Tag Archives: 1960’s. catholic school

My Guardian Angel

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I grew up in Maple Shade, New Jersey. Our house was located two doors down from the Catholic Church. I attended Our Lady of Perpetual Help Elementary School. Maple Shade is a working-class town, which is located an hours drive from Philadelphia, Pa. The elementary school is right next door to the church. So, we were within shouting distance from the school and the church. Needless to say, going to Catholic School for twelve years had a profound and long-lasting effect on me as I was growing up.

The high school I attended was Saint Mary of the Angels Academy. It’s an all-girls college prep school. It was located in Haddonfield, New Jersey, which is a town that, for the most part, was inhabited by wealthy families. 

St. Joseph nuns taught me all through grade school except for third grade when I had a lay teacher Miss Norris, and the fifth grade when I had Mr. Mc Elliot. He was the only male teacher I had through twelve years of school. The St. Joseph sisters had a reputation as being strict. And not adverse to using physical punishment if you got out of line or disobeyed their instructions. I had my head knocked against the blackboard more than once. And my hand whacked with a ruler that had a sharp metal edge. Most often, I was caught whispering to one of my friends.

For the most part, I was a quiet child and kept out of trouble. But, occasionally, my mischievous nature would get the best of me, and I would act out. For instance, we had to attend Mass on Sunday at nine o’clock, and all the students sat in the same seats every Sunday.

I thought it was funny to get my girlfriends to start laughing about halfway through Mass which usually lasted about an hour. One Sunday, there happened to be an older woman sitting in front of me, and she had a coat hanger sticking out of her winter coat on the back of her neck. And every time she had to sit down, the hook of the hanger would poke her in the back of her neck. It was just out of reach of her hand, and so she was tortured by the hanger poking her for well over an hour. I thought this was hilarious, and so I pointed at the lady to all my friends sitting next to me in the aisle. And we would all laugh every time the hanger mauled her. We tried to keep the laughter down to a low roar, but we weren’t always successful.

Soon Sister St. Joseph would come sweeping down the aisle to admonish me with her giant rosery that would swing back and forth from her waist to admonish me. And she would warn us that if we better quiet down. And we would someday be punished for our sins. Hell, was the place she assured us would be the place we would end up in for all eternity.

I always felt this was a somewhat extreme punishment for children. And besides, it was a well-known fact taught to us by these self-same St. Joseph nuns that we all had a guardian angel assigned to us after we were baptized. And the guardian angel would protect us for all time. He would be sitting over our right shoulders. And it was his job to protect us from the slings and arrows that life threw at us, and that included Sister Saint Joseph and the threat of eternal fires of hell.

At the time I reached the eighth grade, my class was informed that we would have to take entrance exams if we wanted to continue with our Catholic education. There were two Catholic High Schools in the area. Holy Cross High School and St. Mary of the Angels Academy, an all-girl high school.

After we took the entrance exams, I was flabbergasted to find out that I not had not only passed the entrance exam but did quite well. I was sure that I had failed them. Since almost on a daily basis, one of the dear nuns would inform me of how stupid I was. It took many years for me to overcome my self-doubt regarding my intelligence and start to believe in myself and my intelligence, and rebuild my self-confidence.

Outside of the classroom and when I was on my own or with my friends, I felt confident in myself. It didn’t really occur to me that there was anything I couldn’t do. Even though it wasn’t true, I would often take chances and do things that were unsafe. During the summer, I wanted to go swimming. But the fact was I had never been in a pool or lake where the water was over my head. No one had ever taught me to swim. And yet, when our neighbors down the street had a built-in swimming pool installed. And I was determined that I was going to go swimming in that pool.

The Pheiffers were the only family that had a pool, and I was certain that they were rich beyond my wildest dreams. Of course, that wasn’t true. They were working-class people, the same as my parents. They just had fewer kids in their families. I would often walk down the street and knock at their door. And ask if I could go swimming. I guess I made somewhat of a pest, and eventually, they gave in. And they invited my best friend and me to go swimming in their pool on one of the hottest summer days. I was wearing one of my sister’s hand-me-down swimming suits that were a size too big for me. But that didn’t stop me from going swimming. And the fact that I had no clue how to swim didn’t dissuade me in the least. Mrs. Pheiffer informed me that I should not go into the pool by myself because she didn’t want anything untoward to happen to me or any of the other neighborhood kids.

And so, on that beautiful summer day, I walked down to the deep end of the swimming pool, counted to ten, and jumped in a while, holding my nose into water that was over six feet deep. The water wasn’t heated. And it was a shock when I hit the cold water and sank like a rock to the bottom, which was well over my head. I had no clue what to do. But it was clear to me that I was going to drown. I began flailing my arms and legs, trying to propel my head and shoulders out of the water. I was swallowing the water and gasping for air at the same time.

I started praying for my guardian angel to come and rescue me. I couldn’t imagine what he was waiting for. It was clear I wasn’t going to last much longer. So, I opened up my eyes, and I saw one of the other bigger kids nearby. It looked like Denny Pheiffer. He was several years older than me. And quite a bit bigger. When he got closer to me, I propelled myself toward him with whatever remaining strength I had left. And low and behold, I got close enough to him to grab hold of him around his stomach. He tried to push me off since I was pulling him down. But he soon realized that I wasn’t going to let go of him. And he started swimming toward the side of the pool that was a few feet away.

And after what seemed like an eternity, Denny managed to get the two of us to safety with no help from me. But, I got plenty of help from my guardian angel, who I had been praying two the whole time. It seemed like a lifetime but probably was only a few minutes. I grabbed ahold of the side of the pool, and Denny swam away. I started crying, and Denny’s older brother Joey was yelling for his mother to come outside. Mrs. Pheiffer demanded to know what had happened, and Denny said, “she grabbed ahold of me at the deep end and pulled us both under the water. She almost drowned us both.”

Mrs. Pheiffer said, “are you alright, Susie?”

“Yes, I am. My guardian angel saved me.”

And then Denny just snorted at me and said,” Oh yeah, right. So, how come you were hanging on me and almost drowned us both?”

“She saved us both. And I folded my arms in front of me, which is what I did when I had no desire to discuss something further. In other words, I was done talking. You could believe me or not.”

Mrs. Pheiffer said, “alright, I think it is a good time for all of you to go home. And Susie, you need to learn how to swim before you go into the deep end again. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I do.” And I grabbed my towel and headed home and headed for my house, which was at the other end of the street, two houses down from Our Lady of Perpetual Help church. I decided that after I got changed, I was going to go up to the church and say a few prayers to thank my guardian angel for saving my life.

And that night, before I went to sleep, I said a prayer to my guardian angel. Angel of God, my guardian dear, To whom God’s love commits me here, Ever this day, be at my side, To light and guard, Rule and guide.

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MARIE’S RECIPES

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It’s almost unbearably hot in the kitchen, even though all the windows in the kitchen are wide open. And Marie’s new summer curtains are pushed aside. If it wasn’t for the ceiling fan that Harry installed a couple of years ago Marie thinks she would probably pass out or have expired by now. Summer in New Jersey is not only hot but unbelievably humid. You know how people say, “it’s not the heat, it’s the humidity.” Well, it’s both.

Mom sitting at the kitchen table,

Marie isn’t one to complain. In fact, she never complains. She learned that complaining is an unwelcome trait when she was growing up as the only daughter in a house filled with older brothers and a sick mother.

She’s been bent over the ironing board for the past several hours but thank god she’s finally finished that tedious task. She had a large family with six children. All grown and left home save for the youngest two, who are twins in the fifth grade. And even though there are only four people living in the house now, there’s still plenty of ironing to do. Harry is fussy about how his clothes look. Of course, she never mentions to anyone how much she hates ironing, especially Harry, never has, never will.

Marie notices a movement out the kitchen’s side window. She tilts her head to get a better view. It’s Mrs. Rice, her next-door neighbor. She has her rotary push mower out and is energetically pushing the mower in crooked rows from one side of her front yard to another. It isn’t unusual for her to cut the grass on the most inhospitable day. Although she usually chooses a day when it’s pouring down rain. Mrs. Rice is a widow with one son that lives at home and three married daughters.

Marie would never admit it out loud, but she really doesn’t like Mrs. Rice at all. The woman just rubs her the wrong way. She made a habit of saying hurtful things to Marie, and she goes out of her way to talk to Harry. Whenever Mrs. Rice talks to her, Marie nods and keeps walking or ignores her altogether. Marie is friendly and thoughtful to people but she cannot bring herself to even look at the woman for any length of time.

The final straw that broke the camel’s back happened when Mrs. Rice came over to the side door and hammered on it with her closed fist. Marie looks out the curtain and sees Mrs. Rice. She reluctantly opens the door and she can tell by the look on Mrs. Rice’s face that she’s fit to be tied. “Yes, what can I do for you?”

“I just had my front steps painted red and “someone” came over and took some of the paint and the paintbrush and painted nasty words on my sidewalk. And I think it was your daughter, Susan. She will have to clean it up.”

“What?” Susan would never do such a thing, and she doesn’t know any bad words. She’s only ten years old.” And with that, my mother slammed the side door in Mrs. Rice’s face. If it was possible Marie thought she actually hates Mrs. Rice. But she knows that’s wrong and tries not to think about it again.

It’s Friday afternoon and it’s Marie’s custom to make a cake for Sunday afternoon. Today she decides to make an Applesauce Cake. She takes out all the ingredients, a measuring spoon and a measuring cup, and a spatula. And she opens the cabinet and pulls up the mixer. She just loves how Harry attached the mixer inside the cabinet and all she had to do is pull it up and lock it into place.

She began adding the ingredients one by one.

1 1/3 cup flour

1 13 cup sugar

¼ tsp. Baking powder

1 tsp. Salt

½ tsp. Cinnamon

¼ tsp cloves

¼ tsp. Allspice

w/3 cup shortening

1/3 cup water

1 cup unsweetened applesauce

1 large egg (beaten)

1/3 cup chopped nuts

2/3 cup chopped raisins.

Heat oven to 350 degrees. Grease rectangular pan well and dust with flour. Sift dry ingredients into a bowl. Add shortening, water, and applesauce. Beat 2 min. Scrape sides of bowl constantly. Stir in nuts and raisins. Pour in prepared pan, bake for 35 to 40 minutes.

Baking is one of Marie’s favorite tasks. Rarely does anyone say thank you for cleaning the house and washing my clothes, but everyone loves her cakes, cookies, and pies? She’s proud of her baking skills. Although she rarely eats cake, she does love her Peppermint Patties.

When the twins come home from school, they sit down and she gives them each a glass of milk and some cookies. They love to dunk the cookies in cold milk. Marie is still bent over the ironing board making her way through the wrinkled clothing. Marie doesn’t have a dryer. She still hangs all her clothes on a clothesline out in the backyard. If it is raining or too cold outside, she hangs them on clotheslines in the basement. This is why they are wrinkled. If she doesn’t have time to iron all the clothing in one afternoon, Marie rolls up the clothes and puts them in the back of the refrigerator, until the next day.

Susan sits down and starts eating her cookies and dipping them in the cold milk. Susan’s twin sister says she will eat her cookie on the way to her friend’s house. “Alright, but go up and change into your play clothes before you go, and be home for dinner at 5:00. Don’t be late.”

“I won’t be. I’ll see you later.”

“Be careful riding your bike in the street.”

“Susan, so how was school today?”

“Mr. Mc Elliot was teaching us some words in French today. Also, he told me that he knows my brother Harry and that he used to work with him at the Post Office. He thinks he is one of the smartest people he ever knew.”

“Oh, I forgot about that. That was a long time ago.”

“Did anything else happen in school today, Susan?”

“Well, I was showing Mr. Mc Elliot some of my drawings that I made. Remember I drew all those pictures on the stiff paper Daddy gave me. Well, all the kids gathered around him to look at the drawings and were handing them to each other to look at. And I ask for them back. And they didn’t give them to me right away and I got mad.”

“Were you afraid you wouldn’t get them back?”

“No, I got mad because they were looking at my drawings but didn’t pay any attention to me, and I made the drawings.”

“Oh, you felt ignored. What kind of drawings were they?”

“Well, one of them was a drawing of a shooting star and the star had a face and a holster and was shooting a gun.”

“Oh, that was a clever idea, Susan. Why don’t you show them to me?”

“Mr. McElliot still has them, he said he’ll give them back tomorrow.”

“I’m sure he will Susan.”

“OK, Mom.”

“Why don’t you get change and go out and play for a while, I have to start dinner.”

“What are we having, Mom?”

“Your favorite, Susan, beef stew.”

“Great, Mom, I’ll be home on time.”

I go to my room and change my clothes and throw my uniform on my bed. I pull my play clothes out of the drawer and put them on. I grab my sneakers and shove my feet into them without untying the shoelaces.

I run down the steps two at a time.  Susan is about to run out the door and she says, “what kind of cake did you make, Mom?”

“Applesauce Cake, Susan, one of your favorites.”

“Oh, boy can I have some now?”

“No, you already had cookies, that’s for Sunday after dinner. It’s the dessert you know that.”

“OK, I’ll be home at five Mom.”

Marie has finished ironing for the day, so she rolls up any unfinished ironing and puts it in the back of the refrigerator on the second shelf under the milk and eggs. She goes over to the counter and pours herself a cup of hot coffee from the percolator and adds cream and three sugars. Marie doesn’t have a big appetite but she does love her sweets including sugar.

After Marie finishes her coffee, she washes the coffee cup and dries it, and puts it away. She decides she has time to wash the kitchen floor. So, she gets out the bucket and fills it with warm water and floor cleaner. First, she puts all the chairs upside down on the kitchen table and then sweeps the floor with the broom and dustbin. Then she washes the floor on her hands and knees from the front window all the way up the kitchen counters. She takes the bucket into the bathroom and dumps the dirty water down the toilet and flushes it.

Marie goes down to the shelf in the cellarway and gets out some of the newspaper.

She lays the newspaper on the kitchen floor. Because she knows one of the kids and some of their friends might show up and walk all over her clean floor looking for a snack.

It has been a long day, and Marie goes into her bedroom and takes off her shoes, and sits in her chair. This is really the first time she’s sat down all day. Marie wakes up at six o’clock sharp and goes to Mass every day, she’s never missed a single day. She belongs to the Altar and Rosary Society at the church and she attends Mass with them.

But now it is her time to relax. As she sits down in her rocker, she pulls her rosary out of her pocket and starts saying her prayers. It’s called “saying the Rosary.” Marie finds this ritual comforting. Sometimes she says some extra prayers from her prayer book. She prayers for all her children, the grown ones that have children of their own, and the two she still has at home. As she gets to the end of her prayers she starts to nod off. It has been a long day.

Marie wakes up with a start and looks at her clock it is four O’clock and she has to check on the Irish Stew she has on the stove and make the crust for the top and then put it in the oven. Luckily, Marie woke up just as the cake was finished baking and it didn’t burn. She can smell the wonderful smell of apples from the applesauce cake.

Marie rises from the rocking chair. It isn’t as easy to get up as it used to be. She puts her rosaries away and walks into the kitchen. The timer has just gone off on the cake that was in the oven and Marie gets her potholders and takes it out of the oven and puts it on the hot plate on the kitchen counter to cool off.

Then she walks over to the counter and gets the ingredients out to make the crust for the stew she has been cooking all day on the stove.

Irish Stew is usually made with lamb, but Harry doesn’t like lamb. So, Marie always makes it with beef.

The Beef Stew Recipe:

1/4 cup vegetable oil

1 1/4 pounds stew beef, cut into 1-inch pieces

6 large garlic cloves, minced

8 cups beef stock or canned beef broth1 tablespoon sugar

1 tablespoon dried thyme

1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce

2 bay leaves

2 tablespoons (1/4 stick) butter

1 large onion, chopped

2 cups 1/2-inch pieces peeled carrots

2 tablespoons chopped fresh parley

1 can of small potatoes (already peeled)

Preparation

Heat oil in a heavy large pot over medium-high heat. Keep the burner on low. Add beef and sauté until brown on all sides, about 5 minutes. And sauté 1 minute. Add beef stock, sugar, thyme, Worcestershire sauce, and bay leaves. Stir to combine. Bring mixture to boil. Reduce heat to medium-low, then cover and simmer for 1 hour, stirring occasionally.

Meanwhile, melt butter in another large pot over medium heat. Add potatoes, onion, and carrots. Sauté vegetables until golden, about 20 minutes. Add vegetables to beef stew. Simmer uncovered until vegetables and beef are very tender, about 40 minutes. Discard bay leaves. Tilt pan and spoon off fat.

Recipe for the Stew Crust  

And while the stew is simmering Marie makes the crust for the top of the stew.

1¼ cups all-purpose flour plus more for dusting your work surface

¼ tsp salt

6 tbsp unsalted butter and cut into 1/2 “cubes

2 tbsp chilled shortening and cut into ½ cubes

5 tbsp ice water

Using a dry ingredient measuring cup, add the flour to the mixer

Add the salt and then the chilled butter and shortening.

Cut the fat into the flour.  The butter should resemble small frozen peas.

Add the ice water, 1 tbsp at a time, just until a ball form.  Immediately stop mixing.

Remove the dough from the mixer bowl and using your thumbs, for a disc.

Enclose the dough in plastic wrap and place in the refrigerator for 1 hour.

On a lightly floured counter/surface, place the dough.  Try not to handle the dough too much, to prevent the butter pieces from melting.

You’ll need to roll out the dough to about 3 to 4 inches greater than the inside diameter of the pan.

Try and roll the dough out in a few ‘rolls’ as possible. Repeated rolling will overwork the dough, and will yield less flakey crust.

To transfer the dough to the pot, fold one half over, then fold over again into a quarter. Gently place onto the top of the large stew pot and then unfold the dough. Trim the edges with scissors.

Use your fingers to flute the edges.  Your pie dough is now ready for baking! And then bake in the oven until the crust is golden brown. Bake at 350 degrees for one hour or until the crust is golden brown.

Marie gets the large bowls, dishes and knives, and forks out for dinner and large spoons for the kids. At the last moment, she remembers to put salt and pepper on the table and bread. God, forbid she forgets the bread.

Marie sits down and has another cup of coffee; this is a quiet part of her day. She thinks about what she will cook tomorrow. About a half-hour goes by and Marie hears Susan coming in and slamming the front door behind her. “Susan what have I told you about slamming the door?”

“Sorry Mom, I always forget. Oh, Mom, I forgot to tell you earlier but after Mr. Mc Elliot looked at my drawings, he asks me what I wanted to be when I grew up.”
“What did you say, Susan?”
“I said I wanted to be an artist or a veterinarian.”

“Really, that’s wonderful.”

“Susan, could you take the newspapers off the floor for me. The floor is probably dry by now.”

“Sure, Mom. Can I watch Popeye after that?”

“Yes, after you pick up the newspaper.”

“OK, Mom.”

“I’ll call you for dinner, Susan.”

“Thanks, Mom. I love Irish Stew Mom. Thanks for making it. It’s my favorite.”

“I know it is Susan, that’s why I make it.”

At five o’clock sharp Susan’s twin sister arrives with a bang at the front door.”

Marie yells out, “Karen, I told you a million times not to slam the door.”

“Sorry, Mom. Is dinner ready? What are we having?”

“Irish Stew. Can you tell Susan that dinner is ready?”

Then she screams at the top of her lungs, Susie, dinner’s ready.”

“What did I tell you about yelling?”

“Sorry, Mom.”

And then the three of them have a delicious Irish Stew dinner. Harry is working the second shift this week, so he isn’t having dinner with them.

“That was great Mom,” said Susan and her sister in unison.

“Ok, why don’t you go do your homework.”

Susan says, do I have to do it now?”

“Yes, you do. If you get done before it’s dark you can go outside and play for a while.”

“OK, Mom.”

Marie starts clearing the table and washing the dishes, then she dries them and puts them away. She puts the leftover stew in a container on the counter to cool off before she stores it in the refrigerator. She wipes down all the countertops and the stove and the front of the oven.

She decides to read the newspaper in the living room, when Harry is home, she isn’t able to read the paper until he is finished with it. But for now, she can take all the time she wants to read it. Marie brings a cup of coffee to the dinner table and sits down. It always feels so good to get off her feet and relax. Marie reads the comics first as she sips her hot coffee, black with plenty of sugar. She takes a deep breath and relaxes.

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The Christmas Spirit

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Christmas time is here again. At my age, it seems difficult to summon up the Christmas spirit.

Maple Shade, NJ Christmas 1960’s

But when I was a child, it was a different story. I remember the days leading up to Christmas seemed to go by at a snail’s pace. I would ask my mother every day, “How many more days until Christmas, Mom?

She answered, “One less than when you asked me yesterday. Now, why don’t you go find something to do and keep yourself busy.”

If I kept bugging her, she would find something for me to do. “OK, Mom, I think I’ll take a walk. I’ll be back in a little while.”

I decided to walk downtown and look in the windows of the stores. We live in a little town in Southern New Jersey called Maple Shade. And all the stores are decorated for Christmas. We even have a Christmas parade. And Santa Clause takes a ride all over town in the fire truck. And he throws candy to all the kids lined up on the sidewalks. All my friends and I walked down the pike on Main Street to see it yesterday. We had such fun. It was cold outside, so we all wore our winter coats, hats, gloves, and snow boots. Because the day before yesterday, we got over a foot of snow.

As I walked down the street, I noticed that the repair shop had a TV in the window, and it was playing It’s A Wonderful Life with Jimmy Stewart. I’ve seen this story before, but all the same, I stand there and watch it for quite a while. Of course, I can’t hear the sound, but I know most of the dialogue anyway since I’ve seen it so many times. I decided to walk down to the Five & Dime Store to look at all the cool toys in the window. I asked Santa for a Barbie doll. I hope I get one.

The Christmas Lights along Main Street are beautiful. Of course, they look better when it’s dark out. The volunteer firemen drove up and down Main Street in their Fire Trucks and put up the lights and the Christmas Wreaths with big red bows on them the week before Thanksgiving. I watched them. The Rexall Drug Store is next to the Five & Dime Store. They have a display with a train set riding around on the train tracks, with little houses, churches, trees, and tiny little people walking around. There is even a little dog in the front yard of one of the little houses. At least, I think it’s a dog, but it’s hard to tell because it is so little. Above the houses, Santa is flying through the air with his reindeer, including Rudolph with his red nose. A little stream of smoke is coming out of the train engine’s smokestack. I wish we had one of those going around our tree.

I walk down to the bakery and look in their window. There are so many delicious-looking cakes in the window. My stomach starts growling loudly. My mother says I have a sweet tooth. I’m not sure what that means. But I do love candy and cake. I hope I get candy canes in my Christmas stockings and chocolate kisses with red and green foil wrapped around them. Oh, how I would love to have an éclair too. My mother is making a cake for Christmas. She is an excellent baker. I hope she makes a vanilla cake with shredded coconut on it. I do love coconut. I almost forgot that my mother makes a giant tin of Christmas cookies every Christmas. She puts the cookie dough in a cookie press, squeezes out these cookies in various shapes, and puts different colored sprinkles on them. I always find where she hides the cookie tin in the cellar, and I eat a whole bunch before Christmas.

Walking down Main Street, I see a police car approaching me. The car pulls over, and I hear the policeman calling my name and saying, “Merry Christmas, Susie.”

I walk over to the curb and see it is Mr. Lombardi, our next-door neighbor. He is a policeman in our town. “Merry Christmas, Officer Lombardi,” I scream at the top. And then he waves again and drives away.

I continue walking down the street, and I see a couple of kids from school. I hear them yelling, “Hey Susie, do you want to go and play behind the church?”

“Sure,” I say. When I caught up with them, I saw that they were my friends Helen and Ann Marie.

“What were you up to, Susie?”

“Nothing, just walking downtown and looking in all the store windows. What do you guys want to do?’

“We were just going behind the church and seeing who is playing in the snow. Are you getting anything good for Christmas, Susie?”

“I don’t know what I’ll get, but I asked for a Barbie doll and art supplies. How about you guys? What did you ask for Christmas?”

“I ask for two games, Operation and Twister. I love games, said Ann Marie. “

“I ask for an Easy-Bake oven. said Helen.”

“Oh, that sounds like fun.”

We rounded the corner at Main Street and Fellowship Road, and I said, “Let’s have a race to the pump house behind the church. Ready, set, go.”

And we all ran as fast as we could. And at the last minute, I slipped on an icy spot and fell flat on my back. Ann Marie and Helen approached me and said,” Are you alright?”

“Yes.” I manage to say, even though the wind knocked me out.

“Ok, then I bet I can beat you to the pump house Helen yells.” And before I even got up from the icy sidewalk, they ran to the pump house at top speed. I scramble up and start running as fast as I can. I was about to catch up with them when I heard them yelling, “We beat you; we beat you.”

All the same, I kept running, and before you knew it, I was scrambling up the side of the pump tower to the top along with them. There were many kids from Our Lady of Perpetual Help school and some of the public-school kids. And they were climbing hills of snow and sledding across the parking lot. We laughed hard, and the air was so cold I could hardly breathe. I don’t know how long I stayed out there. But I knew by the time I heard my mother yelling, “Susie, it’s time to come home. It was starting to get dark outside. What a day it was, what a day!

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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.

THE FIRST DAY OF FIRST GRADE

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It was September of 1957 when my sister Karen and I entered first grade at Our Lady of Perpetual Help School in Maple Shade, NJ.

“Karen, Susan, Karen, Susan get up it’s time to get ready for school.” My mother yells from the bottom of the steps. We moan and reluctantly throw the covers off. And slowly we get out of bed.

School Yard – Pixabay

My mother had put our school uniforms out for us. They look exactly alike, a maroon jumper with a white blouse that had what my mother called a Peter Pan Collar, black and white saddle shoes, and white socks. And worst of all, a hat called a beanie that was also maroon. I put on the blouse and the jumper, and it is so itchy I can’t believe it. I don’t think I’ll be able to wear it all day. I start scratching. I put on my new shoes. They look kind of neat but feel heavy. Since I haven’t worn shoes all summer.

As soon as I start walking around, my feet start hurting. I take them off and put my old sneakers on instead.

Karen looks over at me and says, “What are you doing? You have to wear  school shoes.”

I stick my tongue out at her. She says I’m telling Mom.

“Shut up.”

“No, you shut up, I’m telling Mom.”

We walk down the steps to the kitchen. Karen’s shoes are making a lot of noise as she clumps down the stairs. I’m wearing my sneakers, so I’m not making any noise. I hear my mother yell.

“Pick up your feet.”

I start laughing at Karen. She rushes down the rest of the steps and runs in the kitchen.” Mom, Susie isn’t wearing her new shoes, she’s wearing her old sneakers.”

My mother says, “Don’t tattle Karen; that’s not nice.”

Karen is mad now, “but Mom, she’s not wearing her school shoes.”

“Alright Karen, sit down and eat your cereal, I’ll talk to your sister.”

I am hiding at the bottom of the stairwell, so I know my mother is coming to talk to me. There’s nowhere for me to hide, so I just stand there and wait for my mom.

“Susie, please go back upstairs and change your shoes. We already talked about this the other day you have to wear shoes and a uniform. It’s a rule.”

I look at my mother, and I want to cry, but instead, I say, “I hate school, I don’t want to go.”

“No, you don’t Susie, you don’t even know what it’s like. You’ll make new friends, and learn all kinds of new things. Now, please go upstairs and put on your new shoes. And while you’re at it, get your beanie. And after breakfast, I’ll fix your hair and help you brush your teeth.”

Now I stomp up the steps, muttering under my breath, “I hate school, I hate school.” I hear Karen laughing in the kitchen.

When I come down, I hear my mom talking to Karen in the bathroom while she is brushing Karen’s curly, dark hair. I start shoveling my cheerios in as fast as I can. I feel like I’m going to start crying. Karen and my mother come back into the kitchen. I feel a tear and then another run down my cheeks.

“Look, Mom, Susie’s crying, she’s such a baby.”

I look at Karen, and I’m so mad at her that I stop crying and stare at her hard. I stick my tongue out at her.

She yells, “Mom, Susie is sticking out her tongue at me again.”

“Alright Karen, that’s enough, go get your school bag, and wait for Susie on the front porch she’ll be outside in a minute.”

“Come on Susie, I’ll fix your hair, and you can brush your teeth.”

I follow my mother down the hall passed the Blessed Mother grotto towards the bathroom. I start feeling sick to my stomach. “Mommy, I don’t feel good, I feel sick.

“You’ll be alright, Susie, you’re just nervous. Let me brush your hair and then brush your teeth. Don’t forget to put on your beanie, or you’ll get into trouble.”

I look in the mirror, I see my tear-streaked face, it is all red from me rubbing it. I had washed my hair last night, but I didn’t comb or brush it so it is full of knots.

“Susie, your hair is a rat’s nest. Didn’t you comb it last night after your bath?’

“No, I guess I forgot.”

Then my mother starts pulling the brush and then the big comb through my hair. It hurts. I look in the mirror. I have blond hair, but my sisters always tell me it’s “Dirty blond.” I hate when they say that cause I wash my hair every week.

“OK, Susie, here’s your brush, put some baking soda on it and start brushing, brush all your teeth not just the front ones.”

“OK, Mom, I will.” And I try to brush all my teeth, but my arm starts to feel tired so that I may have missed a few of the back teeth.

“Alright, let me see your teeth, Susie, open up.”

I open my mouth wide. She looks in. “Looks like you missed the ones in the back, here’s your brush. Do it again, and then rinse out your mouth.”

I do it again, I hate baking soda it tastes like poison. I brush the back teeth, rinse and spit.

“Put your beanie on Susie.”

I put it on the top of my head, it’s sticking up weird in the back, because of my ponytail. I make a face. My mom looks at my face in the mirror. “Here Susie, I’ll put a couple of bobby pins on the beanie to keep it on. Don’t lose them.”

She sticks the bobby pins into my hair, and I flinch. Now, my feet and my head hurt. I want to cry again, but I don’t.

My mother leans down and gives me a little hug. It makes me want to cry again, but I hold the tears back. “Bye, Mom, I’ll see you later.”

“Oh, Susie I forgot to tell you. You can come home for lunch. Sister will tell you when it’s time. I’ll see you at lunchtime.”

For a minute, I feel a little better. Then I run out of the front door, and I see Karen has already left. Now I have to go by myself. Karen’s a pain, but I always feel a little better when I can go with her somewhere I’ve never been to before. My stomach starts to hurt in earnest. And I get the weird scratchy feeling in my throat right before I start crying.

I cry all the way to the schoolyard — the school bell ringing. There are hundreds if not thousands of kids in the schoolyard. I don’t know where to go. Then I realize that I forgot my school bag — the crying increases. I run into the schoolyard. There is a sea of unfamiliar faces. I can’t find Karen. All the girls look alike in their uniforms.

I see a “nun” coming toward me. I want to run away. She looks like a giant. She has a really long black dress on and around her waist is a giant rosary swaying back and forth. As she comes toward me, I see she has a giant bib on her neck that comes down to her chest. And a stiff white piece of fabric is across her forehead and chin. There is a black veil on her head hanging down her back.

I ‘m terrified. “You’re late, don’t let that happen again. What is your name, and what grade are you in?”

I looked down at the ground. For a moment, I can’t remember my name or what grade I’m in.

“Look at me and speak up.”

I look up momentarily and mumble, “Susan Carberry, first grade.”

“Alright, Miss Carberry, follow me.”

The “Nun” takes me across the schoolyard and over to the line with the smallest kids. I see my sister, Karen. And I have never been so happy to see her in my life, as I did at that moment. She looks over at me, and she gives me a little smile. And then the second bell rings and all the kids start marching toward the school. The first day of school begins.

You Ain’t No Miss America Lady

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Well here it is picture day, isn’t that just grand, as my mother would say. All the kids at school are always so excited about picture day. For a couple of reasons; one we go to Catholic School, and therefore we have to wear hideous uniforms everyday.

The girls’ uniform is a wool, maroon jumper with a pleated skirt,  and a button-down white shirt with short, sleeves, and lucky us, a Peter Pan collar. No matter how fat or thin you are, you look horrible in this outfit.

I never get a new uniform because they cost a lot of money, which my family doesn’t have. We have six children instead. I’m the youngest. Sometimes I have to wear the same uniform for several years, and by the time Karen passes on her old uniform to me, the one I’m wearing waist is up under what I suppose what will someday be my boobs.

Anyway, I was saying I never get a new uniform, I get to wear my twin sister Karen’s hand me downs because she is a bigger size then I am. To top off this outstanding look, is the OLPH beanie. Which is also maroon, and has a peak in front, and a little maroon covered button on the top.

Sometimes if it is a first Friday, we get to wear a mantilla on our heads when we are all herded to group confession. A mantilla is a round piece of lace, also maroon. What’s with maroon already? Why pick the ugliest color in the world? We Catholic kids get to wear it for eight long years. Probably has something to do with the fact that we have original sin. And they are trying to get us used to the idea of eternal damnation.

Wow, that’s another story I could write a book on just the whole Catholic Church, Mass, and Confession ordeal. I’ll tell you about it later. Anyway, I was saying, the boys are not blessed with the whole horrible uniform thing, like the girls are. They get off easy with wearing black pants, white shirt and a tie. I’ll tell you life is just not fair. I know this and I’m only eleven years old. So, get used to it.

Back to picture day, everybody was looking forward to it because they don’t have to wear the ugly uniform for one day of their pathetic lives. I knew it was going to be torture for me, and I guess my sister Karen too.

Last night, my mother said,” Susie and Karen, after dinner I want you two to get a bath and wash your hair. Oh, and Susie don’t forget to wash out the shampoo.”

Jeez, one time you forget the rinse part of the hair washing and they never let you forget it. “Yeah, Ma, I know wash and rinse, wash and rinse.” I take my sister aside and say, Karen,”let me go first. You always take too long.”

“ Ok Susie, but if you don’t clean out the tub before I have to use it, I’ll make you sorry.”

“ Yeah, yeah, I’ll wash it already.” I go into the bathroom with my pajamas in hand. My favorite ones with the cats all over them, luckily, they are my favorite because I only have one pair.

I would like to wear them, all day everyday, I love pajamas. I hope someday, people will be able to wear their pajamas all day. I have told my mother this many times. And for some reasons she keeps saying, “Watch what you wish for Susie, you may grow to regret it.”

She has a lot of sayings like that like, keep making that face, and it might stay like that. Keep crying, I’ll give you something to cry about. She sounds mean but she’s really not, she just doesn’t put up with a lot of complaining.

She never complains about anything, I mean never. If she ever got run over by a car, she would just get up and take an Aspirin. She thinks aspirin is the answer for all that ails you, cuts, sore throats, Charlie horses (which I get in my legs all the time.)

If Aspirin doesn’t do the job there is always Vapor Rub, or as a last resort butter and sugar mixture, which is disgusting. Let’s not forget Exlax, God forbid.

I don’t tell my mother when I’m sick, unless I feel like I am close to death, if I see the light at the end of the tunnel. One time I had a really bad toothache, it hurt a lot. It hurt all the way up into my ear, especially after Sister Saint Joseph clapped her hand against it because she thought I wasn’t listening.

So finally, my older sister notices that the left side of my face is swollen up. And says, to my mother, “ Hey Mom I think there’s something wrong with Susie. Her face is all swollen up on the one side. Didn’t she already have the mumps?”

My Mom says come here, “Susie let me have a look. She looks at my face , in my ear, and then, open up, what is going on in there? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, she has a big cavity, and an abscess in there. She’s going to have to go to the dentist. Oh God, your father is going to be fit to be tied. Do you ever brush your teeth Susie?”

Next thing you know, I’m at some dentist in  Philadelphia, the only one that my parents could find open on a Saturday. By then, I was in such pain, I didn’t care what they did to me, as long as the pain stopped. And sure, enough he had to pull that sucker out of there. He told my parents that they should be ashamed that my mouth was in terrible shape, and had all kind of cavities, and it looked like I never took a brush to them ever.

My parents were pretty upset with this, and my Mom got a job after that so she could pay for my sister Karen, and I to go to the dentist. I had to have three teeth pulled out, and so many fillings, I lost count. My father was pretty mad at me about that for a long time. My mother checked my teeth  every day after that. I never had a moment of peace.

Back to the night before picture day, I get my bath, and do a quick rinse on the tub. When I come out my mom calls me  to the kitchen and says, “ Susie, I am going to set your hair, so it looks nice for picture day. Good Lord, I’m thinking will the punishment never end? What did I ever do to deserve this? My mother sits me at the table she has long strips of white cloth about an inch wide (probably an old sheet) and starts rolling up sections of my hair and tying the rags in a knot at the end.

The next morning, when my mother unrolls my hair into long curls, she has a big smile on her face and says,” Oh Susie, you look just like Shirley Temple.” I look in the mirror, and I see that I am transformed from my usual straight hair, pulled back in  a ponytail to God knows what!

Then Karen, comes in and my mother says, I have a surprise, your brother Harry bought you two dresses for Easter, but we decided you could wear them for picture day. She shows us twin dresses, yeah, that’s right twin dresses. Identical visions of blue satin, and blue chiffon that are fitted at the waist, have a bow in the back, and best of all big, I mean really big puffy pleated sleeves that come down to our elbows. “ Oh, I can’t wait, go put them on.”

Karen and I go up to our rooms and put these fashion nightmares on, when we get upstairs, we discover to my horror , that there are matching crinolines that we will get to wear all day at school. You just cannot imagine how uncomfortable they are.

I have it on for about two minutes when I realize that until now, I didn’t fully understand what the expression hell on earth meant. I have only my sneakers to wear, or my school shoes, so I opt for the sneakers, at least one part of my anatomy won’t be suffering.

We come down the steps, Karen, is walking like a queen. She always did like being dressed up. She is just not normal! I walk down the steps like I’m walking the last mile to the death chamber. My mother claps her hands when she sees us. I have never seen her so excited, my father has his camera out and takes a picture of us together, in front of our glass fireplace. He says, “you look beautiful.”

It’s almost worth the torture to see my parents look so happy, and my father has a big smile plastered on his face. Which is a sight I have rarely seen. Together we walk to school, I can only imagine the horror that awaits me, and Karen is grinning away.

When we get to our classroom, all the kids are excited. The girls are all wearing their Sunday dresses with shiny patent leather shoes. They have barrettes in their hair, and I could be wrong, but I think some of them have on lipstick.

The boys have on corduroy pants, dress shirts, and bow ties. Their hair is all slicked back with Brill Cream. But nobody, I mean nobody looks like Karen and I, when we take off our coats, everybody looks at us as one. Their eyes are big, their mouths round. Sister says, oh now don’t you two look beautiful. You look like you belong on top of a wedding cake. You two can be the first to get your pictures taken.

I think oh my life is complete. I can never top this experience. The only thing that would top this is if , I have to have to marry Robin Schultz my nemesis!