September 1958: Saint Mary of the Plains High School. It was, as I think about it, a perfect example of mid-century architecture--all linear and glass and brick and starkness--sited about a mile north of Dodge City in the middle of a dry pasture. They said it was a quarter of a mile long and I believed them, but in retrospect...probably not. It just felt that way during the five minute classroom changes. I don't remember being nervous at all about my first day. I think my sister had reassured me that the lockers were easy to operate and the classrooms well marked. I would be fine. Of course I would be fine. I still had some self-esteem in those days. Sister Mary Kathleen (Eighth Grade) tried to squeeze it all out of me, but I fought back and clung tight.
I don't remember what I wore that morning. I'm sure I chose it carefully, but whether it was something new, or left over, or handed down I don't know. It must have looked good, though, or I wouldn't have worn it. So, it's a safe bet that I was hot. Or, as hot as someone could be who cut her own hair with sewing scissors in one hand, and a small make-up mirror in the other.
As mentioned above, this was the first year that we would change classrooms...and teachers. Most kids do that in fifth grade in today's world, but not us Catholics and I was pretty excited about it. Algebra was a required class, as was Religion and English I. I also opted for Latin I--Veni, Vidi, Vici and all that. I think we had some Study Hall time and an Activity Period. We had Phys Ed which met in the Quonset Hut located behind St. Mary's. I'm sure the Diocese spent millions on this school, but forgot to include any area that would be large enough for a dance, a pep-rally, basketball or, an all-school assembly. Thus, the Quonset Hut--carried in, piece by piece from the crumbling Dodge City Army Air Field. You should have seen the Chapel though. Solid marble imported from Italy. Had Michelangelo still been alive, they would have hired him to coordinate the slabs.
St. Mary's had opened in 1952. By 1958, the Band (they'd had great uniforms in Mary's era) was eliminated and replaced by...nothing. And, I had taken flute lessons for two years. Also, apparently, for nothing. They had never had an orchestra; nor advanced Math, nor anything beyond Chemistry. They did, however, teach Religion I, II, III and IV. The only thing I remember from those Religion classes was very early on when Mary Lynne Mangan raised her hand and asked, "How can God be just and merciful?" The nun blanched, and managed to choke out: "Because God is God." I reminded Mary Lynne of that a few years ago when we met for lunch in Kansas City. She had no memory of it...I had found it life-changing.
I had my first Girl Crush when I was a Freshman. (I'd had a Nun Crush in Seventh Grade: Sister Mary James Marie. I would have gone to the Convent in a heart-beat then, but neither Mother nor Daddy would let me.) The Girl Crush was named Pam Saunders. Pam was, I think, from Beaver, Oklahoma. She was blonde, sturdy, raspy-voiced, and afraid of nothing. Especially the nuns. And...she wrote everything in Peacock Blue ink with a bold, loopy scrawl. I was smitten. I immediately talked Mother into letting me buy Peacock Blue ink, and proceeded to spend hours imitating Pam's distinctive handwriting. Only a few days into September, Pam tried out for cheerleader with a cheer none of us had ever heard (although, to this day I can still perform it word for word--pose for pose) and won in a landslide. I don't remember whether it was between semesters or at the end of the school year when Pam returned to Beaver...never to be seen at St. Mary of the Plains again.
Her departure, however, did provide an exciting opening for me. At the beginning of Sophomore year I tried out for cheerleader, stealing Pam's "Satisfied" cheer, lock, stock and barrel as they like to say in western Kansas. And I won a place on the squad. It was my year.
Besides the hotness of wearing my cheer-leading-outfit to school every game day, Sophomore year also provided the means for my first Priest Crush. His name was Stephen Smithers and he appeared magically on the first day of school. He was not a dull diocesan priest dressed in a black suit like we had grown up with. No, he belonged to an order. I have no idea which one, but he resembled a short and well-fed St. Anthony when he hurried down the hallway, friar outfit billowing behind. He was often in a hurry, sometimes a bit breathless, and completely unaware of my feelings toward him and, like Pam, disappeared forever on the last day of school.
Junior year was, well, Junior year. My crush on TJG had begun during the summer months of 1960--facilitated by some friends of my sister who knew him from hanging around a front street bar, but he had left for Notre Dame, taking my heart and soul with him. I stole the "Satisfied" cheer one more time, and surprised myself by winning the Head Cheer Leader spot. Wearing the uniform on game days had worn a bit thin by then, so I rolled the waist band one time to make it a little shorter, and felt better about it.
I became Third Page Editor for the "Plainsette," the school newspaper. I think it came out every three weeks and we really did learn a lot, despite Sister Mary I Don't Remember who was the oldest, meanest, most out-of-touch woman I had ever met. We battled mightily that year--most seriously--about the Junior-Senior Prom Theme--which was Bali Ha'i, thanks to Me. She determined it wasn't a real place and consequently, could not be the theme. I'm not sure what the hell that had to do with whether or not it was the theme, but I finally proved it actually was part of the musical, "South Pacific", and she grudgingly allowed us to decorate with Bali Ha'i decor. I think both of us missed that Bali Ha'i was actually a mystical island, always visible on the horizon, but always out of reach. That's nearly spiritual. We could have dressed as nuns.
Because I was madly in love with TJG, and talked about him incessantly, I could not get a date for the Junior-Senior Prom. The nuns promised Richard Casey fewer detention hours if he would take me to the Prom...and he did. I wore an old bridesmaid dress my sister had worn for Nan Johnson's wedding, and attended the Prom. I think it was all anti-climactic--Saint Mary of the Plains Catholic Kids did not spike the punch--nor, did they dance any dance that could be seen as an Occasion of Sin. I think I had known Richard Casey since Kindergarten and at any point in all of those years, he would measure in at six inches shorter than I. But, Richard was a nice guy. Personally, I hope he's a happy grandfather now. Hell--at this point in time, I just hope he's still alive.
Senior year? Does anyone want to talk about senior year? For most of us, that last year of high school was 180 days of Senior-Itis. And I had it...bad. I was the editor of the yearbook, which meant that Sister Mary I Don't Remember was still in charge of the largest part of my life. TJG was back at Notre Dame, and I was depressed. Not clinically, just self-diagnosed. I didn't have a boyfriend close at hand, school was a drag, I had to go to college before I could get married, and college would be attended in Kansas...not South Bend, Indiana. Nothing was going my way.
The yearbook, I thought, was a success. "The Crusader" had always been green with fat padded covers. I opted for a very 60's type of design in wine and silver with flat covers. No old fashioned padding for "The Crusader" this year. The pages morphed from a weak, embossed finish to a crisp semi-gloss and it was fashion-forward, if not stunningly professional. I was a bit surprised at how thin it was without all that padding but, hey,,,I saw it as very cool.
I drank my first beer that year at the County Lake, my second at Jerry Hessman's farm. My third and fourth at Ken Brady's blow-out party a week or so before graduation. Someone ratted us out on the Brady party and the nuns swore we would not get our diplomas. That was a little worrisome...my Mother would have killed me. Maybe Daddy would have, too. Then, just when things couldn't get worse, they got worse. I was called out of class to the Principal's Office. Now, I'd worked in that office all year, one hour per day, because I'd taken all the classes that St. Mary of the Plains offered for seniors, and had nothing to do. They devised the free labor plan. I thought I had gotten along with Sister Mary Vincentia pretty well, but she had now called me into her office and closed the door. That was not a good sign when dealing with Sister Mary Vincentia. It usually meant crying. Less often, it meant yelling. In my case it meant Serious Concern. Someone had ratted to Sister Mary Vincentia that I had sat on Ken Brady's shoulders in the waters of Lake Afton (Senior Sneak Day), and wrestled another girl who was on some one else's shoulders. This behavior, which we had simply thought was great fun, turned out to be: AN OCCASION OF SIN. SEXUAL SIN...WHICH IS ALWAYS WRITTEN IN CAPITAL LETTERS, BECAUSE IT IS IMPOSSIBLE TO SEXUALLY SIN WITHOUT GOING TO HELL.
Well, DAMN. I might not graduate and, if Sister Mary Vincentia is right, I'm going to Hell. We didn't say the "F" word in those days, but if we had, I would have said it right about now. I had to go home, sit down with my Mother and tell her I drank at Ken Brady's party. (Actually, my Mother and a lot of other mothers were upstairs with Mrs. Brady during that party...and, whereas I would bet they were also drinking, I didn't know that for sure.) In addition, I would have to confess that I SEXUALLY SINNED on the Senior Sneak. And, I thought I'd been so good at the Sneak. Ken Brady--he was such fun--had injected a couple of dozen oranges with Vodka for the Sneak and I didn't even taste one. But, you'd better believe I would have sucked one dry on my way home from school that afternoon if any still existed.
I walked in the back door and found my Mother in the kitchen. There was no sense in wasting time. I gathered up what little courage I possessed and confessed: "I drank two beers at Ken Brady's house the night of the big party." Considering she had driven a few of us home, I would guess she already knew that, but hadn't said a word. So...that went pretty well, but now for the SEXUAL SIN. Those are always tricky. Her initial reaction seemed to be one of shock. Her mouth just kind of hung there. Then, she began a small rant as I cowered on that hard metal red step-stool. But wait! The rant isn't about me. It's about Sister Mary Vincentia. My Mother thinks Sister Mary Vincentia is sick. And obsessed. My Mother is criticizing Sister Mary Vincentia! My Mother is ticked at Sister Mary Vincentia, and is.taking sides. My side. I feel a little shaky.
I did graduate...with everyone else, despite SEXUALLY SINNING with Ken Brady. Like Pam Saunders and Stephen Smithers, I never entered the doors of St. Mary of the Plains High School again. It closed not long after we left, becoming St. Mary of the Plains College, which, in turn, closed a few decades later following a Student Loan Scheme tied to a mystical Truck Driving School located somewhere in Texas.
Today, the remains of Saint Mary of the Plains (SMOP) are slowly crumbling back into that dry pasture from whence it all sprouted. Dust thou art...and all that jazz.
I don't remember what I wore that morning. I'm sure I chose it carefully, but whether it was something new, or left over, or handed down I don't know. It must have looked good, though, or I wouldn't have worn it. So, it's a safe bet that I was hot. Or, as hot as someone could be who cut her own hair with sewing scissors in one hand, and a small make-up mirror in the other.
As mentioned above, this was the first year that we would change classrooms...and teachers. Most kids do that in fifth grade in today's world, but not us Catholics and I was pretty excited about it. Algebra was a required class, as was Religion and English I. I also opted for Latin I--Veni, Vidi, Vici and all that. I think we had some Study Hall time and an Activity Period. We had Phys Ed which met in the Quonset Hut located behind St. Mary's. I'm sure the Diocese spent millions on this school, but forgot to include any area that would be large enough for a dance, a pep-rally, basketball or, an all-school assembly. Thus, the Quonset Hut--carried in, piece by piece from the crumbling Dodge City Army Air Field. You should have seen the Chapel though. Solid marble imported from Italy. Had Michelangelo still been alive, they would have hired him to coordinate the slabs.
St. Mary's had opened in 1952. By 1958, the Band (they'd had great uniforms in Mary's era) was eliminated and replaced by...nothing. And, I had taken flute lessons for two years. Also, apparently, for nothing. They had never had an orchestra; nor advanced Math, nor anything beyond Chemistry. They did, however, teach Religion I, II, III and IV. The only thing I remember from those Religion classes was very early on when Mary Lynne Mangan raised her hand and asked, "How can God be just and merciful?" The nun blanched, and managed to choke out: "Because God is God." I reminded Mary Lynne of that a few years ago when we met for lunch in Kansas City. She had no memory of it...I had found it life-changing.
I had my first Girl Crush when I was a Freshman. (I'd had a Nun Crush in Seventh Grade: Sister Mary James Marie. I would have gone to the Convent in a heart-beat then, but neither Mother nor Daddy would let me.) The Girl Crush was named Pam Saunders. Pam was, I think, from Beaver, Oklahoma. She was blonde, sturdy, raspy-voiced, and afraid of nothing. Especially the nuns. And...she wrote everything in Peacock Blue ink with a bold, loopy scrawl. I was smitten. I immediately talked Mother into letting me buy Peacock Blue ink, and proceeded to spend hours imitating Pam's distinctive handwriting. Only a few days into September, Pam tried out for cheerleader with a cheer none of us had ever heard (although, to this day I can still perform it word for word--pose for pose) and won in a landslide. I don't remember whether it was between semesters or at the end of the school year when Pam returned to Beaver...never to be seen at St. Mary of the Plains again.
Her departure, however, did provide an exciting opening for me. At the beginning of Sophomore year I tried out for cheerleader, stealing Pam's "Satisfied" cheer, lock, stock and barrel as they like to say in western Kansas. And I won a place on the squad. It was my year.
Besides the hotness of wearing my cheer-leading-outfit to school every game day, Sophomore year also provided the means for my first Priest Crush. His name was Stephen Smithers and he appeared magically on the first day of school. He was not a dull diocesan priest dressed in a black suit like we had grown up with. No, he belonged to an order. I have no idea which one, but he resembled a short and well-fed St. Anthony when he hurried down the hallway, friar outfit billowing behind. He was often in a hurry, sometimes a bit breathless, and completely unaware of my feelings toward him and, like Pam, disappeared forever on the last day of school.
Junior year was, well, Junior year. My crush on TJG had begun during the summer months of 1960--facilitated by some friends of my sister who knew him from hanging around a front street bar, but he had left for Notre Dame, taking my heart and soul with him. I stole the "Satisfied" cheer one more time, and surprised myself by winning the Head Cheer Leader spot. Wearing the uniform on game days had worn a bit thin by then, so I rolled the waist band one time to make it a little shorter, and felt better about it.
I became Third Page Editor for the "Plainsette," the school newspaper. I think it came out every three weeks and we really did learn a lot, despite Sister Mary I Don't Remember who was the oldest, meanest, most out-of-touch woman I had ever met. We battled mightily that year--most seriously--about the Junior-Senior Prom Theme--which was Bali Ha'i, thanks to Me. She determined it wasn't a real place and consequently, could not be the theme. I'm not sure what the hell that had to do with whether or not it was the theme, but I finally proved it actually was part of the musical, "South Pacific", and she grudgingly allowed us to decorate with Bali Ha'i decor. I think both of us missed that Bali Ha'i was actually a mystical island, always visible on the horizon, but always out of reach. That's nearly spiritual. We could have dressed as nuns.
Because I was madly in love with TJG, and talked about him incessantly, I could not get a date for the Junior-Senior Prom. The nuns promised Richard Casey fewer detention hours if he would take me to the Prom...and he did. I wore an old bridesmaid dress my sister had worn for Nan Johnson's wedding, and attended the Prom. I think it was all anti-climactic--Saint Mary of the Plains Catholic Kids did not spike the punch--nor, did they dance any dance that could be seen as an Occasion of Sin. I think I had known Richard Casey since Kindergarten and at any point in all of those years, he would measure in at six inches shorter than I. But, Richard was a nice guy. Personally, I hope he's a happy grandfather now. Hell--at this point in time, I just hope he's still alive.
Senior year? Does anyone want to talk about senior year? For most of us, that last year of high school was 180 days of Senior-Itis. And I had it...bad. I was the editor of the yearbook, which meant that Sister Mary I Don't Remember was still in charge of the largest part of my life. TJG was back at Notre Dame, and I was depressed. Not clinically, just self-diagnosed. I didn't have a boyfriend close at hand, school was a drag, I had to go to college before I could get married, and college would be attended in Kansas...not South Bend, Indiana. Nothing was going my way.
The yearbook, I thought, was a success. "The Crusader" had always been green with fat padded covers. I opted for a very 60's type of design in wine and silver with flat covers. No old fashioned padding for "The Crusader" this year. The pages morphed from a weak, embossed finish to a crisp semi-gloss and it was fashion-forward, if not stunningly professional. I was a bit surprised at how thin it was without all that padding but, hey,,,I saw it as very cool.
I drank my first beer that year at the County Lake, my second at Jerry Hessman's farm. My third and fourth at Ken Brady's blow-out party a week or so before graduation. Someone ratted us out on the Brady party and the nuns swore we would not get our diplomas. That was a little worrisome...my Mother would have killed me. Maybe Daddy would have, too. Then, just when things couldn't get worse, they got worse. I was called out of class to the Principal's Office. Now, I'd worked in that office all year, one hour per day, because I'd taken all the classes that St. Mary of the Plains offered for seniors, and had nothing to do. They devised the free labor plan. I thought I had gotten along with Sister Mary Vincentia pretty well, but she had now called me into her office and closed the door. That was not a good sign when dealing with Sister Mary Vincentia. It usually meant crying. Less often, it meant yelling. In my case it meant Serious Concern. Someone had ratted to Sister Mary Vincentia that I had sat on Ken Brady's shoulders in the waters of Lake Afton (Senior Sneak Day), and wrestled another girl who was on some one else's shoulders. This behavior, which we had simply thought was great fun, turned out to be: AN OCCASION OF SIN. SEXUAL SIN...WHICH IS ALWAYS WRITTEN IN CAPITAL LETTERS, BECAUSE IT IS IMPOSSIBLE TO SEXUALLY SIN WITHOUT GOING TO HELL.
Well, DAMN. I might not graduate and, if Sister Mary Vincentia is right, I'm going to Hell. We didn't say the "F" word in those days, but if we had, I would have said it right about now. I had to go home, sit down with my Mother and tell her I drank at Ken Brady's party. (Actually, my Mother and a lot of other mothers were upstairs with Mrs. Brady during that party...and, whereas I would bet they were also drinking, I didn't know that for sure.) In addition, I would have to confess that I SEXUALLY SINNED on the Senior Sneak. And, I thought I'd been so good at the Sneak. Ken Brady--he was such fun--had injected a couple of dozen oranges with Vodka for the Sneak and I didn't even taste one. But, you'd better believe I would have sucked one dry on my way home from school that afternoon if any still existed.
I walked in the back door and found my Mother in the kitchen. There was no sense in wasting time. I gathered up what little courage I possessed and confessed: "I drank two beers at Ken Brady's house the night of the big party." Considering she had driven a few of us home, I would guess she already knew that, but hadn't said a word. So...that went pretty well, but now for the SEXUAL SIN. Those are always tricky. Her initial reaction seemed to be one of shock. Her mouth just kind of hung there. Then, she began a small rant as I cowered on that hard metal red step-stool. But wait! The rant isn't about me. It's about Sister Mary Vincentia. My Mother thinks Sister Mary Vincentia is sick. And obsessed. My Mother is criticizing Sister Mary Vincentia! My Mother is ticked at Sister Mary Vincentia, and is.taking sides. My side. I feel a little shaky.
I did graduate...with everyone else, despite SEXUALLY SINNING with Ken Brady. Like Pam Saunders and Stephen Smithers, I never entered the doors of St. Mary of the Plains High School again. It closed not long after we left, becoming St. Mary of the Plains College, which, in turn, closed a few decades later following a Student Loan Scheme tied to a mystical Truck Driving School located somewhere in Texas.
Today, the remains of Saint Mary of the Plains (SMOP) are slowly crumbling back into that dry pasture from whence it all sprouted. Dust thou art...and all that jazz.
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