CHARACTERFARM

The thieving priest from the previous post got me thinking of nuns I've known.

From my Catholic grammar school:

Sister Kevin Marie: My 1st grade teacher, my first nun. A tall mean woman.

I had always been called by my middle name, but Sister Kevin insisted on calling me by first name, as my middle name wasn't a saint's name. I resisted, and wouldn't answer when called on by the heretofore unused first name. The principal was brought in, my parents were called. My parents won the battle, I was called by my middle name from then on, but at a terrible cost. I was marked. Marked by a woman who had changed her own name and was called by a man's name.

At this point, I'm supposed to say that I didn't see the incongruity at the time, but I did see it. I was one disaffected 6 year old.

I had no nuns from 2nd through 5th grade.

Sister Pruney: (I forget her real name) My 6th grade teacher. A short mean woman with a shriveled face. Called Sister Pruney by all. One day, William A. brought in a picture of a prune that he'd cut from a magazine. He labeled it Sister Pruney and passed it around. It was noticed and confiscated.

A nun was brought in from another class to yell at us. She told us we'd hurt Sister Pruney's feelings. That was a shocker. Nuns had feelings? None of us had ever considered such a thing.

A highlight from Sister Pruney's reign: One snowy slushy day she had everyone line up in the hallway before class. Those who'd worn boots were allowed to separate, take off the boots and proceed to class. Those who'd come to school just in shoes remained in line. Sister Pruney then took a yardstick and smacked the bootless ones across the back of the thighs for attempting to track sloppy snow into her classroom. She aimed a little low when she assaulted Nick C. The yardstick hit the back of his knees and cracked. "Your parents will get the bill for this," she said.

Then she went to the supply closet, got another yardstick and continued whacking her way down the line.

Sister Carmella: 7th grade. An exceedingly tall, exceedingly mean woman. She towered over the 7th graders even more than Sister Kevin had towered over the 1st graders.

Sister Carmella's signature move was to throw a glass of ice water at misbehaving students. She kept a full pitcher and glasses on her desk at all times. Her downfall came one Friday in early spring when she tried to perform her usual bit of shock therapy on habitual miscreant Jack T. He ducked and Anne S., sitting directly behind Jack, was drenched. She was a good girl, never in trouble, never punished, and the shock of being unjustifiably drenched sent her into a hysterical crying fit. She began to hyperventilate. Her parents had to be called.

On Monday, Jack's desk was unoccupied. He'd been expelled. For ducking.

And we had a new teacher. Mrs. L, former 5th grade teacher, had been lured out of retirement to shepherd us through the rest of the year.

It seems that Anne S's father was the manager of the local Cadillac dealership. The dealership that had always been more than happy to provide special favors to the parish priests, all of whom were accustomed to driving Cadillacs. Anne's father had apparently read the riot act to the monsignor about the way his daughter had been treated in the monsignor's school and the likelihood of the monsignor receiving any special consideration at the Cadillac lot in the future.

So, that was the last of Sister Carmella. Transferred? Walled up in the convent basement? Who new? She was just gone.

Sister Loretta Adrienne: 8th grade. A very fat, very mean woman. Known colloquially as Sister Loretta Fats. Her mode of discipline was a quick hard slap to the face of the misbehaver. I kept a little notebook with all the slappees' names and a tally of the number of times then been slapped. I think in some dim way I was hoping there'd be legal action and I could be called to testify against her. But, of course, nothing of the sort happened. She just slapped away all year, and then we graduated.

A Nun My Sister Had For A Short Time, Unfortunately Her Name Is Lost To History

This one was my sister's teacher in 5th grade. She freaked out very early in the school year. It was a warm September day, when, on recess duty, she smacked a kid's head against the side of the school building until he was bleeding and semiconscious. She was taken away, had a seizure over the weekend, and died.

My sister's class was greeted by another guest lecturer on Monday morning. A nun they hadn't seen before addressed the class:

"You! You are murderers! Sister is dead and you have killed her. Killed her by your behavior! You have killed a bride of Christ!"

And one more:

My Aunt: My father's older sister is a nun, one of the luckiest nuns of all time. Her two assignments, in all the years I've known her, have been in Virgin Islands for the school year, and at a gigantic beachfront retreat house in New Jersey the rest of the year. She would visit us for a week or so every summer; I realize now that it must have been quite a comedown for her.

We had cats. Aunt Sister was deathly afraid of cats. The fear was such that she wouldn't even enter a room if a cat was there. This led to a lot of maneuvering. If a cat was in the front room and she wanted to get to the kitchen, she would leave the house by the front door and walk around to the side door or the back door. She tried to be as unobtrusive as possible, but once I realized what she was doing, I would quickly scoop up the nearest available cat and rush to deposit it on the other side of the door she was approaching. A pleasant time was had by all.

We had an apple tree. Aunt Sister's big project during her visits was always to collect as many apples as possible and cook them up into the most vile dessert concoctions imaginable. Her Apple Brown Betty, in particular, still makes me shudder.

Aunt Sister repeated everything she said. Everything she said. This amused us no end. In fact, I can still make my brother laugh by simply dropping my voice to a low chortle and repeating myself. And repeating myself.

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I have no use for nuns or for cooked apples to this day.