Trouble at School - by Mom

PERSONAL History # 3

Did you ever get in trouble at school?

            Yes. Where should I start?

            In elementary, I had playground issues.  I was constantly in quarrels with the other girls because they didn’t like me.  Most of them lived in a neighborhood on the other edge of the  parish boundaries. Their houses were in a regular development with sidewalks, curb and gutter, small “ticky-tacky houses” and our house was on a rural road bordered by woods on one side and an ancient worn-out farm on the other.  My parents had purchased the house on a foreclosure resulting from the man of the family going to jail for embezzlement.  Their dads worked in the unionized factory where my dad was employed in management.  He was very mid-level management, but he wore a suit and tie to work and their dads wore coveralls, essentially.

            All this is to say, we were kind of from different worlds and they said I thought I was better than them. Looking back on the attitudes in  my home – the reading, the music, the aim to be cultured and educated, the emphasis on good manners – I probably did act a little snobby.  Those girls thought I was “rich” and possibly we were, compared to their lives.

            Anyway, the playground was segregated by a rope, boys’ side from girls’ side.  So the girls played a variety of “tag” which, being chubby, I was not good at to start with, but one of the favorite games was TV tag—wherein you had to include the name of some TV show in the tagging.  We didn’t have television at our house, so I was often left out. (Call the waaa-mubulance, right?) Anyway, quarrels ensued, based on many other things as well, and I got in trouble for that.

            This all changed in the middle of 7^th grade when our parents moved us to a different parish, a huge story for another day. I got along fine in the new school until I graduated eight grade and went to high school.  I think I went to the boarding school in part to avoid those girls who would have been at the same  diocesan high school, as all the parish school fed into the one Catholic high school on that side of town.

            In high school I was only in “trouble” twice, both in my Junior year.  I was president of the Junior class, and so was expected to “work for the man” so to speak, set a good example, keep others out of trouble, etc.

            Traditionally, the girls in our school were there for one of two or three reasons: to eventually enter the convent as nuns, or to get a better education, or to take refuge from rough family situations. As you know, divorce was not acceptable for Catholics in those days; some of our girls were from divorcing families, I think, and at least one girl in our class had a father over in Viet Nam—Robin Benkhart.  He was a Colonel, should have been out of the line of fire, but he was killed our sophomore year. I still miss Robin, who went home after that.

            The reason I tell you this is that in our Junior year, some girls came to school who had had trouble at home—sex, drugs, etc.  One of the girls was Monna.  She was the niece of our music teacher and our hall proctor, Sister Michelle. When she came the principal Sister Mary Dominic and Sister Michelle had a meeting with me and asked me to befriend her and help the other girls to be friendly with her. So I did, and she got a long fine.

            But she started sneaking out at night, meeting boys and who knows what, and unfortunately, confided in me.  Ultimately she escalated to hitchhiking to Evansville 50 miles away and partying until the wee hours, then hitchhiking back. 

The nuns suspected something, and asked me to tell them what I knew.  What I knew was that she would be expelled. She started taking along another girl, Eleanor, also very troubled,  who was on her last thread as well. I didn’t understand Eleanor at the time, but looking back, I think she must have taken some acid or something, because while brilliant, there was something disturbed about her mind. However, she was a fine writer and we shared a lot of our stories and poetry that year.

            Well, I wouldn’t tell the nuns and they were really mad, furious, in fact.  I asked them for permission to consult with our chaplain about what to do and they refused.  They said I had a duty to tell; I said I had a duty to be loyal.

It was the worst trouble I had ever been in, but interestingly, it was the first time I experienced having real power.  They couldn’t force me to tell.  I went for a long walk, trying to figure out what to do, and finally I went back to the office and told the sisters that they had enlisted my help to be a friend to these girls, and that was just what I was going to do. I would not betray them, and that if the sisters needed to know what the girls were doing, they would have to persuade them to confess.

            Then I went to Monna and Eleanor and told them what was going on, that the nuns must already know about their escapades or they wouldn’t be asking me about it, and that things would go better for them if they would confess and promise to stop, which is exactly what happened.

            The second thing  actualyy occurred first but it was only a prank, in which I was just peripherally involved, but caught the wrath anyway.  This one had to have been in our sophomore year, because the principal was Sister Mary Esther, and she had a TEMPER! 

            At that time we had a chaplain that no one liked, and he didn’t like the girls either. I think he was Hungarian, not that it matters.  He was on temporary assignment to the Academy, because Father Pat, the previous chaplain, was a little too touchy-feely of the girls. He (Father Pat) would make popcorn in his room, invite a few girls down, and squeeze our arms, and sideways-hug us, a LOT! We thought he was funny, but I guess it became an issue, probably some girl who was not so innocent realized it was inappropriate, and told the nuns. Anyway between Father Pat and Father ___________, we had this Hungarian temp guy to say Mass for the nuns in the morning, the High School girls at 11:30 am and the college girls at 12:30 or so.  After the college Mass he would literally run to his little yellow VW Beetle and tear out of the driveway and down the hill.  More than likely, he had added these services to an already full schedule of ministry, but all we saw was that he couldn’t get away fast enough.

            One day during the college mass, the older girls got together and lifted his car up a flight of steps to a colonnade above the parking lot.  I had nothing to do with that, but when I saw it, I suggested they put a “Just Married” sign and some tin cans  on the back.  Apparently that was more offensive than moving the car.

            The priest was evidently so angry they were afraid he was going to have  stroke. There was no humor on the part of the nuns over this, at least none that we saw, but they were generally a good-humored bunch and laughed at a lot of the other stuff we did, so I bet they had a chuckle in private!

Anyway, I got called to the office over the intercom, in a tone that predicted my imminent demise.   Sister Mary Esther started yelling from the moment I turned the bend on the staircase above her office and she saw my unrepentant face.  Fortunately, there were a dozen girls gathered on the staircase between me and her, too thickly massed to pass through, so my scolding was delivered at a distance.

             I got “campused” (grounded) for a month. For the sign (maybe I made the sign, but I don’t remember) for encouraging the prank (  I was the sophomore Class president too – see expectations above)  and  for not doing something to stop it…..

            I have to say, that one was worth it.  That chaplain didn’t last long, and we got Father _________________ who we had until we graduated, and loved so much. I  can tell you about him another time.

            Those were my bads in school.