To this day, I still don't how I qualified for graduation, since I hadn’t paid much attention in class during most of that last year. As graduation drew closer, my creative energies were re-awakened by the need to write funny prophecies for each member of the senior class. I even managed to take an interest in getting my hair fixed at the Home's beauty salon so that I wouldn’t look haggard for my graduation picture. I knew a copy of the senior pictures would remain in the Home’s historical records for future eyes, and I didn’t want to scare anyone.
On the evening of our graduation, when I got on stage and read what I had written about each student, many people seemed surprised that I was so funny and so confident—especially the psychologist and Dr. Teffer. It gave me great satisfaction showing them they might have underestimated me.
Since I had no relatives to take me in after graduation, the social worker asked me where I planned to live on leaving the Home. I gave her the name and address of a friend of mine from St. Vincent’s Orphanage who was living with her mother in Columbus. I don’t recall asking them if I could live with them, but fortunately, they were kind enough to take me in until I could find another place.
On the last day, I put on the new outfit that the Home had provided, packed my suitcase, and lined up with the other girls to wish Melvie thanks and goodbye. I wanted to kiss and hug her that last day like everyone else, and perhaps call her Mom, but I couldn’t. I merely shook her hand and said goodbye. I entered the social worker’s car with $50 in my purse, which every senior was given by the OS&SO, and headed to Columbus with a mixture of hope and fear. After fifteen years, I was finally leaving all orphanages behind me.
Postscript
Although these orphanage memoirs include some unhappy times and cruel individuals, there were happy times and kind and even saintly individuals as well. While it’s true that the bitter moments of my childhood filled me with hate for many years, I still think orphanages are a better option for homeless children than foster homes in many cases, at least in the United States.
Orphanages, particularly the non-sectarian type run by a diversified group of adults, can in most cases safeguard against the chance of one or two neurotic or over-zealous adults inflicting their venom or fanatical theories on helpless children. I’m certain some foster parents are wonderful, kind-hearted people, but in some cases appearances can be deceiving. How can one know what occurs in a home’s confines?
The stability and continuity of care in orphanages is better than moving a child from one foster home to another, which often seems to be the case. The camaraderie and friendships that develop between children who are on the same economic level or in similar circumstances create strong bonds that can last a lifetime.
A child in a foster home, on the other hand, might feel that he or she is “different” and perhaps an object of pity. If most of his or her classmates have more and better clothing, the latest and most popular toys, and can participate in pleasures he or she can never hope to engage in, there will be a tendency for the foster child to feel inferior. Because foster children live in a home setting, they may expect more from the foster parents than they are able or willing to provide. Children in orphanages don’t have such expectations of the adults who take care of them. Being treated fairly is sufficient.
The reason I hated the nuns more than I hated the housemother at the Xenia Home was because the nuns either claimed or implied they were speaking for God and the Catholic Church. If they said you were ugly, stupid, and worthless, it was essentially the same as implying that God said it. That’s a terrible weapon to use on a child. I considered the housemother only a mean, hateful, and neurotic old woman.
Each child raised in an orphanage might have a different story, likely because he or she might have had completely different experiences and interactions with the adults. Many who came out of St. Vincent’s had horror stories as bad or worse than mine, but others had pleasant memories and spoke well of the nuns. Many of us with horror stories assume these had likely been the nuns’ pets.
My youngest brother, who went into an orphanage at three months old, is one of the latter. I believe his need for a mother made him more compliant and therefore more pleasing to the nuns and housemothers. Some children, of course, were suck-ups, which smoothed their way considerably, or they were appealing to the nuns because of their appearance or national background.
Adults can be immediately attracted to a child or repelled by him or her, just as they can with other adults. A few people are able to love all children indiscriminately. I’m not one of them. I believe that children come into this world with certain qualities—such as having a submissive or aggressive nature, shy or outgoing personalities, stubborn or flexible temperaments, etc.
The picture of myself at four years of age shows me to be determined and stubborn. I was also highly imaginative, emotional, and intelligent. I also may have had a chip on my shoulder at a very early age.
After my father informed me my name was Concetta and not Terfina, I thought the nuns had robbed me of my true name strictly to saddle me with a name they could ridicule. When I found out that I only spoke Italian when I entered St. Ann’s Infant Asylum, I assumed that I hadn’t realized the nuns had changed my name.
But perhaps even at four, and even in spite of the language barrier, I was aware that my name had been changed. Given my temperament, I’m sure it made me very angry. This may have started my relationship with nuns on the wrong foot and caused me to think that the all-powerful nuns in their black robes had not only changed my name, but also had caused the breakup of our home.
When I was living in New York City, I requested my birth certificate from Ohio’s Vital Records Office, using the name Concetta, and that is what I received from them. I didn’t dream there was also a birth certificate on file for a girl named Terfina.
I found this out in my seventies, after sending a request for my orphanage records from Catholic Charities in Columbus, Ohio. Among the papers I received, I was stunned to get a birth certificate for a girl named Terfina. Strangely, it showed my Aunt and Uncle as being my parents. Apparently, Terfina had been a cousin who died.
The birth certificates of our cousins Terfina and Carmela probably got mixed in with our brothers’ birth certificates after our mother went to the mental hospital and our father stayed at his brother’s house for awhile. The nuns never noticed that my sister’s and my birth certificates were different than those of our brothers, and it seems my uneducated father did not review the files he turned over to the nuns.
Many children dislike their given names, but few hate their names with such intensity as I did the name Terfina. Was my name change merely a spark that eventually grew into a wildfire of hate for the nuns?
I want to emphasize that when I speak of cruel and insensitive nuns, I speak only of the few nuns that I dealt with on a daily basis, in one religious order that I am familiar with, in one particular time and place. I don’t have knowledge of all the nuns who were at St. Vincent’s, or nuns in other orders.
The overall philosophy of a religious order depends on the character and personality of its founder. If she was an authoritarian, rigid, and ascetic individual, it is likely that women attracted to that order will be of similar mind. If the founder was a loving, charitable, and kind person, that order will undoubtedly attract others with warmer tendencies.
The order of nuns who ran St. Vincent’s Orphanage and several other religious institutions and schools in Columbus, Ohio, was founded in Holland in 1835 at a time when sterner and harsher handling of children was in general vogue throughout the world. I would guess that the original philosophy and rules of operation from the orphanage’s early years had been handed down and rigorously administered during my own years at SVO.
As in many institutions, once certain rules, methods, and procedures have been initiated, they more or less become set in stone. Newer members of such organizations usually follow along with the status quo without question, especially
in religious institutions where obedience to one’s superior is mandatory.
The particular group of nuns who established St. Vincent’s Orphanage in 1875 came from Reims, Prussia, in Germany, apparently because they disagreed with the policies of Bismarck (Chancellor of Germany). The majority of the SVO nuns I remember were also German, and had left Germany with the rise of Hitler. Many, unfortunately, did exhibit the old stereotypically Germanic traits of harsh, unbending discipline and lock-step precision, which made SVO life a pretty tough environment for children.
Although the physical punishments handed out by SVO nuns were severe and frequent, I’m sure that to other children, as well as to me, their verbal abuse and sarcasm were even harder to forgive, and the effects much longer lasting.
A few of the nuns who had direct supervision over children were seriously disturbed, if not psychotic; however, most were probably well-meaning and thought what they were doing was for the betterment and salvation of our eternal souls. In their eyes, being whipped with a thick strap or board, or being slammed against a wall or floor, was better than burning in hell for all eternity.
With time and distance, I can now appreciate that the nuns’ prejudices and actions were shaped by their own backgrounds, experiences, limitations, and their understanding of religion and what God wanted of them. In most cases, they probably did not perceive that they were being cruel or damaging to the children under their control.
I now believe that even the harshest and meanest of nuns was likely a victim of the church’s, or at least her order’s, policy of placing a nun where there was a need, regardless of whether she was suited for the position or not, or had the temperament and training to handle the job. Back then, it was believed that God would grant the inappropriately placed nun the grace of suddenly acquired skills and talents.
You might as well expect God to make a violin virtuoso out of someone who completely lacks musical appreciation, has a tin ear, and possesses the dexterity of a water buffalo. How frustrating it must have been for a nun who disliked children—who was easily irritated and repelled by their high spirits and inevitable messes—to be placed in such an untenable position.
If the worst case scenario for the future came to pass and society was flooded with thousands of AIDS orphans, there definitely would not be enough foster homes willing or able to take such children in. In such an event, orphanages would become necessary again.
Future orphanages should permit children to have frequent contact with the outside world, as they will eventually need to adjust to and become a part of it. Outside contact would also put a damper on any abusive tendencies on the part of those in charge. To preclude such abuse, a psychological profile should be performed on each individual assigned or hired to take care of children. This would help to eliminate the neurotic housemother or neurotic nun types.
If orphanages experience a revival again, halfway houses should be established to take in young adults after they leave the Home. Children who have been institutionalized for many years often have very little idea of how the outside world functions, especially if they have no relatives to take them in after they leave.
If former prisoners need such houses, children who have been in orphanages most of their lives prior to adulthood need them even more. Letting children come out of orphanages with little prior knowledge of how society operates is like putting lambs out for slaughter.
In my opinion, orphanages are a better option for homeless children than foster homes; that said, I’m still leery of those run by religious institutions. It is too easy for a child to assume that God approves of the words and actions of religious leaders, even if the leaders don’t express this to the child.
At eighty-three years of age, I no longer hate the nuns or poor old Miss Redway. There is so much intentional cruelty in the world, and so many people living in the worst of circumstances, that it puts anything I experienced into proper perspective.
Now that my view has broadened, I no longer hate the so-called ogres and can look back on my orphanage days with affection, particularly those spent at the OS&SO Home. The popularity of the foster care system was the reason this historic Home had to close. There were no longer enough children entering the Home to justify the expense of its operation by the State of Ohio.
To my dismay, the OS&SO buildings and grounds were sold to a religious group. I think many ex-pupils were relieved that the OS&SO hadn’t been turned into an industrial complex, but whether the religious group is any better is open to debate.
To sum up my opinions, non-sectarian orphanages are better than foster homes, but foster homes are better than religious orphanages. I fear religious zealots who have no tolerance for the imperfections of humanity. The religious zealotry that inspired many saints, such as Father Damian and Mother Theresa, can also inspire horrible monsters to cause war and suffering, and the monstrous zealots of all religions in mankind’s history far outnumber the saints.
Religious Robots
Move on
religious robots,
with your offensive smell,
so certain that all others
are doomed to fires of hell.
The essence of your nature
seeps through your piety
when you applaud the ones who hate
diverse humanity.
Relentlessly, you robots
march on like mindless fools,
believing you’re the best because
you follow all the rules.
But God may favor kindness
above religious ways.
Your rants and chants and endless prayers
don’t sanctify your days.
March on,
religious robots!
Keep thinking you are right,
but just ensure your hearts and minds
are sealed up nice and tight.
The House of God
Rejoice ye bells –
He’s in His place.
He’s in His place
and neatly tied.
With reverence,
bow down, bow down.
He must not stray
outside these walls.
Outside these walls
we live our lives.
So lock Him in,
within, within.
In ceremony,
cover up.
Yes, cover up
with hymn and psalm.
Let all you do
have grace, have grace.
Lay flowers down,
but leave no earth.
Yes, leave no earth
which reeks of life.
Your love must leave
no scent, no scent.
No crudity
shall enter in –
shall enter in
to mar this place.
just leave your soul
outside, outside.
About the Author
Terry Gelormino Silver was born in Bellaire, Ohio and received her grade school education at St. Vincent's Orphanage in Columbus, Ohio. She went on to earn her high school diploma from the Ohio Soldiers & Sailors Orphans Home in Xenia, Ohio.
The author worked for the Air Force Institute of Technology for many years. Prior to that, however, the author spent nineteen years in New York City, including three years in Greenwich village, where she met her husband; and Brooklyn for sixteen years. The couple had two children before the author returned to Ohio after she and her husband separated. Sadly, both her husband and her children have since passed away, but her spirits are lightened by a beautiful granddaughter.
Now retired and living in Decatur, Georgia, Terry enjoys crossword puzzles, writing poetry and short stories, and gambling. This is her first published book.
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