGY) told me I could choose, out of a list, a different singer for the date. The difference was, it wouldn’t be a “date” but someone I could meet backstage and be photographed with. I can’t remember all of the choices that were given to me but I do remember there was either one of the Everly Brothers, Paul Anka or Ricky Nelson. I chose Ricky Nelson. Many years later, I would regret not choosing Paul Anka.
When the day finally came, my father took me to Seattle and we (both) went backstage after the show. I had my picture taken with Ricky Nelson, which I still have. The entire procedure took about five minutes, or less. I remember being SO embarrassed when my father told Ricky Nelson that he was a huge fan of the TV series “Ollie and Harriet” (it was actually Ozzie and Harriet).
*******
My sister took extra classes so she could graduate from college early. She was getting married in February because her husband-to-be was in ROTC and was scheduled to be stationed in Fort Lee, Virginia as a First Lieutenant in the Army.
My whole family was all part of the wedding. We even flew our mother from Seattle to Spokane and bought her a new dress so she could attend too. This was the second and last time all of us were photographed together. My brothers were ushers and I was a bridesmaid. Her colors were red and white and I had a beautiful red dress. I wore it when I met Ricky Nelson. The wedding and reception were fabulous. It was held in the Ridpath Hotel which was the newest and most modern hotel in Spokane. An interesting side note is that the two people that were in charge of arranging weddings and large banquets were Mr. Cheatum and Mrs. Swindle!
Lots of alcohol was served and my brothers and my mother all got plastered! My father yelled at my mother and berated her in front of everyone. He made her cry. None of us ever forgave him for that. We had the misfortune of having a father who was a complete asshole. He was cruel, self-centered, selfish, inconsiderate, detestable, vulgar and just an all out horrible human being. I don’t know how he could even stand being himself. Every one of us hated him. We always did from as far back as I can remember, up to the day he died. Bill and I hated him the most.
The last time I saw my mother was at my sister’s wedding. I was fifteen. The wedding was in February, 1958 and my mother died in June, 1959. Like I had explained earlier, she never recovered from the stroke she had when I was five. She had learned to walk but had to drag her right leg and it was very difficult for her. Her right arm was bent and immobile and her hand was in a permanently closed fist, which she couldn’t open. She could talk but it was a huge struggle. She could only speak enough words to enable her to convey things to us. Only those who were close to her could really understand her (after getting used to it over time). Somehow, she managed to say four-letter cuss words as clear as a bell though! We all really loved her with all of our hearts.
My time in Spokane had finally come to an end. My father was transferred by his Company to work permanently in the Chicago area. Up until then his “territory” as a salesman was the thirteen Western States. While in Chicago he would only cover Illinois and four surrounding states. So, I was off to attend my final boarding school in Evanston, Illinois.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Chapter 3, Part 6 - NINTH GRADE
The ninth grade turned out not to be as bad as I was anticipating, in fact it was one of the best years I ever had while in school.
The ninth graders had to sleep in the same dormitory as the grade school, but other than that, we mostly mingled with the other high school girls. I no longer had to report to Sister Bernard Marie after school hours. I shared the recreation room with the high school boarders, not the grade school that BM was in charge of. The nun that was in charge of the high school boarders was far nicer and more lenient. I don’t remember her name.
She even let us listen to the radio and watch some television. The high school girls were also allowed to dance with each other. This was the era when American Bandstand had just begun and Elvis Presley and Marlon Brando were the heartthrobs of the day. The popular dance was the “Bop”. We learned our dance moves by watching them dance on American Bandstand.
One thing that always surprised me was in all of the twelve years of boarding school, I was never taught how to cook or sew which is something you would think would be a priority in all-girl schools. The kitchen was off limits to the boarders in all three of the schools I attended, so I never even got to watch how food was prepared. We never did laundry either but did lots and lots of ironing. We even ironed our sheets.
After school, we were also allowed to leave the campus and go to nearby shops and soda fountains, which were quite popular then. We were only to leave the grounds in groups, however. This is when I first started experimenting with smoking cigarettes, which was considered a very cool thing to do, but daring and risqué for us. Something that I can’t imagine what the punishment would have been from Sister Bernard Marie!
My two brothers shared a small apartment together for quite some time while attending Gonzaga, but rarely would I spend week-ends with them. They both worked nights in an elite bakery located in the Davenport Hotel, which was the most exclusive hotel in Spokane.
Their job was to clean the bakery at night after all of the pastry chefs left. The Hotel served exquisite French Pastries and each one had to be perfect on the inside and on the outside. Jim and Bill were supposed to throw out all the fancy pastries that weren’t perfect. Of course, they didn’t throw them away but instead they brought them back to their apartment.
They had lots of parties too. Both of them gained so much weight that they each weighed close to 400 pounds! They each had severe problems with their weight and were both considered “morbidly obese” their entire lives. Bill’s weight was part of the cause of his many problems in Military School where self-discipline was highly stressed.
In her senior year my sister Beverly moved in with Jim and Bill into a larger apartment together about a mile from Holy Names. I was allowed to spend the majority of week-ends with them. My new found freedom was exhilarating for me. Prior to that year, I rarely stayed with any of them. My sister was living on campus in a building called Madonna Hall. She would occasionally let me stay with her but only when her roommate went somewhere else and her bed was available.
When I spent week-ends with the three of them while in the ninth grade I was given lots of freedom to do pretty much anything I wanted. My father was never made aware of it or he never would have allowed it….and he would have been furious. It was our secret.
A very strange coincidence happened with that apartment. Many years after they graduated from Gonzaga, my sister’s daughter, Jennifer also attended that same University. She lived on campus her first couple of years and then decided to rent an apartment. Without knowing anything about it, she ended up renting the SAME apartment that they had lived in! My sister was shocked the first time she visited her and recognized it was the same exact place. What are the odds of that!?
Our father never allowed my sister or me to go on dates or attend dances unless we were chaperoned. He would have to meet the boy’s parents before we could even attend a dance or prom. Our dances were with boys from nearby all-boy Catholic schools. My brother Jim was actually Beverly’s date for her senior prom and my father chaperoned! He also chaperoned the one dance he ever let me attend and it was my senior prom in the twelfth grade.
The ninth graders had to sleep in the same dormitory as the grade school, but other than that, we mostly mingled with the other high school girls. I no longer had to report to Sister Bernard Marie after school hours. I shared the recreation room with the high school boarders, not the grade school that BM was in charge of. The nun that was in charge of the high school boarders was far nicer and more lenient. I don’t remember her name.
She even let us listen to the radio and watch some television. The high school girls were also allowed to dance with each other. This was the era when American Bandstand had just begun and Elvis Presley and Marlon Brando were the heartthrobs of the day. The popular dance was the “Bop”. We learned our dance moves by watching them dance on American Bandstand.
One thing that always surprised me was in all of the twelve years of boarding school, I was never taught how to cook or sew which is something you would think would be a priority in all-girl schools. The kitchen was off limits to the boarders in all three of the schools I attended, so I never even got to watch how food was prepared. We never did laundry either but did lots and lots of ironing. We even ironed our sheets.
After school, we were also allowed to leave the campus and go to nearby shops and soda fountains, which were quite popular then. We were only to leave the grounds in groups, however. This is when I first started experimenting with smoking cigarettes, which was considered a very cool thing to do, but daring and risqué for us. Something that I can’t imagine what the punishment would have been from Sister Bernard Marie!
My two brothers shared a small apartment together for quite some time while attending Gonzaga, but rarely would I spend week-ends with them. They both worked nights in an elite bakery located in the Davenport Hotel, which was the most exclusive hotel in Spokane.
Their job was to clean the bakery at night after all of the pastry chefs left. The Hotel served exquisite French Pastries and each one had to be perfect on the inside and on the outside. Jim and Bill were supposed to throw out all the fancy pastries that weren’t perfect. Of course, they didn’t throw them away but instead they brought them back to their apartment.
They had lots of parties too. Both of them gained so much weight that they each weighed close to 400 pounds! They each had severe problems with their weight and were both considered “morbidly obese” their entire lives. Bill’s weight was part of the cause of his many problems in Military School where self-discipline was highly stressed.
In her senior year my sister Beverly moved in with Jim and Bill into a larger apartment together about a mile from Holy Names. I was allowed to spend the majority of week-ends with them. My new found freedom was exhilarating for me. Prior to that year, I rarely stayed with any of them. My sister was living on campus in a building called Madonna Hall. She would occasionally let me stay with her but only when her roommate went somewhere else and her bed was available.
When I spent week-ends with the three of them while in the ninth grade I was given lots of freedom to do pretty much anything I wanted. My father was never made aware of it or he never would have allowed it….and he would have been furious. It was our secret.
A very strange coincidence happened with that apartment. Many years after they graduated from Gonzaga, my sister’s daughter, Jennifer also attended that same University. She lived on campus her first couple of years and then decided to rent an apartment. Without knowing anything about it, she ended up renting the SAME apartment that they had lived in! My sister was shocked the first time she visited her and recognized it was the same exact place. What are the odds of that!?
Our father never allowed my sister or me to go on dates or attend dances unless we were chaperoned. He would have to meet the boy’s parents before we could even attend a dance or prom. Our dances were with boys from nearby all-boy Catholic schools. My brother Jim was actually Beverly’s date for her senior prom and my father chaperoned! He also chaperoned the one dance he ever let me attend and it was my senior prom in the twelfth grade.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Chapter 3, Part 5
I’m sure that you are wondering why no one ever did anything about her treatment of me and the other girls. This is a good question that baffles me even to this day. Yes, I did tell about her. I told my sister, my brothers, my father, even other nuns at the convent. The nuns took her side and didn’t want to hear it or listen to any complaints. To the best of my recollection, no one wanted to “make waves” or “get involved”. Therefore, nothing was ever done about it.
In those days I think the reasoning was that I was just a child and it just didn’t make any difference. Besides, she was a NUN, devoting her life to GOD, so she couldn’t possibly be that bad. Mostly, no one wanted to hear about it or deal with it. I rarely saw my father and my sister and brothers were wrapped up in attending college and all that went with it academically and socially. No one wanted to defend or protect me. No one wanted to confront her or her Mother Superior.
Other girls also told their families and nothing was ever done about it. I sincerely believe that she would not get away with it in today’s world. This was happening to me in the mid 1950’s and many things were very different back then than they are now. Children just did not have any rights at all. Today’s children would fight back, and I firmly believe that parents would never tolerate this type of treatment of their children in present times. She most definitely would be reported and held accountable. Society in general is nothing like it was then.
*******
My brother Bill had it extremely rough in Military Schools. I believe that he had it rougher than I did, by far. St. John’s Military Academy in Delafield, Wisconsin, was run by ex-military officers whose goal was to prepare the students to become career Military Officers. His life there was like five years of Boot Camp. The rules were rigid and inflexible and the punishments harsh. Hazing the new students was a common practice. Those five years were so hard on him that he had mental problems for the rest of his life as a result.
The boys that excelled were ones that grew up in the military and were gung-ho about the whole system. They were the ones who strived to be part of the military for the rest of their lives. Those who were just not “into it” and hated the military were the ones it was hardest on. My brother hated it and vowed to never be part of it ever again.
Many of the graduates went on to attend Annapolis and West Point. The tuition costs as much as attending college and the required purchase of Uniforms costs thousands. Should you be curious to find out more about it, you can look it up on the Internet. It is still there (whereas all of the boarding schools I attended have since been closed).
********
Not far from Holy Names were train tracks. I wish I could have been brave enough or defiant enough to just take off running across the field when I heard the train whistle and jump into one of the cars and take off to places unknown. I would lie in my bed at night and hear the train and let my imagination run away with me.
Once, there was a girl that was sent to the school by the courts. Her name was Paulette and she was a wild, defiant, runaway, delinquent. I envied all the stories she told us of things she had done (sliding into hell too I suppose). She was in the eighth grade and already had had an abortion, and she had false teeth because she lost hers in a car accident (riding in a car with boys). I was in awe of all the experiences she told us about. She was only there about a month when she ran away. Why couldn’t I be that gutsy?
Next door to Holy Names was an orphanage. Today, I don’t know of any orphanages but back in the 50’s they weren’t that uncommon. The boarders at the school would go over there to visit them and at Christmas we would go caroling and bring homemade gifts. I always envied the orphans because to me at least they had a chance of being adopted, and the staff seemed a whole lot nicer and caring than Sister Bernard Marie.
A devastating shock and horrible let down occurred after I finished eighth grade. Finally, at last, I would move to the high school dorm and be rid of BM for good!! Initially, I was only supposed to be under her for three years - sixth, seventh and eighth grades.
The worst of all things happened. They decided to make the ninth grade part of her unit. It seemed that the enrollment of high school students that year far outnumbered that of the grade school. Therefore they found it necessary to incorporate the ninth graders in with the grade school so each dormitory would have an equal number of girls. The ninth graders wore different uniforms so we clashed with the grade school students even though we were part of their unit. We wore a white cotton blouse, a green pleated skirt and a green cardigan sweater.
I truly felt like God had abandoned me. How could he make me be with her for one more year?! I can still see that evil smile on her face when she told me I would not be moving into the high school dorm. She looked just like a smug Cheshire Cat....
In those days I think the reasoning was that I was just a child and it just didn’t make any difference. Besides, she was a NUN, devoting her life to GOD, so she couldn’t possibly be that bad. Mostly, no one wanted to hear about it or deal with it. I rarely saw my father and my sister and brothers were wrapped up in attending college and all that went with it academically and socially. No one wanted to defend or protect me. No one wanted to confront her or her Mother Superior.
Other girls also told their families and nothing was ever done about it. I sincerely believe that she would not get away with it in today’s world. This was happening to me in the mid 1950’s and many things were very different back then than they are now. Children just did not have any rights at all. Today’s children would fight back, and I firmly believe that parents would never tolerate this type of treatment of their children in present times. She most definitely would be reported and held accountable. Society in general is nothing like it was then.
*******
My brother Bill had it extremely rough in Military Schools. I believe that he had it rougher than I did, by far. St. John’s Military Academy in Delafield, Wisconsin, was run by ex-military officers whose goal was to prepare the students to become career Military Officers. His life there was like five years of Boot Camp. The rules were rigid and inflexible and the punishments harsh. Hazing the new students was a common practice. Those five years were so hard on him that he had mental problems for the rest of his life as a result.
The boys that excelled were ones that grew up in the military and were gung-ho about the whole system. They were the ones who strived to be part of the military for the rest of their lives. Those who were just not “into it” and hated the military were the ones it was hardest on. My brother hated it and vowed to never be part of it ever again.
Many of the graduates went on to attend Annapolis and West Point. The tuition costs as much as attending college and the required purchase of Uniforms costs thousands. Should you be curious to find out more about it, you can look it up on the Internet. It is still there (whereas all of the boarding schools I attended have since been closed).
********
Not far from Holy Names were train tracks. I wish I could have been brave enough or defiant enough to just take off running across the field when I heard the train whistle and jump into one of the cars and take off to places unknown. I would lie in my bed at night and hear the train and let my imagination run away with me.
Once, there was a girl that was sent to the school by the courts. Her name was Paulette and she was a wild, defiant, runaway, delinquent. I envied all the stories she told us of things she had done (sliding into hell too I suppose). She was in the eighth grade and already had had an abortion, and she had false teeth because she lost hers in a car accident (riding in a car with boys). I was in awe of all the experiences she told us about. She was only there about a month when she ran away. Why couldn’t I be that gutsy?
Next door to Holy Names was an orphanage. Today, I don’t know of any orphanages but back in the 50’s they weren’t that uncommon. The boarders at the school would go over there to visit them and at Christmas we would go caroling and bring homemade gifts. I always envied the orphans because to me at least they had a chance of being adopted, and the staff seemed a whole lot nicer and caring than Sister Bernard Marie.
A devastating shock and horrible let down occurred after I finished eighth grade. Finally, at last, I would move to the high school dorm and be rid of BM for good!! Initially, I was only supposed to be under her for three years - sixth, seventh and eighth grades.
The worst of all things happened. They decided to make the ninth grade part of her unit. It seemed that the enrollment of high school students that year far outnumbered that of the grade school. Therefore they found it necessary to incorporate the ninth graders in with the grade school so each dormitory would have an equal number of girls. The ninth graders wore different uniforms so we clashed with the grade school students even though we were part of their unit. We wore a white cotton blouse, a green pleated skirt and a green cardigan sweater.
I truly felt like God had abandoned me. How could he make me be with her for one more year?! I can still see that evil smile on her face when she told me I would not be moving into the high school dorm. She looked just like a smug Cheshire Cat....
Chapter 3, Part 4 - A PUNISHMENT GONE TOO FAR
Of the countless things she did to me and others over the 4 years I was under her rule, one stands out over and above them all. It happened when I was in the eighth grade.
In the 50’s the popular hair style was a pony tail. My hair went to my waist, and I loved to wear it in a pony tail. I liked to walk so it would sway back and forth with each step. The day students all seemed to wear them but BM hated pony tails. She said: “the only time you should wear a pony tail is when you tie your hair up to take a bath”. So, she always made me wear my hair down…and she hated that too. One day, she asked me (all nice and sweet) if I would please let her “fix” my hair. I was picturing ringlets or something equally as stupid, and in an adventurous state, I said: – “sure”! (I should have suspected something was not right for the mere fact she was actually talking nice to me).
She told me to wash my hair, comb it out and sit down in a chair by the sinks. So, I did. As I sat in the chair, she stood behind me and started combing my hair. Then, she took a hold of it with one hand, and I heard this awful sound of scissors cutting! She had grabbed my hair right at the nape of my neck, and she cut it off with one grinding snip!
My long hair was cut off! This amounted to about 16 inches of hair that had taken me years to grow. My hair was my best feature. I wasn’t pretty and I was overweight, but I had nice hair and I loved having it long. My hair is fine and when it was long, it was straight. After she cut it I found out I have naturally curly hair. I started screaming and crying hysterically!
She then proceeded to call over the other 50 or so boarders. She said to them: “look at her carrying on like this, when she TOLD me I could cut her hair! She is trying to lie and make a scene and deny that she told me I could cut it!” Not only was I campused for two weeks after that, but that night she made me sit on my chair by my bed, all night long, for telling “lies”. She was supposed to come to me and let me get into bed after an hour or two, but evidently she either fell asleep herself, or she forgot about me. I was too scared to get up off of the chair and get into bed on my own, so I sat there until she came to wake everyone the next morning. I could tell by the look on her face that she was surprised that I was still sitting in my chair, but she didn’t apologize. All of the girls were appalled.
The next day, everyone was forbidden to talk to me - and me to them. My hair looked so awful that it was hard for the other girls to look at me without laughing. It was not anything like a professional haircut. She had cut it at the base of my skull, above my neckline. I – literally – wanted to die. This is the first time I seriously considered suicide. I was 13. To be honest, the entire four years at Holy Names Academy, I wished I would die.
There were three bathtubs at the far end of the dormitory. Each one was in an enclosed cubicle and had a door with a sliding lock on it. One cubicle had a window to the outside. It was five stories up. When it was my turn to take a bath, I chose the bathtub with the window. I opened the window & climbed out onto the ledge. It was made of cement and was about one foot wide. It was dark outside. I stayed there, too afraid to jump, until my time was up for taking a bath (10 minutes) and she came looking for me. She pounded on the door. I climbed back inside and closed the window. No one ever knew I did that. It wasn’t until many years later that I told my brother & sister. The only other person I ever told was a Psychiatrist when I was in my late 20’s.
To this day, I have never been able to wear my hair cut short. I tried it once. After years of bleaching my hair a Platinum Blonde color, I decided to grow it out back to my natural color. I needed to cut off much of the blonde as it grew it out because my hair was quite damaged. Like a phobia, the feeling of short hair swept over me and brought back the feelings I experienced after BM cut my hair. I vowed to never cut it short again. Also, I wear my hair in a pony tail style almost every day.
In the 50’s the popular hair style was a pony tail. My hair went to my waist, and I loved to wear it in a pony tail. I liked to walk so it would sway back and forth with each step. The day students all seemed to wear them but BM hated pony tails. She said: “the only time you should wear a pony tail is when you tie your hair up to take a bath”. So, she always made me wear my hair down…and she hated that too. One day, she asked me (all nice and sweet) if I would please let her “fix” my hair. I was picturing ringlets or something equally as stupid, and in an adventurous state, I said: – “sure”! (I should have suspected something was not right for the mere fact she was actually talking nice to me).
She told me to wash my hair, comb it out and sit down in a chair by the sinks. So, I did. As I sat in the chair, she stood behind me and started combing my hair. Then, she took a hold of it with one hand, and I heard this awful sound of scissors cutting! She had grabbed my hair right at the nape of my neck, and she cut it off with one grinding snip!
My long hair was cut off! This amounted to about 16 inches of hair that had taken me years to grow. My hair was my best feature. I wasn’t pretty and I was overweight, but I had nice hair and I loved having it long. My hair is fine and when it was long, it was straight. After she cut it I found out I have naturally curly hair. I started screaming and crying hysterically!
She then proceeded to call over the other 50 or so boarders. She said to them: “look at her carrying on like this, when she TOLD me I could cut her hair! She is trying to lie and make a scene and deny that she told me I could cut it!” Not only was I campused for two weeks after that, but that night she made me sit on my chair by my bed, all night long, for telling “lies”. She was supposed to come to me and let me get into bed after an hour or two, but evidently she either fell asleep herself, or she forgot about me. I was too scared to get up off of the chair and get into bed on my own, so I sat there until she came to wake everyone the next morning. I could tell by the look on her face that she was surprised that I was still sitting in my chair, but she didn’t apologize. All of the girls were appalled.
The next day, everyone was forbidden to talk to me - and me to them. My hair looked so awful that it was hard for the other girls to look at me without laughing. It was not anything like a professional haircut. She had cut it at the base of my skull, above my neckline. I – literally – wanted to die. This is the first time I seriously considered suicide. I was 13. To be honest, the entire four years at Holy Names Academy, I wished I would die.
There were three bathtubs at the far end of the dormitory. Each one was in an enclosed cubicle and had a door with a sliding lock on it. One cubicle had a window to the outside. It was five stories up. When it was my turn to take a bath, I chose the bathtub with the window. I opened the window & climbed out onto the ledge. It was made of cement and was about one foot wide. It was dark outside. I stayed there, too afraid to jump, until my time was up for taking a bath (10 minutes) and she came looking for me. She pounded on the door. I climbed back inside and closed the window. No one ever knew I did that. It wasn’t until many years later that I told my brother & sister. The only other person I ever told was a Psychiatrist when I was in my late 20’s.
To this day, I have never been able to wear my hair cut short. I tried it once. After years of bleaching my hair a Platinum Blonde color, I decided to grow it out back to my natural color. I needed to cut off much of the blonde as it grew it out because my hair was quite damaged. Like a phobia, the feeling of short hair swept over me and brought back the feelings I experienced after BM cut my hair. I vowed to never cut it short again. Also, I wear my hair in a pony tail style almost every day.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Chapter 3, Part 3 - ONGOING MISTREATMENT
It didn’t take long before I was singled out to be required to attend Mass every morning. BM had this deep down feeling that I was a great sinner and badly in need of repenting and reform.
Once she decided that I needed to attend Mass every morning, she had a unique way of waking me up. All of the other girls would be asleep (prior to the bright lights and bell ringing). She would come to my bed in the dark, grab my foot by the toes and (painfully) bend my toes backward. This technique woke me up instantly! Then, she would stand over me while I said my morning prayers.
Once, I was very sick with a really bad cold. I coughed and coughed during Mass and she punished me afterward because in her opinion, I was “just trying to get attention”. She told me the next day that I had “better not cough in church if I knew what was good for me”. I tried so hard not to cough in the chapel the next morning that I actually passed out from holding it back (try sometime not to cough when you have a cold and you will understand what I was up against). She was so extremely furious at me, her face turned red. She said she was sick of me trying to make people feel sorry for me and that I had done it on purpose to make her look bad. I was campused for a month for that one.
There were other ways BM was relentless in her treatment of me. She would call me into her office, and the conversation would go something like this:
BM: (arms folded) “Do you want to tell me what it was you did two days ago that you didn’t want me to find out about?”
Sharon: “I have no idea what you are talking about”.
BM: “Well, is that so! I’ll give you some time to think about it until you are ready to tell me what you did”.
Sharon: “You can give me all the time you want, I didn’t do anything”.
BM: “Until you tell me, you are campused, so it would be wise if you would just admit it”.
Being ‘campused’ meant that you were not allowed to leave the building or the school grounds at any time. She had to know where you were at all times. She even made us ask permission to go to the restroom – and we were given 5 minutes maximum to do that. Only one of us at a time was ever allowed to go to the bathroom, lest we try to make it into a social event.
She always seemed to find a reason to campus me when she knew I had plans to do something on the weekend. She would know when I was planning to spend the weekend with my sister and brothers, or with another boarder at her house. She would make sure I had to spend it at the boarding school instead. Many times I was the only boarder at the school over the weekend (which ironically, meant that she was also punishing herself because she had to constantly be with me to monitor everything I did). Then, she would carry out the punishment for what I had done. Most often this would consist of making me clean the decorative rod-iron grate-work on the sides of the multitude of desks in the dozens of classrooms throughout the school. I would spend all day Saturday performing that task. Luckily, Sunday was a day we were not allowed to do any extra tasks other than our basic routine (Sunday was a day of “rest”).
She would find a way to keep me busy anyway. She would make me write a letter to my father. She would read it and mark any mistakes in red ink. I would have to keep re-writing it until everything was perfect. This task took up most of my Sundays. Of course, I couldn’t write what I really wanted to – because she was reading it and editing it. Our incoming mail was also opened and read before it was given to us.
Whenever I would ask her what it was that I had done, she would invariably answer: “you know what you did; I don’t need to tell you”. Needless to say, never did I ever learn what any of the awful things I had done were. She also told me – many times: “you are on the wrong path. Somehow you slid off the track heading to heaven, and you are sliding into hell”.
Don’t misunderstand, I seemed to be at the top of her “hate” list, but she inflicted the same kind of treatment upon all of the boarders under her charge. Of the myriad of horrendous things she did to me and others over the years, there was one particular incident that was by far the worst - ever. It was one that would have a lasting effect on me for the rest of my life...
Once she decided that I needed to attend Mass every morning, she had a unique way of waking me up. All of the other girls would be asleep (prior to the bright lights and bell ringing). She would come to my bed in the dark, grab my foot by the toes and (painfully) bend my toes backward. This technique woke me up instantly! Then, she would stand over me while I said my morning prayers.
Once, I was very sick with a really bad cold. I coughed and coughed during Mass and she punished me afterward because in her opinion, I was “just trying to get attention”. She told me the next day that I had “better not cough in church if I knew what was good for me”. I tried so hard not to cough in the chapel the next morning that I actually passed out from holding it back (try sometime not to cough when you have a cold and you will understand what I was up against). She was so extremely furious at me, her face turned red. She said she was sick of me trying to make people feel sorry for me and that I had done it on purpose to make her look bad. I was campused for a month for that one.
There were other ways BM was relentless in her treatment of me. She would call me into her office, and the conversation would go something like this:
BM: (arms folded) “Do you want to tell me what it was you did two days ago that you didn’t want me to find out about?”
Sharon: “I have no idea what you are talking about”.
BM: “Well, is that so! I’ll give you some time to think about it until you are ready to tell me what you did”.
Sharon: “You can give me all the time you want, I didn’t do anything”.
BM: “Until you tell me, you are campused, so it would be wise if you would just admit it”.
Being ‘campused’ meant that you were not allowed to leave the building or the school grounds at any time. She had to know where you were at all times. She even made us ask permission to go to the restroom – and we were given 5 minutes maximum to do that. Only one of us at a time was ever allowed to go to the bathroom, lest we try to make it into a social event.
She always seemed to find a reason to campus me when she knew I had plans to do something on the weekend. She would know when I was planning to spend the weekend with my sister and brothers, or with another boarder at her house. She would make sure I had to spend it at the boarding school instead. Many times I was the only boarder at the school over the weekend (which ironically, meant that she was also punishing herself because she had to constantly be with me to monitor everything I did). Then, she would carry out the punishment for what I had done. Most often this would consist of making me clean the decorative rod-iron grate-work on the sides of the multitude of desks in the dozens of classrooms throughout the school. I would spend all day Saturday performing that task. Luckily, Sunday was a day we were not allowed to do any extra tasks other than our basic routine (Sunday was a day of “rest”).
She would find a way to keep me busy anyway. She would make me write a letter to my father. She would read it and mark any mistakes in red ink. I would have to keep re-writing it until everything was perfect. This task took up most of my Sundays. Of course, I couldn’t write what I really wanted to – because she was reading it and editing it. Our incoming mail was also opened and read before it was given to us.
Whenever I would ask her what it was that I had done, she would invariably answer: “you know what you did; I don’t need to tell you”. Needless to say, never did I ever learn what any of the awful things I had done were. She also told me – many times: “you are on the wrong path. Somehow you slid off the track heading to heaven, and you are sliding into hell”.
Don’t misunderstand, I seemed to be at the top of her “hate” list, but she inflicted the same kind of treatment upon all of the boarders under her charge. Of the myriad of horrendous things she did to me and others over the years, there was one particular incident that was by far the worst - ever. It was one that would have a lasting effect on me for the rest of my life...
Chapter 3, Part 2 - THE DAILY ROUTINE
All of the boarders slept on the 5th floor of the huge brick building, in two separate dormitories. No private rooms. Each dormitory had about 60 beds, which was quite a bit larger than good ol’ VV. Above and around each bed were pipes with pink curtains. This way you could dress in the morning and undress at night with some privacy. However, this was the only time we were ever allowed to close our curtains.
There were six long electrical cords hanging from a high ceiling. Each cord had a bare 150-watt light bulb hanging at the bottom. We would be awakened each morning at 6:00 AM. Sister Bernard Marie would turn on all six light bulbs - at once - and walk up and down the aisles of beds with a large bell that she rang as loudly as she possibly could. All of us were to immediately get on our knees on the floor next to our bed and say morning prayers. We would all say the Our Father, Hail Mary, and the Act of Contrition (out loud). After saying prayers, Sister BM (which I will call her from here on) would clap her hands and order us to get in line at the eight washbasins located at one end of the dorm. We were each allowed three minutes to wash our face and brush our teeth. If we were not done in our allotted time, we were yanked by our hair, scolded, and sent back to our station (bed). BM obviously enjoyed being mean and cruel.
Next we would go back to our beds, close the curtains and put on our uniforms. The uniforms were dark navy blue long sleeved dresses that buttoned in the front and were pleated from the waist down. They had a matching cloth belt that buttoned at the waistline. There was a round white cotton collar that buttoned onto the neckline of the dress. On our feet we wore white anklets and brown oxford shoes. The collars would only be worn once and then put into the laundry.
Each girl was required to heavily starch and iron her own collars. There was so much starch in them that they were stiff and could actually stand up on their own. They were so stiff that many times they would actually cut into our necks. None of the “day students” had starched collars. Our anklets had to be folded down an exact way so we all looked exactly alike. Boarders were not allowed any creative folding or rolling of their socks, which many of the day students did. The high school students had completely different uniforms than the grade school.
We would then go to breakfast. All students were required to attend Mass before breakfast twice a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays (sometimes more if there was a religious feast during the week). We went to Mass every day during Lent. We were awakened at 5:00 AM on Mass days.
The heat took a long time to get from the basement, where the furnace was located, up to the 5th floor. It was not heated during the night. The Janitor would arrive around 4:00 am to load it with coal and get it started. In the winter we would be on our knees on ice-cold hard wood floors, saying our prayers. Sometimes it would be so cold at 5:00 AM we could see our breath.
After cleaning and getting dressed into our uniforms, we formed into a line and marched either to the chapel or to breakfast. Once a week, we would have to go to “confession” after Mass, before we could go to breakfast. There, we would tell the priest in the confessional all the great and horrible sins we committed the past week in boarding school.
After breakfast, we would be marched back up the 5 flights of stairs to the dormitory where we would clean our stations. This was an area that consisted of our bed, a chest of drawers, and a chair that was at the end of each bed. We had to dust the floors and the furniture every day. We also had to clean the other areas of the dorm where the sinks were, and the room where there were three bathtubs. We rotated on the cleaning of those areas. After cleaning, we had the dreaded “inspection”. Because she was (without a doubt) sadistic, this was BM’s favorite time of day. She really enjoyed making all of us as miserable as possible. If our bed was not absolutely perfectly made, she ripped down the sheets and blankets and made us do it over.
She would inspect the insides of each drawer in our chest of drawers. If everything was not in perfect order and folded exactly the right way, she would dump it all onto our bed and make us put it back in order. She would look for dust under each bed. The curtains around our bed had to be folded perfectly with the pleats at the top all facing in the same direction. If too many things were not perfect, we would be punished after school by not being able to join in the recess we all looked forward to. Sometimes we would have to write punishment “essays” instead of having recess. Needless to say, since she never liked me anyway, my station was rarely up to par, no matter how hard I tried. I was destined to spend 4 years redoing my station, writing essays, and recesses that were few and far between.
There were six long electrical cords hanging from a high ceiling. Each cord had a bare 150-watt light bulb hanging at the bottom. We would be awakened each morning at 6:00 AM. Sister Bernard Marie would turn on all six light bulbs - at once - and walk up and down the aisles of beds with a large bell that she rang as loudly as she possibly could. All of us were to immediately get on our knees on the floor next to our bed and say morning prayers. We would all say the Our Father, Hail Mary, and the Act of Contrition (out loud). After saying prayers, Sister BM (which I will call her from here on) would clap her hands and order us to get in line at the eight washbasins located at one end of the dorm. We were each allowed three minutes to wash our face and brush our teeth. If we were not done in our allotted time, we were yanked by our hair, scolded, and sent back to our station (bed). BM obviously enjoyed being mean and cruel.
Next we would go back to our beds, close the curtains and put on our uniforms. The uniforms were dark navy blue long sleeved dresses that buttoned in the front and were pleated from the waist down. They had a matching cloth belt that buttoned at the waistline. There was a round white cotton collar that buttoned onto the neckline of the dress. On our feet we wore white anklets and brown oxford shoes. The collars would only be worn once and then put into the laundry.
Each girl was required to heavily starch and iron her own collars. There was so much starch in them that they were stiff and could actually stand up on their own. They were so stiff that many times they would actually cut into our necks. None of the “day students” had starched collars. Our anklets had to be folded down an exact way so we all looked exactly alike. Boarders were not allowed any creative folding or rolling of their socks, which many of the day students did. The high school students had completely different uniforms than the grade school.
We would then go to breakfast. All students were required to attend Mass before breakfast twice a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays (sometimes more if there was a religious feast during the week). We went to Mass every day during Lent. We were awakened at 5:00 AM on Mass days.
The heat took a long time to get from the basement, where the furnace was located, up to the 5th floor. It was not heated during the night. The Janitor would arrive around 4:00 am to load it with coal and get it started. In the winter we would be on our knees on ice-cold hard wood floors, saying our prayers. Sometimes it would be so cold at 5:00 AM we could see our breath.
After cleaning and getting dressed into our uniforms, we formed into a line and marched either to the chapel or to breakfast. Once a week, we would have to go to “confession” after Mass, before we could go to breakfast. There, we would tell the priest in the confessional all the great and horrible sins we committed the past week in boarding school.
After breakfast, we would be marched back up the 5 flights of stairs to the dormitory where we would clean our stations. This was an area that consisted of our bed, a chest of drawers, and a chair that was at the end of each bed. We had to dust the floors and the furniture every day. We also had to clean the other areas of the dorm where the sinks were, and the room where there were three bathtubs. We rotated on the cleaning of those areas. After cleaning, we had the dreaded “inspection”. Because she was (without a doubt) sadistic, this was BM’s favorite time of day. She really enjoyed making all of us as miserable as possible. If our bed was not absolutely perfectly made, she ripped down the sheets and blankets and made us do it over.
She would inspect the insides of each drawer in our chest of drawers. If everything was not in perfect order and folded exactly the right way, she would dump it all onto our bed and make us put it back in order. She would look for dust under each bed. The curtains around our bed had to be folded perfectly with the pleats at the top all facing in the same direction. If too many things were not perfect, we would be punished after school by not being able to join in the recess we all looked forward to. Sometimes we would have to write punishment “essays” instead of having recess. Needless to say, since she never liked me anyway, my station was rarely up to par, no matter how hard I tried. I was destined to spend 4 years redoing my station, writing essays, and recesses that were few and far between.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Chapter 3, Part 1- BOARDING SCHOOL #2 - SPOKANE
My second boarding school was “Holy Names Academy” in Spokane, Washington. I would live there for four years while my sister and two brothers attended Gonzaga University nearby. This boarding school was by far the most difficult for me, and the hardest on me than any of the others. The nuns there were nothing like the first ones, especially one in particular. I have always been grateful for the tender loving care I received from the Visitation Sisters. They were like 20 moms to me.
My father chose Holy Names Academy in Spokane, so named for the Holy Names nuns that ran it. He picked Spokane because my sister Beverly was starting her first year at Gonzaga there. My oldest brother Jim started the following year along with my brother Bill after he graduated from St. John’s Military Academy. Gonzaga was only about a mile from Holy Names, so it fit the bill.
My brother, Jim, was eleven years older than me, and we had not seen him for a very long time. He lied about his age and joined the Air Force at sixteen (something that probably could never be done today). He was in the military for five years, including three years in Korea during the war. Following a foot injury he was reassigned to work as a court stenographer in Military trials. When he left the Air Force, he had decided he wanted to become a Lawyer because of all the injustice he witnessed in the military courtrooms. He qualified for the GI Bill to attend College. First, he had to get his high school diploma and he managed to complete the two years he had missed in less than one year.
Jim was extremely intelligent. He had a photographic memory and could remember everything he ever read or saw. It was truly amazing. After a while in college, he could find information, instantly, out of dozens of different law books, because he could remember exactly which book and where he had read the information he was looking for. I’ve never known anyone else equal to him.
I would be starting Holy Names in 6th grade. My arrival there was memorable only in that it was nothing like Visitation Villa - whatsoever. The school was in a crowded residential neighborhood and had very little property, probably about an acre or less. The boarders there were also in two groups, but this time they were divided into 1st through 8th and 9th through 12th grades. Again, my father took me there. He spent a very short time meeting the nun who would be in charge of me. The majority of the boarders were all arriving around the same time with their parents so it was quite a busy place. After telling her what a wonderful child I was, he departed and left me in the hands of “the nun from hell”.
Sister Bernard Marie was the one in charge of the 1st through 8th grade boarders. I knew immediately that she did not like me. I will never know why, but it was quite evident from day one. Her name was really appropriate because she rather resembled a St. Bernard dog in a nuns’ habit. When she would bite down, her upper teeth went behind her lower teeth so her chin stuck out in what I would call an “under bite” as apposed to an “overbite” (actually she looked more like a Bulldog, but St. Bernard dog would do). I don’t know if she sensed my “doggy” description or maybe she didn’t like my father (which I did sense). Perhaps it could have been my looks that she didn’t like. I was a chubby, overweight, unattractive ten year old with buck teeth. Whatever the reason, she did not like me. She would make the next few years truly hell on earth, not only for me, but for all of the girls in her charge.
There was one “rule” the Holy Names nuns required of us which was quite different from any other school I ever attended. Whenever you were walking down the hallway and saw a nun approaching you, you had to stop dead in your tracks, move to the far right of the hallway, next to the wall, and bow your head as they walked by. You were never to look them in the face. They considered themselves “sacred” because they were devoting their lives to God. We were to do this out of “respect”.
My father chose Holy Names Academy in Spokane, so named for the Holy Names nuns that ran it. He picked Spokane because my sister Beverly was starting her first year at Gonzaga there. My oldest brother Jim started the following year along with my brother Bill after he graduated from St. John’s Military Academy. Gonzaga was only about a mile from Holy Names, so it fit the bill.
My brother, Jim, was eleven years older than me, and we had not seen him for a very long time. He lied about his age and joined the Air Force at sixteen (something that probably could never be done today). He was in the military for five years, including three years in Korea during the war. Following a foot injury he was reassigned to work as a court stenographer in Military trials. When he left the Air Force, he had decided he wanted to become a Lawyer because of all the injustice he witnessed in the military courtrooms. He qualified for the GI Bill to attend College. First, he had to get his high school diploma and he managed to complete the two years he had missed in less than one year.
Jim was extremely intelligent. He had a photographic memory and could remember everything he ever read or saw. It was truly amazing. After a while in college, he could find information, instantly, out of dozens of different law books, because he could remember exactly which book and where he had read the information he was looking for. I’ve never known anyone else equal to him.
I would be starting Holy Names in 6th grade. My arrival there was memorable only in that it was nothing like Visitation Villa - whatsoever. The school was in a crowded residential neighborhood and had very little property, probably about an acre or less. The boarders there were also in two groups, but this time they were divided into 1st through 8th and 9th through 12th grades. Again, my father took me there. He spent a very short time meeting the nun who would be in charge of me. The majority of the boarders were all arriving around the same time with their parents so it was quite a busy place. After telling her what a wonderful child I was, he departed and left me in the hands of “the nun from hell”.
Sister Bernard Marie was the one in charge of the 1st through 8th grade boarders. I knew immediately that she did not like me. I will never know why, but it was quite evident from day one. Her name was really appropriate because she rather resembled a St. Bernard dog in a nuns’ habit. When she would bite down, her upper teeth went behind her lower teeth so her chin stuck out in what I would call an “under bite” as apposed to an “overbite” (actually she looked more like a Bulldog, but St. Bernard dog would do). I don’t know if she sensed my “doggy” description or maybe she didn’t like my father (which I did sense). Perhaps it could have been my looks that she didn’t like. I was a chubby, overweight, unattractive ten year old with buck teeth. Whatever the reason, she did not like me. She would make the next few years truly hell on earth, not only for me, but for all of the girls in her charge.
There was one “rule” the Holy Names nuns required of us which was quite different from any other school I ever attended. Whenever you were walking down the hallway and saw a nun approaching you, you had to stop dead in your tracks, move to the far right of the hallway, next to the wall, and bow your head as they walked by. You were never to look them in the face. They considered themselves “sacred” because they were devoting their lives to God. We were to do this out of “respect”.
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