Frank, Carmela, and I said goodbye to our younger brothers and also the other children. We continued to moan and groan about the transfer to another orphanage, insisting that we had agreed to it only for our father’s sake. A couple of nuns were in the car with us as we drove away from St. Vincent’s, and I think it was more for their sake than ours that we complained so much.
My thoughts centered on the OS&SO Home as I tried to imagine a world without nuns. I wondered how soon the Protestants would begin attempting to pull us away from our faith. It was very worrisome. The nuns kept their thoughts to themselves and hardly said a word throughout the trip.
PART THREE
Ohio Soldiers & Sailors Orphans Home
Xenia, Ohio
The OS&SO Home was like a small city of orphans, spread out over several hundred acres. It was built after the American Civil War for children of veterans who needed a home. It was funded and staffed by the State of Ohio and continuously supported by various veterans organizations and a strong and enthusiastic association made up of former pupils. The modern trend of foster homes instead of orphanages finally closed it down in 1995-96, when the land was bought up by a religious organization (to the disappointment of many ex-pupils, including me).
My first impression of the Home was of its beauty, greenery, and wide open spaces. I was thrilled to see there were no walls. We drove in over a bridge adorned on each side by an old cannon, up through a tree-lined street, and past a large grass-covered parade ground that led to the Administration Building. We walked across the parking lot and entered the building with the two nuns in front, and Frank, Carmela, and me tagging behind.
Our procession was observed by some of the OS&SO children, who stopped what they had been doing and stared at us with great interest. While it was unusual for them to see nuns walking around on their campus, I don’t doubt that we looked strange to them as well, with our subdued and serious demeanor and the odd cut and style of our clothes.
It was late April, 1940, and the girls of that period wore saddle shoes and bobby socks. Their dresses came to the knee or slightly above, and the older girls wore lipstick. Many of the girls styled their hair into curls or pulled it up into puffs. I later found out the Home had its own beauty salon for girls interested in a cosmetology career.
It was quite obvious that the boys, who wore tee shirts and slacks, were amused by Frank’s high-crowned hat and drab suit. The girls’ eyes flitted over Carmela’s and my short, straight hair, homemade dresses with their profusion of bows, long cotton stockings, and sensible shoes. Until I saw the smirks and looks passing between them, I didn’t realize how odd we looked.
The Administration, or main building, was flanked on both sides by a row of white children’s cottages, with a covered walkway or veranda running down the full length of the cottage rows as protection against the weather. One side of cottages was for the boys and the other side was for girls. There were two separate cottages for the black children, who seem to have mostly positive memories of the OS&SO, since many of them return to it for Home reunions.
The Home Superintendent greeted us by name. “Welcome to your new home, Frank, Terfina, and Carmela.” My sister immediately corrected him, saying, “My real name is Anne, and I don’t want to be called Carmela anymore.” I chimed in that I preferred being called Terry. He gave us both a smile and called us by our chosen names.
He then invited the nuns into his office, and told us we could wait in the lobby.
A social worker came over to where we were sitting and began to tell us a little about the OS&SO. She told us that all new children had to stay in the Home’s hospital for two weeks before going to their assigned cottages. We were to get complete physical examinations to ensure that we were in good health and had no sicknesses that could infect the rest of the student population.
After two weeks in the hospital, we would be given placement tests and assigned to appropriate classes for the two remaining months of the school year. A housemother would take us to the Home commissary to be outfitted with whatever was lacking in our wardrobes.
The social worker told us what to expect in the children’s cottages, where most of the children lived. Each cottage had a mix of children from the first grade up to juniors in high school—about fifteen to twenty kids in each cottage. There were Peter Pan cottages for preschoolers, and two senior cottages: Hayes Hall for the girls, and Roosevelt Hall for the boys.
We were told about the Home’s hospital, which had a resident doctor, patient wards, and a full-time nursing staff; and about the Home farm which had cows, pigs, and chickens, and even had its own complete dairy, including a bottling machine. We learned about the facilities for vocational training, and the academic program for grade school and high school students. She told us about the Home chapel; the armory, which was used for the boys Junior ROTC training; the indoor and outdoor swimming pools; the baseball and football fields; the student orchestra and band shell; the auditorium for plays and movies; and the dining hall, which was shared by all children except for those in Peter Pan or senior cottages.
The Home also had its own power plant, which furnished heat and electricity to all the buildings, including the homes for the faculty and staff.
After the nuns had finished their meeting with the superintendent, they told us goodbye and admonished us to stay true to our faith. They told us that a bus would take all the Catholic children to mass at St. Brigid’s church in downtown Xenia every Sunday. We were then taken by the social worker to the Home hospital.
The Home Hospital
Newkies, or new kids, were kept separate from other patients in the hospital wards. My sister Anne and I shared one room, and Frank had a room to himself across the hall.
We settled in, hung up our clothes, and decided which bed each of us wanted. Then we peeked down the hall toward the girls ward, and then the other way to the boys ward. Seeing no one, we sat down and looked at our copy of the Home Review, whispering about the articles that reported on the various activities at the OS&SO.
We felt a little unsettled. Just that morning, we had been at St. Vincent’s, surrounded by nuns, and now we were at a new place that hadn’t a single nun—just ordinary men and women in charge of our lives. It seemed we were in a different country and would have to learn new ways.
I had been surprised when the social worker who had brought us to the hospital hadn’t gotten angry or scolded me after I declared in a flippant tone, to prove I wasn’t going to be seduced by Protestants, “If I don’t like it here, I’m not going to stay.” She just laughed.
In a short while, a nurse brought each of us a supper tray, which we eagerly took from her hands. We were pleasantly surprised with the quality and quantity of food. Except for the ice-cold milk instead of coffee, and the ice cream for dessert, it was much like an SVO holiday meal, with chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, peas, carrot sticks, and rolls. Even more surprising, delicious meals were standard throughout our hospital stay and also in the children’s dining hall. The food was so much better than what we had at St. Vincent’s, which did not have access to state funds or have its own farm and dairy. I felt I was in orphan heaven.
On that first day, we ate every last bite of our supper and waited for the nurse to come back for our trays. Maybe this won’t be such a bad place after all, I thought. I’ll just have to be careful around the Protestants. When the nurse came in to get the tray, she told us where the bathroom was and told us to take a good shower because we were scheduled for a physical examination in the morning.
Anne took her shower first, and when she returned, I went to take mine. There was a full-length mirror in the shower room, and after I took off my clothes, I stared at myself in horror. I hadn’t seen my naked body since I was about six years old and climbed on the SVO sink to have a look. I was shocked at what I saw. Although I had been vaguely aware that my body had changed since I was a small child, vaguely knowing was not the same as actually seeing—full length from head to t
oe and from every angle.
I don’t know what I expected, but it was certainly not what I saw. I guess I expected to see a larger version of a small girl’s body—which, if I’d thought about it, wouldn’t have made sense, since I was aware that I had developed breasts. In fact I had walked hunched-over at St. Vincent’s because I had been aware of my development and tried to hide it.
Not liking what I saw, I bathed and dressed as quickly as possible, avoiding the mirror, and went back to our room to comb my hair. Whether Anne had the same reaction as I did, I don’t know, because neither of us talked about it then or later. Perhaps I thought I was the only one dumb enough to be surprised at how my body had changed. Anne and I didn’t have too much to say to each other for the rest of the evening, and we were glad to turn in. It had been a long day.
The next morning we were already washed and dressed before the nurse came in to tell us we’d have breakfast after our physical exams, which would be in half an hour. We waited quietly until she returned. When she came back, she directed us to a curtained-off area in the examination room and left. We waited for further instructions.
“Alright girls, come out one at a time in your birthday suits,” said a man’s voice. Having never heard that expression before, Anne and I looked around the area for anything that could possibly be considered a birthday suit. When the doctor’s impatient voice called again and we still hadn’t found anything to wear, his meaning dawned on us both at the same time. We stared at each other in shock. Neither of us had been naked in front of each other; and to be naked in front of anyone else, particularly a man, was frightening.
I fearfully parted the curtains for my first complete physical examination and the first display of my body to someone other than the nursing or dormitory nun who had placed a mustard plaster on my undeveloped chest. Now here I was, completely naked and alone in the same room with the doctor. Since the nurse had not come into the examination room with us, she and the doctor talked through an intercom.
Oh God, I thought, please protect us against the Protestants. I prayed for God’s help and asked St. Agnes, my patron saint, to intercede with God to rescue me—to work a miracle so that long, thick hair would sprout all over my body to protect my modesty. But nothing happened.
Neither Anne nor I talked about our examinations afterwards. I know I was too ashamed and confused to discuss what we had just experienced. Our brother Frank never mentioned his examination to us either.
Anne must have been particularly distressed because she buried her nose in a prayer book for a while after that. Frank and I were insensitive, calling her Holy Anne, thinking she was trying to show us up with her piety.
We spent the rest of our time at the hospital listening to the radio, looking out the window, reading, and playing cards furnished by the nurse. We wondered what would be in store for us when we finally joined the other children in the cottages. Frank went to a boys cottage. Anne and I were assigned to Cottage Fifteen.
Cottage Fifteen
My first impression of Cottage Fifteen was favorable. I liked the fact that the cottage was the size of a regular two-story home rather than the high, multistory buildings of SVO. Also, the girls, who ranged from first graders to high school juniors, seemed friendly. One girl, Iris Jean, won my heart completely by saying, “I’ve been dying to meet you. I just love your name ‘Terfina.’ It sounds like the name of a heroine in a book.”
Iris pronounced Terfina in a completely different way than the nuns had, but just the fact that she thought the name was beautiful made it okay. Naturally, we became friends, although I immediately informed her, the other girls, and the housemother that I preferred to be called Terry.
Miss Redway, the housemother, asked my sister and me to come into her private sitting room for a get-acquainted chat before we were released to join the other girls.
She seemed favorably impressed with the fact that we had been raised by nuns and felt we would be a good influence on the other girls, some of whom she said were real trouble makers and needed to be closely watched. She recommended that we stay away from these girls as much as possible, since they might try to influence us in a bad way. She also said we should keep our eyes and ears open and suggested we keep her informed of any mischief.
Miss Redway explained the rules of the cottage, and the eating arrangements in the dining hall where brothers and sisters could sit together and chat. She gave us general information about the OS&SO, such as there being a whistle that blew to let us know when it was time to rise and go to sleep, meal times, and when it was time to leave the cottages for classes during the school year.
Then Miss Redway took out a paddle and extended the flat side toward Anne and me in turn, asking us to place our right hand on the paddle while she solemnly intoned, “I hope I never have to use this on you!” Then she welcomed us to Cottage Fifteen, and we were dismissed.
Anne and I gave each other a puzzled look after that strange little ceremony, but we knew Miss Redway was fooling herself if she thought we would be her allies against the other girls. We knew what happened to snitches from our SVO days, and we had no plans to avoid the other girls. We wanted to have friends, not enemies, among the girls.
One morning during that first week, Miss Redway asked one of the twins in our cottage (first graders) to inform Anne and me that she wanted to see us in her sitting room immediately. After we entered the room, she closed the door behind her and said, “I have some bad news for you; your father has died.” Anne and I began crying, but the housemother would have none of it. “Oh stop your crying,” she said. “You didn’t even know him.” Then we were dismissed.
Although we may not have known our father, he had been a part of our lives. We always knew that somewhere out there in the world, there was someone who really loved and cared about us, and we had clung to that knowledge desperately throughout the SVO years. I felt as though the edges of the universe had given way, and that nothing was holding me down anymore to keep me from floating off into emptiness.
No matter what Miss Redway thought, I missed my father deeply. As unrealistic as it was, deep down I had always felt that if things became really desperate or I was in danger, he would find a way to rescue me. Now I couldn’t count on anyone. That night and for many nights afterward, I tried to cry as quietly as possible so that no one would hear me crying foolishly for a man I hadn’t known.
Although Anne and I were sisters, we’d never really developed normal sisterly bonds or been each other’s confidant as sisters often are. This was probably due to the fact that we’d been mostly kept with our own age group at St. Vincent’s, except on the playground. Anne and I had never opened up about our feelings and inner thoughts to each other, except to express anger. It didn’t occur to us that we could comfort each other. We faced our sorrow alone.
There wasn’t much opportunity or encouragement for intimacy at St. Vincent’s, even between brothers and sisters. The only children who seemed to be close to their siblings were the ones who’d entered SVO at an older age. They’d lived at home long enough to have learned how to give and receive affection, something my siblings and I lacked. We knew we were related to each other, but that was about it.
One of the first things I noticed in our cottage was the way sisters and best friends usually kissed each other before going to bed. I’d never seen a display of affection at SVO, and my siblings and I had never been affectionate with each other. Probably the only person any of us had kissed was our father, whom we seldom saw.
One evening, after watching the other girls kissing and hugging goodnight, I had a sudden longing to show affection toward my sister—to show her I cared for her. I got out of bed, reached over to her, and kissed her on the cheek. She leaped out of bed like she’d been shot, and hit me in the mouth. “You dirty thing,” she screamed, “don’t you ever do that again.”
A few nights later, she jumped out of bed and hit me again. She said she’d found a big toenail in her bed, and accused me of
putting it there. She figured anyone doing such a nasty thing as kissing her was probably capable of anything.
The Cottage Fifteen girls appeared brazen to Anne and me, but they were mostly good-natured and kind. When they saw what they considered strange behavior on our part, and how ignorant we were about many things, they couldn’t resist teasing us.
Lacking our inhibitions about undressing in front of each other, even the older girls thought nothing of walking around the dormitory and locker room without clothes. We attributed it to their being Protestants, and it was exactly the kind of thing the nuns had warned us about.
Anne and I would pull two locker doors together and try to undress in private, and would wrap up in towels to go to the shower. After watching us cringing and hiding for a couple of days, it became a game for the others to fling open the locker doors or grab away our towels.
The girls were curious about everything we’d brought with us from St. Vincent’s, including bundles of cloths stored in our locker.
“What are those for?” one of the girls asked me.
I felt it was obvious, and I refused to answer such a smart-aleck question. When the girl persisted in questioning me, I realized her puzzlement was genuine, so I whispered, “Sanitary napkins,” and blushed. I was surprised she didn’t know.
“We use these,” she offered helpfully, reaching for a box of Kotex. “You won’t need those cloths anymore.”
One evening when we were all sitting around in the small room adjacent to the locker room, one of the juniors asked me, “Are you a virgin?”
“No, of course not,” I answered, puzzled by her question. After the laughter stopped, she asked, “Do you know what a virgin is?”
“Of course,” I said. “A virgin is Mary, the mother of Jesus, and I’m not the Virgin Mary.” The room exploded into laughter again, and then they began trying to outdo one another in shocking Anne and me with the basic facts of life. We were completely innocent back then, although we were already fourteen and fifteen years old. The information almost made me sick that night, as I lay in bed thinking about it. I ached in sorrow for my dead father, and was at the same time repelled by the thought of what he and my mother had done to give birth to me. I wanted to throw up.
Nunzilla Was My Mother and My Stepmother Was a Witch Page 8