There were several male boarders who were older than I. They flirted with me constantly. One of them was especially obnoxious. One day, after he had made a very explicit pass at me, I lost my temper and slapped him a good one. Immediately, I was sorry and scared. He was a very bright lad and he recognized his chance to hold me hostage. He said that he would be telling his mother about my abuse when she came to pick him up for the weekend. I had learned to bluff like the best of them. I told him, “Go right ahead. I am sure she will be happy to hear how you have been treating me.”
From that day on, I never had a speck of trouble from him or any of the others. Whew! I thanked the Lord for giving me the presence of mind to call his bluff. I learned from this experience that I had to curb my temper and to never again resort to striking a student in anger. I needed to learn that lesson early in my teaching career. It saved me from many a tough spot in the years to come.
I was so glad when that first year was behind me. I looked forward to summer and another stint at Great Falls. Now I had some practical experience behind me. I believed that my next courses would be more meaningful.
But first I was assigned to go to teach catechism in one of the parishes near Willow City. I really was not prepared for this task any better than I was prepared for anything else that was asked of me. I just did it to the best of my ability. I followed the pattern that I had observed in those nuns that had taught me catechism in Verona during my childhood. I was always sent with an older nun who was more experienced in this kind of mission. Thankfully, I was assigned the younger class. I could deal with the little ones in a more relaxed state of mind.
After completing those two weeks, once again, I boarded the train with the others who were continuing their education as I was. The train trip was long and tiresome. We never took sleepers but sat up all the way in our seats, isolated as much as we could be from the other travelers. I remember being happy for a chance to sleep before starting another six weeks of intense study.
That same Sister of Providence signed me up for classes that she thought would help me. They were Composition I, Children’s Literature, Educational Hygiene, and Rural Sociology. The only one that made any sense to me was Comp I. I was expecting to go back to Willow City to teach high school so I thought the other courses would be a waste of time. I didn’t express my thoughts, however. Again I earned 3-quarter hours in each class.
All of us, who came from our convents in ND, roomed and boarded with the Ursuline nuns at their big school, located 12 long city blocks from the college where we attended classes. Montana weather was very cool in the morning but by noon when we returned from morning classes to eat lunch, we were dragging under the heat and the weight of our heavy garbs. We ate hurriedly and if we had an early afternoon class we walked back in the heat to get to class on time. After that summer of 1949, we again returned to Valley City for retreat. This would be the pattern that I would follow with few exceptions until I earned my BA degree in August 1962, a span of 14 years.
At the retreat, my Superior informed me that I would be going back to Willow City for another year. I was not too despondent about that because I was now a little more confident of my ability to cope with high school students. She also told me that I could go home on August 16th for a one-day visit. I was to be back at the convent before bedtime.
I really enjoyed that one-day vacation with my family. I never breathed a word about the difficulties that I was encountering in my convent life. My Dad wanted to buy me a pretty ring while I was home. It broke my heart to tell him that I could not wear rings. Dad looked so bewildered. He could not understand why that would be forbidden. He and Mom delivered me back to Valley City on time. The next day I left for Willow City and the school year 1949-50.
Before school started Mother Patrick decided to invite the nuns and the parish priest from Harvey, ND to come for a picnic. When she threw a feast, it was quite elaborate. We had tables set out under the trees complete with table clothes, real dishes and many bowls of delicious, well-prepared food.
Before the guests arrived, she called me to her office. She said that Father O’Neal would be accompanying the nuns from Harvey. I was to see to it that he was given special attention. She whispered that he sometimes was a very difficult man to get along with and that if he were happy, maybe he would go easy on the nuns in his parish during the coming school year. That was sufficient incentive for me to do my best.
I was very solicitous that Father’s plate was kept full and that he had everything that was needed. I didn’t want my sisters who taught in his parish to have to put up with his bad temper. The day seemed to be a roaring success. In the evening, they left to go back to Harvey.
Several days later as I was preparing for the new students in my classroom, Mother Patrick again called me to her office. She said that she had bad news for me. I thought someone in the family was sick or had died. She reassured me that it was nothing like that.
She had received a notice from Mother Margaret, the Provincial Superior, stating that I was to go immediately to St. Cecelia’s School in Harvey. I would be replacing Sister Gertrude, an elementary teacher, whom Father O’Neal had just fired. He specifically had asked for me as a replacement. Again, I was traumatized with this unexpected change of assignments to another school just days before the fall term began. I could not understand what was happening. Needless to say, I was again distressed that something like this could happen in convent life.
Mother began to clue me in to the situation that had arisen as a result of my attentive care of Father O’Neal at that picnic. She said that he was very impressed with me and that Sister Gertrude was just too old to be teaching in his school. She further warned me that this priest had a reputation for wanting the attention of young nuns. Now, she was really scaring me. I was not sure what she meant by those words. She told me to be ever on my guard, never to be alone with him. That was all she needed to say. I decided right then and there that I would not give him more than the time of day if I could help it.
The very next day I had to pack my things and leave. I was petrified with fear at my new assignment and this disturbing situation. When I arrived, Father was right there to greet me. I nodded coldly and said not a word. That was a mistake. He immediately saw that something had changed in my demeanor between the picnic and today. My new Superior was Mother St. John. She didn’t have a clue about what was taking place or at least she didn’t let on that she did. As the days passed and Father did not try to corner me anywhere, I began to relax. That was another mistake.
One day, shortly after school had started, I was herding my students back to the classroom after their afternoon recess. Suddenly Father appeared, as I was about to close the classroom door. He grabbed my arm and motioned that I follow him into the Sisters’ private apartment located right next to my classroom. I told him that I could not leave my students alone and unsupervised. He informed me that this was his school and that I was supposed to do as he told me. I didn’t know what to do. I had been taught to obey those in authority. Reluctantly, I followed him into our private living room.
He demanded to know who had changed my opinion of him. He suggested that it was probably Sr. Berard who had been stationed in Willow City with me during the previous year. He said that she had never liked him.
I assured him that Sr. Berard had not said a word to me about him. That was the absolute truth. He angrily retorted, “You are lying! She must have said something because your attitude is entirely different now than it was when I first met you in Willow City!”
By this time I was in tears and in a state of complete terror. I fired back, “ I don’t give a damn what you think! You have no right to talk to me this way.” (The naughty childhood vocabulary that I had learned from my brothers erupted with force.)
Just then the phone began to ring. I started to move toward it to answer, grateful for the interruption. He stopped me by yelling, “Let it ring! We are not through yet.”
I told him, “I am through. I am going back to my classroom.”
From out of nowhere, Mother St. John appeared at the door. She had left her private piano student to answer the phone that had been ringing persistently. When she saw me in tears she calmly answered the phone. I had never seen her so in control. After replacing the receiver and jotting something on a note pad, she demanded to know what was going on. I was crying much too hard to explain. Father began to stammer and stutter in an attempt to cover his proverbial ass. Sizing up the situation, Mother told me to go into the washroom to refresh my face and then to return to my classroom. I was only too happy to oblige.
I wondered what would happen when those two went at it. Mother was a stubborn, strict French nun and Father was an obstinate unpredictable Irish priest. However, I was glad to be out of it. I never learned what was said but from that day on, Father was as hostile in his attitude toward me as I had been toward him on my arrival. That was perfectly fine with me. Whenever he happened to meet me alone in a hallway or on the stairs, he would whisper, “You’re done! No matter where you go after this school year, I’ll alert the parish priest that you are a trouble maker.”
I never answered him. For the remainder of that year, I just minded my own business. Mother St. John never explained what transpired between her and the priest after I had gone back to my classroom. I thought she would have had some words of advice for me but evidently she had concluded that I had handled myself well enough.
I always wondered if Father told her I had said, “I don’t give a damn!” That kind of language surged up in me unexpectedly in that time of stress. I think now that it was quite appropriate. His threat to blackball me with other pastors was just a bluff because in all my future assignments, I never had any trouble from any parish priest where I taught. I never again had to deal with a priest who was so ornery.