My Dad Got Me to a Nunnery Read online

  survival strategy. For the mighty nuns, our obedience and servitude were crucial for the

  institution’s economic survival. Recall a scene in the 1945 movie, The Bells of St. Mary’s,

  which depicts two nuns, one washing a floor and another washing a stairwell. Now, that was

  Hollywood really out of touch, romanticizing institutions run by people of the cloth. Never,

  never in seven years did either Bob or I see a nun washing a floor or stairwell. We young yeomen could be counted on for washing the floors, stairways, toilets, dishes, or anything else

  that we poor orphaned folk were directed to do. No one else toiled like this—or so we

  fantasized. From the public school located diagonally across the street we could hear the

  laughter and romping about their play yard. From our side of the street, the public school

  surely seemed like a fun place. Surely, we must have been God’s pariahs.

  of Catholicism, sins, and prayers

  When we were new to St. Louis Home at five years old, Soeur St. Croix (Sister of the

  Holy Cross) introduced us to the practice of the Roman Catholic faith, exclusively to saintly

  readings. To me, this honorable role seemed to suit her well because she modeled what good

  Catholic nuns ought to be doing every day. For example, SoeurSt.Croixtended to our daily

  needs with distinction. She nurtured us along, with little if any strict discipline. She also

  prepared us for the rigors of kindergarten with her charming colleague SoeurThèrese,another

  excellent nun. Aside from my interminable yearning for my home and family, SoeurSt.Croix

  made it possible for me to complacently acquiesce to my childhood destiny: an unknown time

  interval at St. Louis Home. Besides, I was a budding bilingual kid with this lady who

  bounced in and out of French and English, mostly because she had very little English, and I

  had very little French. That mix would eventually change.

  Most memorable to me was in reckoning how SoeurSt.Croixoversaw our having

  received the most hallowed Catholic sacrament of the Holy Eucharist, also known as Holy

  Communion. That was the Catholic Church’s formal way of inducting the little ones, usually

  around age seven, among its ranks, toward a step higher than Baptism. It was normally

  billed as the most joyous day of one’s life. Intriguing…maybe? White clothing, a solemn

  Mass, and real eggs, home fries, and bacon for breakfast afterwards at our holy haven What a

  astonishing departure from the day-to-day same old, same old.! Now, I knew that my “First

  Holy Communion” was to become something well worth milking. Oh yes, the blessed sacrament of the Holy Eucharist proved an immensely blissful achievement for me. But

  wait—there was a downside. To receive one’s First Holy Communion required many weeks

  of planning for this momentously holy occasion. For starters, we rote -learned the Baltimore

  Catechism to be sure we would be worthy of receiving this inscrutable sacrament. Yes, drill

  and kill at will. Trust me. It was worth every sacred ejaculation we were taught to recite.

  SoeurSt.Croixtaught us, even if by rote, to recite the Ten Commandments (the ones

  Moses received on the mountain) in preparation for the blessed event of Holy Communion.

  Receiving the Holy Eucharist (a.k.a. Holy Communion) via a very thin Necco wafer-shaped

  white bread host, was the time when we would be forgiven for all our sins (even Original

  Sin—the sin you really didn’t commit) from birth to the time of receiving this sacrament of

  Communion. This provision of direct orders from the Pope happens only once in your life—

  at Holy Communion; so exploit it for all it’s worth. Every two weeks thereafter, no matter

  how discomforting, one had to come face-to-face about one’s sins with our convent chaplain,

  Father Jalbert. The holy sacrament of Confession (now called Reconciliation) was designed

  to confess the naughty things we committed that were punishable as venial sins. A

  redemptive purgatory option awaited them, should the casual sinner die on the spot.—mortal

  sinners were never alllowed this option . The escape clause, however, was there: just tell the

  priest about your most lethal sins, and you will be forgiven. Not a bad deal.

  We committed sins during those early years, of course, were not that serious—or so

  we thought. Those were what the Catholic Church called venial sins. Another prerequisite for

  having sinned was the peccadillo of lying (l les grands mensonges, les mentons, les mentréees)—like telling Dad we wanted him to treat us to a movie about Jesus or perhaps a

  comedy, when our intention was to see a grizzly horror movie. Our Dad would go along with

  our pretense, but he never approved of any cowboy or monster movies—a decent message in

  retrospect about keeping us free of the ills of violence. We lied about things like that. Less

  ethical about our behaviors was indulging in petty theft. As poor kids, we often engaged in

  that jolly variety of sin. We routinely pilferred food and at times clothing from local

  department stores. Dad did not steal to support us as far as we knew; yet we did filch from

  others out of necessity on our own. We thought, that in order to compensate for Dad’s

  shortcomings as a family provider, stealing from the wealthy was fair game. Think Victor

  Hugo. Of course, to God, that excuse would carry no merit. A sin is a sin. Period.

  There were, nonetheless, possibilities that more egregious sins could have been committed.

  The distinction between venial sins and mortal sins were always a bit blurred to me because

  we were taught that intent, not the actalone, was everything. If you sincerely thought you

  committed a venial sin, then venial sin, it is. Ditto for mortal sins. Remember: only God

  really knows, but you know when you’re trying to fake it. Should any of us Catholics visit a

  Baptist church or a Jewish synagogue? Venial or mortal. Don’t risk it; we were told. More

  complications yet in making the distinction surfaced as we learned about the “near occasion of

  sin”—a really gray area, like thinking about committing a sin or setting ourselves up for a sin.

  Each of these opportunities may have presented a sinful act to be determined between us and

  God. This was indeed a tough judgment call for a kid.

  Venial sins were the kinds of malfeasances that were easily forgiven; no time in hell is threatened. Such transgressions were what you might expect: disobeying adults, telling lies,

  having nasty thoughts, or stealing small things (but returningthem was required for

  forgiveness), or seeing things even by accident that would be forbidden by the Church,

  including movies that were not suitable for honorable Catholic kids (this pre-dates the movie

  rating system that we have today). It was not only a venial sin to lean your fanny against the

  bench will kneeling in the convent chapel, doing so would also fetch you a thrashing back in

  our convent quarters downstairs.

  Stealing small change would be an example of a venial sin. Mind you, dying without

  confessing to having stolen small change means that you will experience Purgatory, a lurid

  place whose fires are the same as would be found in hell. The only difference, then, between

  Purgatory and hell is that the latter is permanent; the former is temporary. We expected that

  we suffer the pains of hell in Purgatory once we die until Judgment Day when the Purgatorial

  venial sinners get to eventually ascend into the pearly gates of Heaven. Whe
n I was seven or

  eight years old, I thought about that. I ruminated about my yielding to the devil’s temptation

  that I take one, and only one coin from among the few I saw atop a stack of the Lewiston,

  Maine DailyJournalnewspapers blocking the entrance to Bruno’s Variety Store on Main

  Street. I swear that all I took was five cents, nothing more. That sleight of hand bought me a

  fresh Hostess cake from a neighboring store. Yes, I had committed a venial sin. As a most

  devout Catholic prone to frequent donning of the black and white garments of an altar server, I

  dutifully confessed this evil deed. The priest, on pardoning the contrite sinner that I was,

  reminded me that in order for me to gain forgiveness for my teeny weensy sin to come full circle, I would need to return the five cents to the good people at Bruno’s. I knew that he

  would insist I do that. Return five cents? How could I do that? I was but a street kid of ten

  years old, Hey, I already had eaten the Hostess cake it bought me. There was no way I would

  have a nickel to spare—unless I stole another nickel from somewhere else. Not an option.

  So, the matter remained in my heart and soul in limbo for the next ten years. A person of both

  conscience and hardship, I eventually set out to make good on my sacred prayer of contrition.

  I would look for Mr. Bruno himself as I had been more than eleven years old by this time,

  nickel in hand. I was jubilant at the very thought that I could relay the news to a priest in a

  confessional a couple of years later. Yet, I knew nothing of the inflation a few years could

  have on a nickel. Too late. No more Bruno’s. They had gone out of business. Oh, my God.

  Purgatory! I must have caused Bruno to go bankrupt. I had no idea of what I had caused.

  There could be no forgiveness, for I waited too long. To this day, I think about that five cents

  debt, plus interest of course. If only I could plant perhaps a hundred yellow roses on. Bruno’s

  grave somewhere. Don’t ever think venial sins don’t matter much. My misconduct cost me

  profound guilt.

  Mortal sins, (les grands mensonges) the momentously reprehensible ones, would

  come, for big-time sinners, later in life comparable to murder and adultery. Yes, that

  ghastly! Some of us innocent folk during our formative years were prone to committing a

  transgression such as missing a Catholic Mass on Sunday or eating meat on Fridays (prior to

  1965). Other mortal sins committed against Catholic doctrine might include touching the host

  with anything but one’s tongue (no chewing it and no using your rosary bead’s cross to unleash it from sticking to the roof of your mouth). Perish the thought of dropping the host on

  the chapel floor. Woah!? Oh My God!? Imagine committing a mortal sin just as you leave

  the Communion rail—it was possible! To make good on the honor and distinction of

  continuing to receive the Holy Eucharist, mortal sins would need to have the blessing of

  forgiveness by the good chaplain through confession. Whether a mortal sin or a venial sin

  was confessed, there was always a requirement that one recites an “act of contrition” to earn

  God’s forgiveness as demonstrated by the priest’s granting of absolution—a pardon for those

  sins. Mortal sins became sort of public in two ways: either because you were seen tending to

  a lengthy penance of prayer after confession or—if you failed to confess the mortal sin—you

  did not receive Holy Communion. So, everyone knew your unholy business. If you took

  Holy Communion while you had a mortal sin in your soul, that would become another mortal

  sin. Don’t risk it!

  One would reasonably suppose that nuns committed sins, too, although at the time I

  doubted they ever did while I was in their company. Years later, I reckoned that Soeur Boulé

  to be introduced later on, must have sinned the most as you’ll deduce from her profile I have

  featured in a subsequent chapter. Most nuns did beat us up a bit—psychological and mental

  abuse to be sure. Such abuse must have assuredly been sinful. Yet, if one is contrite about

  one’s sins in seeking forgiveness, especially for those who trespassed against us, a few fair

  questions may be posed, “Did the nuns confess their nasty peccadilloes? If so, why did most

  of these nuns continue those wicked acts over and over again ? Were they granted the priest’s

  absolution no matter when or what?” I think the nuns used cuss words a lot, too, but those words were uttered sort of in the

  “near occasion of sin” category. That is to say, they uttered sacred words in vain deliberately

  using French malapropisms as in calènewhen they really wanted to say calice( chalice—the

  gold-plated goblet containing the sacred wine/blood of Christ). That would not fare well with

  the holiest of holies They would say t abernoucheinstead of the most holy tabernacle

  ( tabernacle, the brass box on the alter containing the sacred host and wine). I learned from

  an English subtitle in a Québec film that the exclamation, “ ÉTabernacle” translates to “Oh!

  Fuck.” Maybe there was more to those nuns than I credit them for! They would exclaim

  Calvainse! in anger rather than to utter Calvaire, (Calvary, the hill outside of Jerusalem

  where Christ was crucified. Their liberal use of mon Dieu(my God) was applied to just about

  any exclamation of surprise. Though the latter example may be God’s call about whether that

  was sinful, it seems to me that the other examples come close to what were indeed the very

  near occasion of sin.

  Above all else, the Catholic Church was severe about sin, especially mortal sin. I

  accepted the tenets of the Church and the teachings from my Baltimore catechism without

  question well into my adulthood. SoeurSt.Croix(the out-of-classroom caregiver) and Soeur

  Cantin (the first grade teacher) were the genesis for my blind commitment—which

  brings us back to Saint Marguerited’Youville, founder of lesSoeursGrisesand patron saint

  to those in opposition to church authority. No grey nun ever told us about their founder, St.

  d’Youville’s angle on blind commitment to the Church. Some irony! The practice of Roman

  Catholicism in the 1950’s prior to the papacy of Pope John XXIII was clearly defined. In the

  fifties, one was required to attend the Catholic Mass, which was celebrated entirely in Latin, at least each Sunday (no Saturday afternoon credit). We all said grace before every meal,

  confessed sins every other Saturday, performed Easter duty, abstained from meat every

  Friday, and we prayed at every opportunity or inspiration. Yes, perfectly righteous.

  There were other Catholic rituals from time to time. One was the fifteen-minute

  benediction service. This service always took place in the convent chapel on Friday and

  Sunday afternoons. It wasn’t much: a blessing, a couple of prayers, shaking holy water

  among the faithful, and circulating the air with malodorous incense. Sometimes we recited

  the rosary at benediction—that was a half-hour by itself. I would sometimes pose the

  question to others more knowledgeable than me about whether afternoon benedictions still

  exist. Don’t know.

  Yet, I wonder. There were rites of Catholicism that we did not participate in. For

  example, “Holy Orders,” which would be the rite for the ordination of priests, “extreme

  unction” (a deathbed blessing) weddings, and funerals never took place at our chapel. I

  presume that’s beca
use no one entered the priesthood, got married, or died at the convent.

  Actually, I did get to attend my first-ever funeral back in 1958. It was the funeral mass for my

  Mom; some initiation!

  For orphanage kids, practices of the Catholic faith were significantly enhanced—

  sometimes to extremes. The nuns, not the priest, taught us our prayers and religious

  celebrations. Perhaps that was part of their required pedagogy of love and rapture of the opus

  Dei In fact, the nuns also taught us every detail about the rites and histrionics of serving the

  priest at Holy Mass services. They were there to supervise the quality of us altar servers each Tuesday and Thursday, besides the Sunday masses each week at 6:00 a.m. As an altar boy, I

  served those masses nearly every week; that’s three masses and two benedictions plus a few

  laps around the black plastic-beaded rosary each week. Reciting the rosary meant

  regurgitating one “Our Father,” fifty “Hail Mary’s,” and five “Glory Be’s,” which would

  collectively consume thirty minutes or more of prayer all by themselves. As an altar boy, I

  managed my mission of staging prayers with the priest conducted entirely in Latin. It was a

  sort of recital, a performance. Heck, I can still recite the opening Latin prayer for the Catholic

  mass, Ad Deumquilaetificatieuventemmeam[close to God who delights and protects us].

  Impressed? The Catholic Church refers to this sacrament as the Sacrifice of the Mass. A

  sacrifice it was! For the masses and all the extras, I received twenty-five cents from Father

  Jalbert every other week that I served. I was deferentially appreciative.

  We youngsters entered the chapel from the sacristy—the priest’s chambers behind the

  altar. Priests, like us parishioners, nowadays ceremoniously enter from the rear of the

  Church. The local vernacular was not to become the medium of prayer at Mass until Pope

  John XXIII’s Vatican-II, a decade after I left St. Louis Home. Today, altar servers don’t

  recite prayers—in English or otherwise. Nor do they prepare the priest’s water, wine, or

  Communion in the grandiose detail we altar boys did back then. For the faithful to receive

  Communion, they proceeded in an orderly line down the center aisle to the chapel-wide