Tag Archives: 1950s classroom

GROWING UP CATHOLIC IN AMERICA IN THE 1950-1960’s

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I was born in 1951at the height of the Baby Boom, which followed WWII. Hence the name Baby Boomers. I was one of a pair (of fraternal twins) Baby B was born seven minutes after my sister, Karen. Catholic families often had many children due to the fact that the only form of birth control that was allowed by the Catholic Church was the” Rhythm Method. Not a particularly reliable birth control method.

Susan Culver- high school graduation picture

We were a part of the ever-growing number of families in the working class. My father was the dispatcher for SEPTA the public bus company in Philadelphia. I grew up in a neighborhood of similar but not identical homes. We all had big backyards. We always had food on the table and clothes on our backs. I was the youngest so it was not uncommon for me to get the hand-me-downs. As did all the youngest in large families in our predominately Irish and Italian neighborhood in Maple Shade, NJ.

There was no “extra money.” However, since most of my friends were in the same boat, I did not consider it a big deal.

Being Catholic in a Catholic neighborhood also meant attending Catholic School. All other kids who didn’t go to Catholic school were called “The Publics.” And for some reason, we were told that this was a fate worse than death. If we misbehaved, we would be threatened with being sent to public school. Something akin to being sent to the third circle of hell.

The Classrooms were often too small for the large numbers of students occupying them. We often had to share books and desks. In first grade, I didn’t have my own desk right away and had to sit on a windowsill.

We were taught by nuns. Who considered themselves to be “brides of Christ.” In elementary school, I had St. Joseph nuns in high school I was taught by Franciscan nuns. The Saint Joseph nuns were a particularly strict order of sisters. They wore heavy woolen habits. Made from yards and yards of fabric. Their “habits” were fitted at the waist with voluminous skirts and a “belt’ that resembled a large rosary with a huge crucifix that hung down in the front. It clicked and clacked as they floated by seemingly without touching the ground. On their foreheads, they wore a “wimple” which was stiff as cardboard. And another piece that covered their chins. And a huge, white bib, that covered them from their necks to their chests, shoulder to shoulder.

I often wondered if they had hair underneath their veils. We were told never to touch the sisters for any reason. They were untouchable. I often wondered if they had ever been regular human beings or entirely another species. We were never brave enough or bold enough to question their words or their behaviors. No matter how unfair or unfathomable it seems to us.

Part of my Catholic School experience was wearing “uniforms.” The Our Lady of Perpetual Help uniform (OLPH) for girls was a maroon jumper with a white short-sleeved blouse, and saddle shoes, which were black and white. And a “beanie,” which was a maroon wool cap with a maroon wool-covered button on the top. Girls had to keep their heads covered at all times, especially in church. The boys wore dark pants, a white shirt, and a tie. The wool uniforms were itchy and uncomfortable especially as the weather became warmer. In the winter, girls were allowed to wear pants under their uniforms outside. But once inside, we had to take them off.

We were expected to stay neat and tidy at all times. My mother was kept busy washing and ironing our uniforms. The nuns kept order in the classrooms at all times. We were not allowed to talk back, or ask questions. Or heaven forbid chew gum in school. If anyone was caught with gum, they were forced to wear it stuck to the end of their nose for the rest of the day. If your behavior was out of line, you would sit in the corner. Your name would be added to a list on the blackboard. It was on there more than three times, you would be in for a world of trouble. And you warned it would go on your “permanent record.”  Which we were told would follow you around for the rest of your life. The final threat was you would be expelled and never heard from again. This would be the ultimate embarrassment for your family, of course. What would the neighbors think?  The sisters were not beyond using physical punishment, either. Rapping the knuckles with a metal-edged ruler, slapping, knocking the more rebellious boys down a short flight of steps. And name-calling, such as stupid, or lazy, was all too common a punishment.

There were some rewards in Catholic School too. You could become a hall monitor. Or you would be given a responsibility such as clapping the blackboard erasers. The greatest honor was being the child who crowned the Blessed Mother statue in the May procession.

On the first Friday of every month, we were all marched up to the church for Confession. There was a lot of pressure involved in going to Confession. Which was considered a Blessed Sacrament. Coming up with good sins to tell the priest, aside from the usual I got in a fight with my brother or sister, I lied. I was a quiet child and didn’t always have good “sins” to tell the priest. Sometimes, I felt compelled to “make up” more interesting transgressions. After Confession, we all had “pure souls.”

On Sunday mornings, we all went to the Children’s Mass at 9 am. During the Mass, if you were foolish enough to commit a transgression, the sisters would come up to the aisle where you were sitting and click a little metal clicker they had in their deep pockets.

My aisle often got into trouble because I always felt a compulsion to make all the girls in my aisle to start laughing. I would do this almost every Sunday without fail. Make a face or fart and cause a domino effect when my friend next to me would laugh, and then each girl next to them to giggle. The nuns would be clicking like crazy. We would be kept after school and punished by having to diagram sentences. Over fifty years later, I can still diagram a sentence.

In Catholic School, the curriculum was basic: reading, writing, arithmetic, history, spelling, science, spelling, English, and, more importantly religion. We had religion every day. In this class, we were given questions and we had to memorize the answer. If you weren’t good at memorizing your career in Catholic School was at risk. It turns out that I have an excellent memory. And I always received straight A’s in Religion and History and spelling. We’re not permitted to question these Religious beliefs. You were expected to believe on Faith. Anything less was considered a sacrilege.

Another important skill all good children needed to learn was the Palmer Method of Writing. We spent endless hours writing in blue books. We filled these books with strokes and ovals. It was tedious and a waste of time, and I was terrible at it since I was bored. We were using dip pens in bottles of ink. By the fifth grade, there were cartridge pens.

At that time there was a great deal of excitement about the Space Program. And a TV was brought into the classroom so we would all observe a space rocket being launched from Cape Canaveral. Not everyone had televisions back then. It was exciting to watch.

As far as sex education, in the eighth grade, we received a lecture. Of course, the boys and girls were in different rooms. The girls learned about menstruation. A very vague explanation was given and pictures of something (supposedly sperm) swimming towards a waiting ovum. No questions were allowed, and we were warned not to discuss this with the boys. One girl was assigned the important task of smuggling the little booklets out of the room under her jacket.

God knows what version of the truth the boys were told. I was still trying to figure out what a hickey was, let alone how someone got pregnant. No one bothered to tell me about the physical manifestations of menstruation, and I had three older sisters.

When it was time for my sister and me to attend high school,  we had to take entrance exams. We were both accepted into St. Mary of the Angels Academy and Holy Cross High School. My parents made the decision that we would attend Saint Mary of the Angel’s Academy because it was an all-girls high school.

I was a shy girl all through my high school years. St. Mary’s was located in Haddonfield, NJ. Which was a higher income area than Maple Shade, NJ, where I grew up. There were some benefits to attending an all-girl school. One was girls didn’t have to fight for attention because there were no boys. In grade school, the nuns always called on the boys. Girls were told it was a known scientific fact that we could not comprehend Math or Science. Many girls at St. Mary’s found out that they were quite intelligent. In fact that they could excel in both Science and Math. We also had a basketball team that competed with other girls’ teams throughout the state of NJ.

The Catholic School system taught me many things: reading, writing, math, history, and basic knowledge of Science, French, and a smattering of Latin. It also taught me self-control, discipline, and determination.

However, it took me years to overcome the lack of self-esteem and inhibitions that sometimes overwhelmed me. Catholic high school did protect us for four additional years from the harsh realities of life. But I don’t know if they did us any favors considering the turmoil of the seventies that awaited us.

GOOD MORNING STUDENTS,MY NAME IS SISTER JOHN MICHAEL

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In she storms her full skirt, making a swishing noise as she moves. When she stops, the giant rosary that hangs from her waist swings back and forth, she’s dressed in black that flows down to the top of her black boots; a white wimple covered her forehead and chin. And she wears a white bib that spans her shoulders from one side to the other. 

If she has any hair, you can’t see it; a black veil covers her head. She appears six feet tall. My first thought is she’s the Wicked Witch of the West.

Today is my first day of school at Our Lady of Perpetual Help Elementary School. I’m seven years old.   The classroom is overflowing with kids. There’re more kids in the class there than desks. A bunch of other kids and I have to sit on the windowsill. I saw three first grades in line in the schoolyard.

There’s a low murmur as the students whisper to one another. Suddenly, Sister yells out, “that will be enough of that. No one is to speak unless they have permission to speak, or unless I ask you a direct question, is that understood?” None of us made a sound.

She screeches, what’s wrong with you? Answer.

We mumble, “Yes.”

She says, “when you reply, you are to say, yes, Sister, or no, Sister.” Now repeat after me, yes, Sister, no. Sister.”

And we did.  “Yes, sister, no sister.”

“If you have to go to the bathroom, you must raise your hand, and ask for permission, do you understand?”

“Yes, Sister.” We say as one.

She walks up to the blackboard and picks up a piece of chalk, and writes her name, Sister John Michael. None of us can read.   “My name is Sister John Michael. You may call me Sister. By the end of the school year, you all will be able to read and write your names. You will know how to do Arithmetic.”

“Good, now let us begin. I’ll start with the fist aisle. You will stand and state your name, now go.”  I ‘m not in an aisle, so I’m hoping I won’t have to stand up and say my name.

After everyone who has a desk says their names, Sister tells the students sitting on the windowsills to speak. When it’s my turn, I stand up, and with my head down, mumble my name, “Susan Carberry.”

“What? I can’t hear you, speak up, and put your head up.”

I put my head up, but I don’t look at her. I stare at the large round clock that’s on the column in front of her. I don’t know how to tell time, but I hope it will be time to leave soon.  I spit it out all at once, “my name is Susan Carberry.” Then I sit down so hard, I jar my whole body.

After everyone has introduced themselves, Sister picks up a long wooden stick that’s pointed at the end. We all hunker down in our seats. Wondering what she’ll do next. Is she going to hit us all one by one?

She points at green cards that line the top of the walls along the front of the room. “Boys and girls, this is the alphabet. I’m going to point at each letter and say the name, and you will all repeat it after me, do you understand?”  She puts her hands deep into the pockets hidden in her long skirt.“Yes, Sister.” We said in unison.

“Good, now we will say the alphabet over and over until we know it by heart. You will all have a chance to show your classmates that you recognize and say each letter out loud. Later we’ll begin writing the letters in a special copybook. And you will learn how to read words that are made by putting these letters together. You will learn how to read and write by the end of the year. You will have to work hard. But you will learn. Do you understand?”

We all sit and stare at her. No one answers. Her voiced booms out, “I said, do you understand?” I for one don’t know what she’s talking about. But I yell out as loudly as I can,” Yes, Sister.”

“Well, Miss Carberry, you’re learning already. Now, I want to hear the whole class. Do you understand what I said?”

All a sudden everyone yells as loud as they can, “Yes, sister.”

“Good, let us begin. I’ll point at each letter and say the name. You’ll all repeat what I said, out loud. Let’s begin.”

After we repeat every letter out loud, Sister announces,” we’ll practice this every day. Beginning next week each student will be called on and they will have to repeat each letter as I point at it. Everyone will have a chance. “Do you understand class?”

There was a moment of silence and then sister repeats, “Do you understand?”

We all yelled out,” Yes, sister.”

My stomach tightens up. I feel sick. I know I’ll never be able to learn all these letters and say them all out loud in front of the class. I want to run out the door and go home.

And then sister says, “Alright class, it’s time to use the girls and boy’s room before recess. Will aisle one and two come to the front of the room and stand at the door?” I look around at the rest of the class, and I wonder what’s a boy’s and girl’s room? Does everyone else know?

And then the first two rows go up to the front and sister says. “boys in front, girls in the back. Go out into the hall and wait until I come out there and direct you to the bathrooms. Be silent, do you understand?”

“Yes, sister.”

And they all walk silently out into the hall. Well, at least I now know we’re all going to the bathroom. I wait my turn hoping I don’t have to wait too long because my stomach is really hurting.  Finally, it’s the turn for the people sitting on the window sills to go to the bathroom. We march out to the hall.

Sister says. “No, talking.”

Suddenly I feel someone t.ake my hand I look to see who it is. It’s a girl with curly brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. She smiles at me and I smile back. My stomach starts to feel a little better. Sister yells, “go into the bathroom now. When you finish, form a line and wait until you are all done and then go back to the class and sit where you were sitting before.

My new friend and I hold hands until we get in the bathroom. We see four doors inside. We each open one of the doors and look inside. There is a toilet in there. We go in, and then we shut the door. It’s weird, but at least I have a moment alone when sister will not yell at me. When I’m done, I flush, the toilet and my friend is waiting at the door for me.

‘Hi, my name is Irene Simpson. What’s your name? “

“My name is Susie Carberry.” I, smiling shyly at her. We walk out hand in hand into the hall.  After all the kids are out, there we march back to the classroom and sit down again.

“Alright class, quiet, please we’ll begin practicing our letters. The first person in each row pass the copybooks to the person behind you. I would like a volunteer to come up to the front of the class to pass out the copybooks to the people who sit next to the windows. What no one wants to volunteer?” She looks up and down the aisle.

I feel her eyes resting on me. I turn my head slightly and put my head down. I’m thinking, please, please don’t call out my name.

“No volunteers? Alright then, Miss Carberry, come up here and get the books, please and pass them out.” I try to shrink down lower. “Miss Carberry, Susan Carberry, come up here this minute. I can see you.” I hop off the windowsill and walk up to the front of the class, and stick out my hands to take the books.

“Very good Miss Carberry, that wasn’t that bad was it?’ She hands the black and white books to me. I turn around and walk to the back of the class to the window and give each of the kids a book. And then I plop back on my window seat. I take a deep breath.

“Alright, let us. Begin I’m going to pass out pencils to each student and you must never lose it. This will be your pencil. And then, we will begin learning to write the letters.  Do you understand students?”

We all say, “yes, sister.” And sister hands out the pencils and shows us how we are to write the letter on the special lines of the copybook. It takes forever to fill up one page of letters.

I’m tired and want to go home. I feel like crying, but I hold it in. “Alright girls and boys, it’s almost time to go home for lunch. Please put your pencils and books on your desk or on the windowsill next to you. I ‘ll be calling each row and we will be walking outside. You will wait until you are dismissed and then you can go home for lunch. There’re people who will help you cross the streets if you need them. They are called safeties they have badges on over their uniforms. Do what they say. You have to come back to class at 12:30 and meet in the schoolyard and stay there until the bell rings then line up and you will come back here to class for the afternoon. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sister.”I have no intention of ever returning to this classroom. But later my mother told me I would have to go back there. My older sister tells me I will have to go to school for twelve years. But I know that can’t be true. So I stick my tongue out at her.