This is a true story from the 5th grade at St. Josephs elementary school in Bakersfield, California, many long years ago:
The nuns who taught us were the Order of the Sisters of Mercy. Each had a binary hermaphroditic name like Sister Mary Sylvester, Sister Mary Nicholas, Sister Mary Joseph, Sister Mary Anthony. Don't ask me why.
There was one student in my class named Steve Kelvey. He was bigger than most, and a real bully to a much smaller friend of mine named John Killeen. One day I arrived at school on my bike and showed Killeen some monster thorns in my bar-bags, from a date-palm tree I had passed on the way home the previous evening. These were easily two hand-spans long. They were green, but the last several centimeters were black and evil-looking.
"Can I borrow one?" asked Killeen.
Sure. What for?
"Watch!" said Killeen with an insane-looking smile. So I followed him across the school yard, where girls were talking, and boys were swinging from the monkey-bars or shooting marbles in the dirt, as we waited for the nuns to open the building so we could all file in. No, they definitely didn't trust us to go in on our own and behave until they finished their morning ablutions, or whatever it was that they did before school began.
Kelvey was leaning on the chain-link fence, talking to Elena Bonaventura, the sweet, chubby daughter of the wealthiest family in the parish. A chauffeur had just driven her to the school, and she was stepping out onto the sidewalk as Kelvey made smiley-face at her.
Killeen quite literally pranced up to him from behind, and with a deranged smile rammed the date-palm thorn several inches into Kelvey's glute.
With a loud bellow and several very bad words, Kelvey went up and forward, and hung himself on the chain-link fence. When he could free himself, and had yanked the thorn out, he set off after Killeen.
I remember being stunned at the courage - or insanity - that this act required.
Perhaps this was actually thought out ahead of time, but I doubt it: Kelvey would normally be able to outrun the shorter Killeen and beat him to a pulp - he had often done this for far less reason - but because of the deep puncture I suppose he couldn't catch Killeen after two complete circles of the city block that the red-brick, two-story school building sat on. Around and around they went, and I noticed that Killeen was cackling in a weird way, the whole way. Kelvey said nothing, but pursued him furiously.
The bell went off and Killeen darted into the school with marvelous timing, hoping, I suppose, that Kelvey couldn't do anything under the eye of the murderous nuns.
(ASIDE: Oh yes, we truly feared them. I have personally been slapped and beaten with a ruler more times than I could count - and the nuns were all so much bigger than we were. They could and did frequently knock us down. The habits that the Sisters of Mercy wore included all-black robes, with a white wimple and a black veil over that. Around their waists were (a) a 5-cm-wide black leather belt that ran through a large black metal ring and down to the ankles, and (b) a black rosary with huge beads that ran around the waist and all the way down to a black metal cross, also at ankle-level. We have all been whipped with one or both. The nuns who taught my cousins in LA were from a different order called the "Sisters of the Blessed Virgin Mary". They would sign letters to parents with "Sister so-and-so, B.V.M." My cousins assured me that this really stood for "Black Veiled Monsters").
Despite this huge danger, Kelvey kept trying to work his way around the 5th grade classroom to get at Killeen, as Sister Mary Nicholas flowed into the room. "Flowed" is really the most accurate word I could use to describe her dramatic entries. Sister Mary Nicholas was a prim Boston lady of Irish descent, the school Principal, and she had a strong sense of dignity, and I now realize, command theatrics. She swept into the room with eyes alert, books in one hand and a ruler in another. Believe me, I never once saw a nun use a ruler to measure the length of anything.
"What is going on here?" demanded Sister Mary Nicholas.
Never being shy to open my mouth, I yelled "Killeen stabbed Kelvey in the butt with a huge thorn!"
Taken aback momentarily, Sister Mary Nicholas (to this day I must reflexively say the entire name. I can never abbreviate it. This has been beaten into me down to the genetic level.) paused, and somehow forgot that HUGELY BAD WORD I HAD USED.
"Steven, is this true?" she asked Kelvey.
"He stabbed me in the butt and I'm gonna kill him!" snarled Kelvey.
The second use of that HUGELY BAD WORD definitely got Sister Mary Nicholas' attention this time.
"Steven! Come into my office right this minute! This wound must be treated with merthiolate immediately!"
Momentarily forgetting where he was, Kelvey yelled "No damn nun is gonna doctor up MY ass!"
I had never heard that word used in the remote vicinity of a nun before. Holy Mother of God, I thought (as the nuns frequently would say).
To put things in perspective, Sister Mary Nicholas's Principals Office was a dreaded place for all of us. It was close nearby, it was small, and it was where vicious corporal punishment was always administered - at least to boys. And small was especially bad: you couldn't dodge the blows because you would be immediately cornered, and then really beaten for not standing up and taking it.
Sister Mary Nicholas shrieked at that point, a truly terrifying sound, and that brought the rest of the hornets. I have to say, this shrieking noise was always truly terrifying to us students - it seemed to say that the jailers had gone off the edge, gone berserk. It was certainly more effective than the loud school bell for drawing all the rest of the nuns on the ground floor. In nothing flat, Kelvey was muscled by four huge women into the Principal's Office.
In the classroom, we all sat frozen, enthralled and terrified at the same time, as the yelling and shrieking continued from the other room. Then: silence. Long moments of silence. Our silly grins quickly disappeared as Sister Mary Nicholas, eyes flashing, flowed back into the classroom, followed by a sullen and red-faced Kelvey, still buckling his belt. He was followed by two other nuns (one of them, Sister Mary Anthony, always wore dark aviator glasses so you couldn't see where she was looking. She was especially intimidating). The other two nuns followed Kelvey to his desk, and stood on both sides of him for several minutes as Sister Mary Nicholas glared at him, then glared around the room at no one in particular, then glared at Kelvey again. It seemed like this tableau continued for a long time, but it was probably only 15 seconds.
Killeen and I both slowly started to un-hunch our shoulders as it became apparent that our individual offenses had been forgotten in the (literally unspeakable) event.
I have no idea what transpired in class the rest of that school day, but I do remember that Killeen asked if he could stay in the classroom during lunch time, and with a long and pregnant glare first, Sister Mary Nicholas granted that request with a curt nod.
Killeen was a hero in St. Josephs from that day forth. He had stood up to the bully, and very strategically had won. I always admire people who finally screw up their courage and confront a bully.
~~~~~
The nuns who taught us were the Order of the Sisters of Mercy. Each had a binary hermaphroditic name like Sister Mary Sylvester, Sister Mary Nicholas, Sister Mary Joseph, Sister Mary Anthony. Don't ask me why.
There was one student in my class named Steve Kelvey. He was bigger than most, and a real bully to a much smaller friend of mine named John Killeen. One day I arrived at school on my bike and showed Killeen some monster thorns in my bar-bags, from a date-palm tree I had passed on the way home the previous evening. These were easily two hand-spans long. They were green, but the last several centimeters were black and evil-looking.
"Can I borrow one?" asked Killeen.
Sure. What for?
"Watch!" said Killeen with an insane-looking smile. So I followed him across the school yard, where girls were talking, and boys were swinging from the monkey-bars or shooting marbles in the dirt, as we waited for the nuns to open the building so we could all file in. No, they definitely didn't trust us to go in on our own and behave until they finished their morning ablutions, or whatever it was that they did before school began.
Kelvey was leaning on the chain-link fence, talking to Elena Bonaventura, the sweet, chubby daughter of the wealthiest family in the parish. A chauffeur had just driven her to the school, and she was stepping out onto the sidewalk as Kelvey made smiley-face at her.
Killeen quite literally pranced up to him from behind, and with a deranged smile rammed the date-palm thorn several inches into Kelvey's glute.
With a loud bellow and several very bad words, Kelvey went up and forward, and hung himself on the chain-link fence. When he could free himself, and had yanked the thorn out, he set off after Killeen.
I remember being stunned at the courage - or insanity - that this act required.
Perhaps this was actually thought out ahead of time, but I doubt it: Kelvey would normally be able to outrun the shorter Killeen and beat him to a pulp - he had often done this for far less reason - but because of the deep puncture I suppose he couldn't catch Killeen after two complete circles of the city block that the red-brick, two-story school building sat on. Around and around they went, and I noticed that Killeen was cackling in a weird way, the whole way. Kelvey said nothing, but pursued him furiously.
The bell went off and Killeen darted into the school with marvelous timing, hoping, I suppose, that Kelvey couldn't do anything under the eye of the murderous nuns.
(ASIDE: Oh yes, we truly feared them. I have personally been slapped and beaten with a ruler more times than I could count - and the nuns were all so much bigger than we were. They could and did frequently knock us down. The habits that the Sisters of Mercy wore included all-black robes, with a white wimple and a black veil over that. Around their waists were (a) a 5-cm-wide black leather belt that ran through a large black metal ring and down to the ankles, and (b) a black rosary with huge beads that ran around the waist and all the way down to a black metal cross, also at ankle-level. We have all been whipped with one or both. The nuns who taught my cousins in LA were from a different order called the "Sisters of the Blessed Virgin Mary". They would sign letters to parents with "Sister so-and-so, B.V.M." My cousins assured me that this really stood for "Black Veiled Monsters").
Despite this huge danger, Kelvey kept trying to work his way around the 5th grade classroom to get at Killeen, as Sister Mary Nicholas flowed into the room. "Flowed" is really the most accurate word I could use to describe her dramatic entries. Sister Mary Nicholas was a prim Boston lady of Irish descent, the school Principal, and she had a strong sense of dignity, and I now realize, command theatrics. She swept into the room with eyes alert, books in one hand and a ruler in another. Believe me, I never once saw a nun use a ruler to measure the length of anything.
"What is going on here?" demanded Sister Mary Nicholas.
Never being shy to open my mouth, I yelled "Killeen stabbed Kelvey in the butt with a huge thorn!"
Taken aback momentarily, Sister Mary Nicholas (to this day I must reflexively say the entire name. I can never abbreviate it. This has been beaten into me down to the genetic level.) paused, and somehow forgot that HUGELY BAD WORD I HAD USED.
"Steven, is this true?" she asked Kelvey.
"He stabbed me in the butt and I'm gonna kill him!" snarled Kelvey.
The second use of that HUGELY BAD WORD definitely got Sister Mary Nicholas' attention this time.
"Steven! Come into my office right this minute! This wound must be treated with merthiolate immediately!"
Momentarily forgetting where he was, Kelvey yelled "No damn nun is gonna doctor up MY ass!"
I had never heard that word used in the remote vicinity of a nun before. Holy Mother of God, I thought (as the nuns frequently would say).
To put things in perspective, Sister Mary Nicholas's Principals Office was a dreaded place for all of us. It was close nearby, it was small, and it was where vicious corporal punishment was always administered - at least to boys. And small was especially bad: you couldn't dodge the blows because you would be immediately cornered, and then really beaten for not standing up and taking it.
Sister Mary Nicholas shrieked at that point, a truly terrifying sound, and that brought the rest of the hornets. I have to say, this shrieking noise was always truly terrifying to us students - it seemed to say that the jailers had gone off the edge, gone berserk. It was certainly more effective than the loud school bell for drawing all the rest of the nuns on the ground floor. In nothing flat, Kelvey was muscled by four huge women into the Principal's Office.
In the classroom, we all sat frozen, enthralled and terrified at the same time, as the yelling and shrieking continued from the other room. Then: silence. Long moments of silence. Our silly grins quickly disappeared as Sister Mary Nicholas, eyes flashing, flowed back into the classroom, followed by a sullen and red-faced Kelvey, still buckling his belt. He was followed by two other nuns (one of them, Sister Mary Anthony, always wore dark aviator glasses so you couldn't see where she was looking. She was especially intimidating). The other two nuns followed Kelvey to his desk, and stood on both sides of him for several minutes as Sister Mary Nicholas glared at him, then glared around the room at no one in particular, then glared at Kelvey again. It seemed like this tableau continued for a long time, but it was probably only 15 seconds.
Killeen and I both slowly started to un-hunch our shoulders as it became apparent that our individual offenses had been forgotten in the (literally unspeakable) event.
I have no idea what transpired in class the rest of that school day, but I do remember that Killeen asked if he could stay in the classroom during lunch time, and with a long and pregnant glare first, Sister Mary Nicholas granted that request with a curt nod.
Killeen was a hero in St. Josephs from that day forth. He had stood up to the bully, and very strategically had won. I always admire people who finally screw up their courage and confront a bully.
~~~~~
You tell a story in the most enthralling way. I felt as if I were right there. And I'm glad I wasn't! Those nuns sound scary. {{Shudder}}
ReplyDeleteIf you saw the movie "Blues Brothers" you will remember the fear verging on abject terror with which they treated the nun who had taught them in school. Only if you grew up in a Catholic school would this fear make sense to you.
ReplyDeleteOne of the cousins I grew up with as a child studied for several years to become a nun - even wore the full habit for a year before she changed her mind and left the order. Being around her that year was just plain weird.
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