It was no big surprise that at the end of that school year, I knew that I would not be reassigned to teach at St. Cecelia’s again. Was I unhappy about that? Not a chance! I held no grudge against that priest. I had no clue as to what made him act the way he did. It was not my place to judge him. He is now long gone from this world. May he rest in peace. I learned from him to be on my guard against any potential wolf in sheep’s clothing.
After the usual two-week catechism session in a neighboring parish, I went back to Great Falls. That summer of ’50 I took on an even heavier academic load. I earned 13 credits studying Curriculum Workshop, Fundamentals of Music, Art Education, and of all things, Folk Dancing.
I could not be correctly classed with the “Flying Nun” as I learned and practiced these quaint dances borrowed from other lands. As we practiced, (An all nun class) it must have made quite a sight to see all of us nuns in our long robes and flying veils whirling around to the beat of such square dances as “Cotton-Eyed Joe” and to lively Scottish and Polish music. This course would be used in the future if anyone of us were ever assigned to teach Physical Education. For me, I thought that was unlikely, I enjoyed the class because I liked to dance. I never envisioned having to teach PhyEd. I should have known better. I had yet to learn never to take things like that for granted.
After summer school I attended my first Catholic Teacher’s Convention at Sacred Heart Academy in Fargo. After the first day’s session, I called my Aunt Christine who lived in Fargo. She said that her son, Jim Noonan was home to plan his wedding and that she would send him to pick me up so that I could visit with her and Jim.
Jim was about six years older than I was but he was many years more mature. He questioned me about my teaching philosophy. I don’t think that I answered “Dah?” but that is about how I felt. Never before had anybody had spoken to me about the need for a philosophy of teaching. When he saw my obvious discomfort at his question, he kindly did not pursue that any further but began to tell me instead about his own philosophy: “ to seek the bright side of life and the good side of people in all of his experiences and teaching”. (Jim went far in eduational field...ending up as an important superintendent of the school in East Grand Forks, MN.) I went away with more sharp feeling of inadequacy. He appeared to be so well prepared for his career and I was not. Still I was learning and even though I had not known that I should have a philosophical mission statement in my memory, ready to spout it out at a moment’s notice, I always had high aims for the welfare of those under my responsibility. Basically, I knew that my students had not been that shortchanged because I really worked at being a good teacher.
Lo and behold, for the school year 1950-51, I was again assigned to teach high school. This time I would be stationed in Valley City. I had entered the convent there some five years previously. Now I was back to teach “something” (subjects yet unknown to me) to students similar to the ones that I had been isolated from back then.
My next surprise was to learn that my Superior would be none other than Mother Patrick again. She had been transferred to Valley City. She told me that I would be teaching Algebra, World Geography, and Typing. Of course, I didn’t bother to tell her that I had never cracked a book in any Algebra course. I knew that her response would have been the usual, “You will have to learn quickly!”
Another surprise came when she told me I would be assisting Sister Albertine, my old music teacher from my postulant days. Sister Albertine would assign some of her youngest piano students to me for lessons. Will wonders never cease? I had very little natural talent for music. She was kind enough to give me some hints about how to teach little ones so that they would find their lessons enjoyable. She was the first nun who really understood the difficulties that I faced because of my inadequate education in so many areas.
I I grabbed the teacher’s manuals and began to learn what I needed to know. I wanted to be a good teacher but again I was totally flabbergasted at my Superiors’ lack of concern that I might be shortchanging my students. I am not sure that thought ever entered their minds.
Sometimes I would get very discouraged when I realized that most of my Superiors cared little that I had terrible headaches each day and that I was always nervous, tense and exhausted. The only thing that they seemed to care about was staffing their schools. The quality of the teachers did not seem a major priority.
Trying to master Algebra was the worst of my worries. Math had never come easily for me in grade school. Each day I approached the class with the hope that some clever student would not have jumped a few pages ahead and would ask me a question that I had no clue to the answer.
I often scolded God for asking more of me than I could give. In my heart, I always heard Him say, “My grace is sufficient for you.” I would answer, “Yes, but is this Grace smart enough to trust you on that score?” Each day I placed myself in His Hands. Each day after I finished that Algebra class, I was wiped out. My heavy woolen habit would be soaked from my armpits to my waist with nervous perspiration. Of course, we were not allowed any deodorant in those days. I never saw the students holding their noses when I passed by but I was always conscious of the possibility. Without time to go freshen up, I would have to proceed to my next class or to study period supervision.
As the year progressed, I vacillated often about whether I was truly called by God to this kind of life. I found that I really loved teaching and that I was good at it. I wanted to serve Him to the best of my ability but I disagreed with so much that went on in the convent. It was not the majority of the nuns that I had problems with but mostly with my Superiors’ heavy-handed methods of governing.
That summer my superior needed someone to accompany another nun who would be attending St. Teresa College in Winona, MN. Sister Mary Margaret was a nurse and she needed some credits to finish her nursing degree.
Arriving in Winona gave me my first taste of Minnesota. That summer of ’51 was scorching hot. Winona is located in somewhat of a small valley. The hot air was humid beyond belief. Both the heat and humidity pressed down on that valley and there seemed no escape from the pressure cooker that developed.
Coming from the dry heat of ND, I didn’t know how to cope. At least there and in Montana, the mornings and evenings were always cool. I kept drinking huge amounts water and orange juice in an attempt to beat the heat. Soon I became very sick and had to be rushed to the hospital. The doctor concluded that I was water logged. I had never heard of that condition. I just knew that I was miserable. Somehow they nursed me back to normal as I basked in the air-conditioned room the hospital provided until I was ready to face the outside world again.
After the first few days, I became more acclimated and I began to enjoy my classes in this new surroundings. The Franciscan Sisters ran the college and they were most hospitable. My class in the history of modern Europe was especially enjoyable. The teacher kept every class fresh and interesting. I also enjoyed taking a course in General Ethics and Psychology of Mental Health. These were two new areas of knowledge that really intrigued me. Sister Mary Margaret was a delightful companion so the summer passed all too quickly and we had to return to Valley City.
My two brothers, Gene and Fritz, had just bought a beautiful new Oldsmobile. They came to Valley to pick me up for my day at home. They delighted in showing me some of the newest gadgets on their new toy. As we were driving along Highway 1 toward Verona, all the windows in the car suddenly opened. I nearly jumped out of my skin. I yelled and grabbed my veil so it would not sail out the window. Delighted that they could still scare me, they showed me how they could control every window with the synchronized touch of four power buttons on the driver’s side. This was a brand new feature available in some cars at that time.
With the windows wide open, Gene put “the pedal to the metal” and we streaked down the highway at top speed. That adventuresome ride home brought back many memories of the days when these two brothers loved to play tricks on me, tease me and when needed, protect me. After a wonderful day with my family, the boys drove me back to Valley City for my annual retreat where I learned that I would be teaching high school in Valley City again with no new classes to prepare.
As that school year came to a close, the time for me to take my perpetual vows was fast approaching. According to what I had been taught, once you made those vows, you could not, under any circumstances get out of them. It was time for me to make up my mind. As the vernacular puts it, “Either shit or get off the pot!” I decided that I would tell Mother Provincial that I would not be taking perpetual vows when my temporary vows expired. I had no idea how I would tell my mother and family or what I would be doing after I left. I was sure that I had to leave.