Our Stories
The purpose of this page is to share stories and anecdotes from alumni and faculty about their experiences/observations while attending and/or teaching at Notre Dame High School. And, yes, I use the "alumni" since in 1977 our school admitted its first co-ed class. So there are a few male alumni graduates of NDHS!
Please enjoy the stories on this page. If you would like to add your own story or anecdote about your own experience, please email your story to us at: [email protected]. Or if you wish to send a handwritten story, you can mail it to Sandra Vincent Richard, 15 Hillside Avenue, Coventry, RI 02816.
Please enjoy the stories on this page. If you would like to add your own story or anecdote about your own experience, please email your story to us at: [email protected]. Or if you wish to send a handwritten story, you can mail it to Sandra Vincent Richard, 15 Hillside Avenue, Coventry, RI 02816.
Notre Dame High
A School with a Mission
by Connie Brousseau Beckmann ‘70
A School with a Mission
by Connie Brousseau Beckmann ‘70
Late one afternoon during my senior year, I walked into my homeroom and found myself in a head-on confrontation between two of the faculty. One being my homeroom teacher Sr. Carolyn, the other a much older Sister I didn't recognize. Who?... it could still come to me!
Up the stairs, around the corner and through the open door, I flew in. The chatter stopped with a silence. And what I did hear that day, would curiously come back to me for years.
It was left unfinished. It was left open-ended. What was she saying?
Why were they saying it?
Must have been about me!
Verbatim, from one to the other, "..Sister, may I remind you that the original objective of this school was not to turn out scholars. The premises of this school started with the hopes of keeping a girl's fingers and hair intact and out of a ...", and that was it, end of conversation, for my ears anyway.
I volunteered after school as a Library Aide (in the basement!) and many times came back up to my (3rd floor!) homeroom. I thought at the time they were discussing a student (or me) and so fell quiet. Only recently, after learning that the High School was originally started not as a four-year School, but as a two-year Business program for girls after Jr. High (then 7, 8, & 9th grades), I realized the missing words were probably " a factory loom". I realize now, that the early years of NDHS were set out to purposely help a young girl find work with some skills, other than the three "R's". To keep their fingers intact, to keep a shuttle out of their hands, and the hair from a loom’s grasp.
In 1933 the early years ND was a business school with a focus on typing, stenography, and accounting. Then in '43 it became a High School; and, for many, it was on to higher education. We are teachers, nurses, managers, photographers, buyers, lawyers, artists, writers, underwriters, x-ray techs, designers. We are Women, we are Mothers, Aunts, Grandmothers, who are inspiring and standing behind our daughters preparing them to stand behind their daughters to watch them become Women, Women who can choose their lives, and not just fall into them.
When I look back and think to that day's overheard conversation, and now apply the finishing thought, "....keeping fingers and hair intact and out of a factory loom", I think of my aunts and great aunts walking and talking of the mills. The hours were long, the air was bad, afraid of losing a finger. The banging was loud, and you could easily be replaced. Mes Tantes Marie-Anne and Florence Brousseau both graduates of St. Mathieu's Jr. high School, with the sisters of St. Anne, in 1940 and 1942. Both bright students. My aunt Marie-Anne would help me with my French conjugations, after working a full day in the Coats & Clark mill, not to mention helping with Latin. When I ask them today, why they didn't continue with school, they both respond with "There was no choice, I had to work to help pay for the house." So, it was the mill.
Aunt Marie-Anne would always be chewing Dentine gum..."for the lint" she would say. As I was a child of the '50's, living in my grandparents house, I would witness my aunt come home and fill the bathroom sink and wash down her face and arms, and cough as she asked, what the tickets were I was selling for the school...and we'd start to set the table for a 4 pm dinner. Bed was early for my aunt and grandparents, as they were up at 6 am and back to the mill.
Aunt Florence, the younger of the two, also worked and walked with her sister and mom across the city to the mills. The house was on Valley and the mill on Rand street. On pay day both handed in their wages to their parents. Marie-Anne stayed with the mills till they disappeared and had surgery on her hand later in life from the mills. Marie-Anne died last year at 88, and she hard a very hard time breathing at the end. She never smoked, but died of something called "sticky lung" disease. I understand it has to do with the air condition in the mills. Florence married and built her own house. She went back to school and became a hair dresser. She owned and operated a place next to the old Lafayette Theater on Broad Street. Some of you may know her.
One more Great Aunt once told me she saw a girl’s hair caught on a loom and yanked out. She said ".. a milky substance came out, but most girls bobbed their hair short.” This Great Aunt had calluses on her fingers, "the thread she passes between my fingers ...more money, to check for the knots".
In 1971, a year after graduation, I was hired and worked in the Accounts Payable office of Moore Fabrics, Pawtucket. They had bought out the old mill sites...and yes, they still had looms going. I was given a tour of the buildings, with the looms going! They had me wear ear protection and told me, although they had put beams in the buildings, to throw the sound to the ground, it still wasn't enough to counteract the noise. In other words, it could be worse than this. It was still horrid with the effort made to subdue the noise. The building was shaking with clatter, the looms at a constant banging. The human operations on the looms were now more mechanical, yet there were still laborers present, still enduring this noise. My manager was facing me and screaming over the cacophony. I was yelling back. This in 1971!
At that moment, I found myself so happy I had continued for my high school diploma. I was so happy I could type, had taken business math!
These looms are no longer in CF anymore. The buildings have mostly been made into low-cost housing facilities; but they were there, when I graduated in 1970—perhaps under a new name, not Coats and Clark, but Moore Fabrics; but they were there.
It was this factory visit and my desperate attempt to work in an office, (I found I disliked) that prompted me to further studies.
I had my high School degree and a lot of High School "College prep English" classes unwantedly taken. I had been obligated to learn how to write a term paper. I had read classics I really didn't care for, and I could type. This I learned from taking the NDHS curriculum for business! Later years at RIC I found I had already read a great deal of the required reading for my first year English and was congratulated on my term .
I was not the brightest star in my class, and perhaps it was me, they were deciding on allowing to graduate or not... as they stopped short, when I entered. I have nothing but Thank You's to all, to all the nuns who pushed me through and got me out with a degree. That degree allowed me to attend 3 different colleges and to follow my dream into a field of interest "Art". I worked in an Ad department, working in graphic arts, for 30 years...and loved every minute. I became the President of the Rhode Island Water Color Society, after 8 years of being on its Board of Directors. I got to spend summers in Maine studying painting with other artists, learning color and composition, while climbing rocks along side my Lowell U. professor.
I 1984, I did get a degree from CCRI after pooling all my credits. I graduated with a smile and 3.9 index!
Thank you sisters of Saint Anne. Thank you Notre Dame for a job well done, and for that older nun, who was reminding the younger of the schools objective,... a greater thanks!
I close with saying the old third floor high school accomplished what it was set out to do for it's time. In '77 it was tired and proud, and the nuns to support it were less in number. Why less sisters?.... because they opened our eyes, and gave us the tools to advantages beyond religious life, as many had entered convents right from junior high, as my aunt did, Sr. Rita Brousseau, S.S.A., to be educated after entrance. (All of Rita's 5 sisters were mill workers.) With their devotion and their teacher's certificates, and their third floor high school, they invited us to go further.
In June of 1977 it was time for Notre Dame High School to close its doors...and to the old girl we say:
Up the stairs, around the corner and through the open door, I flew in. The chatter stopped with a silence. And what I did hear that day, would curiously come back to me for years.
It was left unfinished. It was left open-ended. What was she saying?
Why were they saying it?
Must have been about me!
Verbatim, from one to the other, "..Sister, may I remind you that the original objective of this school was not to turn out scholars. The premises of this school started with the hopes of keeping a girl's fingers and hair intact and out of a ...", and that was it, end of conversation, for my ears anyway.
I volunteered after school as a Library Aide (in the basement!) and many times came back up to my (3rd floor!) homeroom. I thought at the time they were discussing a student (or me) and so fell quiet. Only recently, after learning that the High School was originally started not as a four-year School, but as a two-year Business program for girls after Jr. High (then 7, 8, & 9th grades), I realized the missing words were probably " a factory loom". I realize now, that the early years of NDHS were set out to purposely help a young girl find work with some skills, other than the three "R's". To keep their fingers intact, to keep a shuttle out of their hands, and the hair from a loom’s grasp.
In 1933 the early years ND was a business school with a focus on typing, stenography, and accounting. Then in '43 it became a High School; and, for many, it was on to higher education. We are teachers, nurses, managers, photographers, buyers, lawyers, artists, writers, underwriters, x-ray techs, designers. We are Women, we are Mothers, Aunts, Grandmothers, who are inspiring and standing behind our daughters preparing them to stand behind their daughters to watch them become Women, Women who can choose their lives, and not just fall into them.
When I look back and think to that day's overheard conversation, and now apply the finishing thought, "....keeping fingers and hair intact and out of a factory loom", I think of my aunts and great aunts walking and talking of the mills. The hours were long, the air was bad, afraid of losing a finger. The banging was loud, and you could easily be replaced. Mes Tantes Marie-Anne and Florence Brousseau both graduates of St. Mathieu's Jr. high School, with the sisters of St. Anne, in 1940 and 1942. Both bright students. My aunt Marie-Anne would help me with my French conjugations, after working a full day in the Coats & Clark mill, not to mention helping with Latin. When I ask them today, why they didn't continue with school, they both respond with "There was no choice, I had to work to help pay for the house." So, it was the mill.
Aunt Marie-Anne would always be chewing Dentine gum..."for the lint" she would say. As I was a child of the '50's, living in my grandparents house, I would witness my aunt come home and fill the bathroom sink and wash down her face and arms, and cough as she asked, what the tickets were I was selling for the school...and we'd start to set the table for a 4 pm dinner. Bed was early for my aunt and grandparents, as they were up at 6 am and back to the mill.
Aunt Florence, the younger of the two, also worked and walked with her sister and mom across the city to the mills. The house was on Valley and the mill on Rand street. On pay day both handed in their wages to their parents. Marie-Anne stayed with the mills till they disappeared and had surgery on her hand later in life from the mills. Marie-Anne died last year at 88, and she hard a very hard time breathing at the end. She never smoked, but died of something called "sticky lung" disease. I understand it has to do with the air condition in the mills. Florence married and built her own house. She went back to school and became a hair dresser. She owned and operated a place next to the old Lafayette Theater on Broad Street. Some of you may know her.
One more Great Aunt once told me she saw a girl’s hair caught on a loom and yanked out. She said ".. a milky substance came out, but most girls bobbed their hair short.” This Great Aunt had calluses on her fingers, "the thread she passes between my fingers ...more money, to check for the knots".
In 1971, a year after graduation, I was hired and worked in the Accounts Payable office of Moore Fabrics, Pawtucket. They had bought out the old mill sites...and yes, they still had looms going. I was given a tour of the buildings, with the looms going! They had me wear ear protection and told me, although they had put beams in the buildings, to throw the sound to the ground, it still wasn't enough to counteract the noise. In other words, it could be worse than this. It was still horrid with the effort made to subdue the noise. The building was shaking with clatter, the looms at a constant banging. The human operations on the looms were now more mechanical, yet there were still laborers present, still enduring this noise. My manager was facing me and screaming over the cacophony. I was yelling back. This in 1971!
At that moment, I found myself so happy I had continued for my high school diploma. I was so happy I could type, had taken business math!
These looms are no longer in CF anymore. The buildings have mostly been made into low-cost housing facilities; but they were there, when I graduated in 1970—perhaps under a new name, not Coats and Clark, but Moore Fabrics; but they were there.
It was this factory visit and my desperate attempt to work in an office, (I found I disliked) that prompted me to further studies.
I had my high School degree and a lot of High School "College prep English" classes unwantedly taken. I had been obligated to learn how to write a term paper. I had read classics I really didn't care for, and I could type. This I learned from taking the NDHS curriculum for business! Later years at RIC I found I had already read a great deal of the required reading for my first year English and was congratulated on my term .
I was not the brightest star in my class, and perhaps it was me, they were deciding on allowing to graduate or not... as they stopped short, when I entered. I have nothing but Thank You's to all, to all the nuns who pushed me through and got me out with a degree. That degree allowed me to attend 3 different colleges and to follow my dream into a field of interest "Art". I worked in an Ad department, working in graphic arts, for 30 years...and loved every minute. I became the President of the Rhode Island Water Color Society, after 8 years of being on its Board of Directors. I got to spend summers in Maine studying painting with other artists, learning color and composition, while climbing rocks along side my Lowell U. professor.
I 1984, I did get a degree from CCRI after pooling all my credits. I graduated with a smile and 3.9 index!
Thank you sisters of Saint Anne. Thank you Notre Dame for a job well done, and for that older nun, who was reminding the younger of the schools objective,... a greater thanks!
I close with saying the old third floor high school accomplished what it was set out to do for it's time. In '77 it was tired and proud, and the nuns to support it were less in number. Why less sisters?.... because they opened our eyes, and gave us the tools to advantages beyond religious life, as many had entered convents right from junior high, as my aunt did, Sr. Rita Brousseau, S.S.A., to be educated after entrance. (All of Rita's 5 sisters were mill workers.) With their devotion and their teacher's certificates, and their third floor high school, they invited us to go further.
In June of 1977 it was time for Notre Dame High School to close its doors...and to the old girl we say:
"You did good, Girl! You did good."
"You succeeded in your endeavor."
So, with tears, we let the old girl move on,
but like an old tree stump,
she remains,
with many resting within her walls,
as " Chateau Anne".
"You succeeded in your endeavor."
So, with tears, we let the old girl move on,
but like an old tree stump,
she remains,
with many resting within her walls,
as " Chateau Anne".
S.S.A.
by Connie Ross Ciampanelli '70
by Connie Ross Ciampanelli '70
“S.S.A.” That is the suffix which the Sisters of St. Anne add to their religious names. When I was growing up in the fifties and sixties, i.e, pre-Vatican II, sisters were assigned names when they entered the convent. A sign of obedience and humility, they had no choice in their new names, not to mention giving up their birth names. Today most sisters, I think, keep their birth names and precede it with the honorific, Sr. Rhea Fontaine, (my aunt, she signed it, Rhea Fontaine, s.s.a.), Sr. Michele Jacques, Sr. Rhea Lachapelle---those are a few of the many I knew, although back then they were known as Sr. M. Thérèse Anna, Sr. M. Louis Jacques, Sr. Louisa Marie. All the sisters used the “M.” unless it was already part of their name. It stood for Mary, and they all carried that name in honor of the Blessed Mother.
This teaching order was founded in Canada by Esther Blondin, later Sr. Marie-Anne, in Vaudreuil, Canada, in 1850. Later still, when she was elected director of the order, she was known as “Mother Marie-Anne,” a title which she kept even after being ousted by the local clergy. Mère Marie-Anne, as she was known to the pupils of St. Mathieu School in Central Falls, Rhode Island, was an iconic figure. We were all familiar with her picture, with her story. Each year on her anniversary, a young female student would dress in a miniature habit and the students would gather around singing: “…Mère Marie-Anne, et par son intercession exaucées nos prières.” (…and by her intercession hear our prayers).
The Sisters of St. Anne were a great and forceful presence in Central Falls, filling two elementary schools, St. Mathieu School, on the West side, and Notre Dame, which also had a girls’ high school, on the other side of town. I am an alumna of both schools. When I look back at the educational foundation I received at the hands of these wonderful women, I am amazed and grateful. In a day when college education was for the elite, these sisters were capable of learning and passing on to their young charges a wealth of knowledge: religious, academic, artistic, and musical.
At St. Mathieu School, each grade was assigned two sisters with whom we spent half-a-day each. We had only one lay teacher in all our years there. He taught us Math in grade eight. The “English” sister taught the core subjects: English, Social Studies, then known as History and Geography, Science, Math. The “French” sister taught Religion, French of course, Music, and Art---all taught in French. I did not learn any of my prayers in English until I reached high school.
Yes, all these subjects, including the arts, were taught, not by specialists, but by our everyday teachers. I can still remember clearly learning the basics of art and music. We learned complimentary colors by making our own color wheels. Projects were designed so that even those among us with no artistic ability whatsoever could master basics. We made stained glass “windows,” drew symmetrical butterflies, waxed leaves, made charcoal drawings, dappled in water colors, the cheap dime-store stuff and later tempera paint. We studied the masters of painting when sister passed out postcard sized reproductions, one to each of us, which we shared. While we looked at the cards, Sister explained the rudiments of technique, lighting, shading, etc. The cards were then returned to her for a later lesson. I remember clearly holding in my hands "Miss Bowles," by Sir Joshua Reynolds, a portrait of a young girl with her dog, and "The Angelus," by Jean Francois Millet, which depicts a husband and wife farmer ceasing their hoeing to pray, heads bowed, the Angelus at 6:00 a.m.? noon? 6:00 p.m.? One can't tell for sure by the lighting.
We learned the fundamentals of music: how to read and write music on staffs, treble and bass, to decipher time signatures and measures, understand note values, lift our voices in Gregorian chant (that was a biggie), sing in parts and basic harmony. I remember the excitement we felt as fourth grade students when a grant from the Mothers’ Club provided us with full-text full-color music books. We were used to learning by repeating or by having lyrics mimeographed on a sheet of paper. To have the music laid out before us was a luxury. The song on the first page was “Holy God We Praise Thy Name.” It was beautifully illustrated and singing in class from this book was such a joy it made me cry.
My mother used to tell me that, in my early elementary years, these sisters were hardly educated themselves. They probably learned the lessons the night before they taught them. That did not stop them from teaching, and we would never have guessed that they were not experts. “Drilling” is an unpopular teaching method today, but those basics we learned then by that method were never to be forgotten. We drilled times tables and division with flash cards. Addition and subtraction too. Instead of making it boring, instead of making learning an onerous task, the sisters excelled in making it fun. We formed teams within the classroom and “competed” against each other. Those of us who were ambitious had flash cards at home and practiced with Mom as the teacher.
And diagrams! How I loved those, the more complicated the sentences the better. Good grammatical skills were a hallmark of all that we learned. Every day part of the English lesson, in addition to exposure to literature, was devoted to the study of grammar. So essential and deeply ingrained were these lessons that today in my mind’s eye I still see a ridiculous sight, my favorite example of a misplaced modifier: “rounding the corner, the building was seen.” The sisters taught us neat tricks that helped us to remember rules. The difference between “less” and “fewer?” “Less” is for a mass, “fewer” for individual items, as in “less salt, fewer grains of salt.” When I see signs in the supermarket that read “10 Items or Less,” I know they didn’t get that lesson.
I know for sure that my penchant for seeing and hearing grammatical errors comes from my days studying with the Sisters of St. Anne. In turn, I drummed good grammar into my sons. The younger, Paul, calls me “The Grammar Nazi.” I reply that my efforts were well placed--Paul is an excellent writer!
We conducted rudimentary Science experiments with no labs, no equipment of any kind save what we could scavenge from home. But they were effective and they were exciting.
Notre Dame High School occupied the third floor of the elementary school, with an auditorium on the fourth floor, one science lab and a basic library in the basement, and a gym, never used, across the parking lot. When “phys. ed.” was mandated, we pushed the desks against the wall for one period each day and, dressed in shorts and our uniform shirts, did calisthenics on the floor. Later we progressed to a once-a-week trek to the YMCA in the next town to indulge in real activity: swimming, tennis, gymnastics…
Despite their lack of higher education, these sisters prepared us well, not only for the rigors of high school, but for college in the years ahead. As I look back I am astonished at the level at which they expected their students to achieve. And they were successful. With incredibly meager resources and on a shoe-string budget, the sisters gave us a foundation good enough to enter college able to keep up with students who came from far better circumstances.
Much is made of the supposed meanness and cruelty of Catholic sisters. Some of it is funny, some borders on the truth, but from my own experience, all of it is greatly exaggerated. My memories of the sisters are warm, even though in my younger years I found the sisters very mysterious. Even my own aunt Rhea, (Sr. M. Thérèse Anna), my mother’s sister, was a remote and ethereal figure in our lives before Vatican II. She left home at the age of fourteen to enter the convent in Marlborough Massachusetts, never to return save for very occasional visits. Families at the time “gave” their daughters to the Church (and “gave” sons to the priesthood as well). Our infrequent visits with Aunt Rhea were really with a stranger and we were a little afraid of her until we got to know her better when the rules were relaxed. We treated the sisters with utmost respect: “Yes, Sister. No, Sister.” (“Oui, ma Soeur.” “Non, ma Soeur.”) When we knew the answer to a question, we eagerly raised our arms fully extended, holding our elbow and wiggling our arms right down to the fingertips, trying our best to get sister’s attention: “Sta! Sta!” Whenever the Principal entered the classroom, we rose as one and greeted her, “Good Morning, Sister Superior.” (“Bonjour, Soeur Supérieur”).
As children, we wondered what the sisters’ heads looked liked under their all-encompassing habits. Did they have any hair? Was it shaved off? Was it long and tucked? Braided? A sister’s name of origin was a big secret. I remember well my fourth grade teacher asking me to mail a letter for her. It was to her mother, she said, and she cautioned me not to tell anyone what her name was. I honored that trust. And the sisters’ castanets! A long-buried memory -- one clack was to sit or stand, two to kneel. Sister’s knuckle was in your back if you dared to lean your backside on the pew while kneeling. To this day I kneel, always, ramrod straight. A wonderful sound was the sister’s long wooden rosaries attached to a belt at her waist, resonating distinctly against her leg as she walked the halls.
We could scarcely comprehend how the sisters survived the summer months under that voluminous black habit. The head piece covered the entire head, the white linen rolled at the front extended before the face so that from the side you saw nothing of the human being residing within. The robe was layers thick worn down to the wrist and to the ankle, with heavy black stockings, and of course sensible shoes.
I am convinced that I am the person I am today because of the strong and positive influence of the Sisters of St. Anne, exceeded only by the influence of my wonderful parents.
God bless them all!
This teaching order was founded in Canada by Esther Blondin, later Sr. Marie-Anne, in Vaudreuil, Canada, in 1850. Later still, when she was elected director of the order, she was known as “Mother Marie-Anne,” a title which she kept even after being ousted by the local clergy. Mère Marie-Anne, as she was known to the pupils of St. Mathieu School in Central Falls, Rhode Island, was an iconic figure. We were all familiar with her picture, with her story. Each year on her anniversary, a young female student would dress in a miniature habit and the students would gather around singing: “…Mère Marie-Anne, et par son intercession exaucées nos prières.” (…and by her intercession hear our prayers).
The Sisters of St. Anne were a great and forceful presence in Central Falls, filling two elementary schools, St. Mathieu School, on the West side, and Notre Dame, which also had a girls’ high school, on the other side of town. I am an alumna of both schools. When I look back at the educational foundation I received at the hands of these wonderful women, I am amazed and grateful. In a day when college education was for the elite, these sisters were capable of learning and passing on to their young charges a wealth of knowledge: religious, academic, artistic, and musical.
At St. Mathieu School, each grade was assigned two sisters with whom we spent half-a-day each. We had only one lay teacher in all our years there. He taught us Math in grade eight. The “English” sister taught the core subjects: English, Social Studies, then known as History and Geography, Science, Math. The “French” sister taught Religion, French of course, Music, and Art---all taught in French. I did not learn any of my prayers in English until I reached high school.
Yes, all these subjects, including the arts, were taught, not by specialists, but by our everyday teachers. I can still remember clearly learning the basics of art and music. We learned complimentary colors by making our own color wheels. Projects were designed so that even those among us with no artistic ability whatsoever could master basics. We made stained glass “windows,” drew symmetrical butterflies, waxed leaves, made charcoal drawings, dappled in water colors, the cheap dime-store stuff and later tempera paint. We studied the masters of painting when sister passed out postcard sized reproductions, one to each of us, which we shared. While we looked at the cards, Sister explained the rudiments of technique, lighting, shading, etc. The cards were then returned to her for a later lesson. I remember clearly holding in my hands "Miss Bowles," by Sir Joshua Reynolds, a portrait of a young girl with her dog, and "The Angelus," by Jean Francois Millet, which depicts a husband and wife farmer ceasing their hoeing to pray, heads bowed, the Angelus at 6:00 a.m.? noon? 6:00 p.m.? One can't tell for sure by the lighting.
We learned the fundamentals of music: how to read and write music on staffs, treble and bass, to decipher time signatures and measures, understand note values, lift our voices in Gregorian chant (that was a biggie), sing in parts and basic harmony. I remember the excitement we felt as fourth grade students when a grant from the Mothers’ Club provided us with full-text full-color music books. We were used to learning by repeating or by having lyrics mimeographed on a sheet of paper. To have the music laid out before us was a luxury. The song on the first page was “Holy God We Praise Thy Name.” It was beautifully illustrated and singing in class from this book was such a joy it made me cry.
My mother used to tell me that, in my early elementary years, these sisters were hardly educated themselves. They probably learned the lessons the night before they taught them. That did not stop them from teaching, and we would never have guessed that they were not experts. “Drilling” is an unpopular teaching method today, but those basics we learned then by that method were never to be forgotten. We drilled times tables and division with flash cards. Addition and subtraction too. Instead of making it boring, instead of making learning an onerous task, the sisters excelled in making it fun. We formed teams within the classroom and “competed” against each other. Those of us who were ambitious had flash cards at home and practiced with Mom as the teacher.
And diagrams! How I loved those, the more complicated the sentences the better. Good grammatical skills were a hallmark of all that we learned. Every day part of the English lesson, in addition to exposure to literature, was devoted to the study of grammar. So essential and deeply ingrained were these lessons that today in my mind’s eye I still see a ridiculous sight, my favorite example of a misplaced modifier: “rounding the corner, the building was seen.” The sisters taught us neat tricks that helped us to remember rules. The difference between “less” and “fewer?” “Less” is for a mass, “fewer” for individual items, as in “less salt, fewer grains of salt.” When I see signs in the supermarket that read “10 Items or Less,” I know they didn’t get that lesson.
I know for sure that my penchant for seeing and hearing grammatical errors comes from my days studying with the Sisters of St. Anne. In turn, I drummed good grammar into my sons. The younger, Paul, calls me “The Grammar Nazi.” I reply that my efforts were well placed--Paul is an excellent writer!
We conducted rudimentary Science experiments with no labs, no equipment of any kind save what we could scavenge from home. But they were effective and they were exciting.
Notre Dame High School occupied the third floor of the elementary school, with an auditorium on the fourth floor, one science lab and a basic library in the basement, and a gym, never used, across the parking lot. When “phys. ed.” was mandated, we pushed the desks against the wall for one period each day and, dressed in shorts and our uniform shirts, did calisthenics on the floor. Later we progressed to a once-a-week trek to the YMCA in the next town to indulge in real activity: swimming, tennis, gymnastics…
Despite their lack of higher education, these sisters prepared us well, not only for the rigors of high school, but for college in the years ahead. As I look back I am astonished at the level at which they expected their students to achieve. And they were successful. With incredibly meager resources and on a shoe-string budget, the sisters gave us a foundation good enough to enter college able to keep up with students who came from far better circumstances.
Much is made of the supposed meanness and cruelty of Catholic sisters. Some of it is funny, some borders on the truth, but from my own experience, all of it is greatly exaggerated. My memories of the sisters are warm, even though in my younger years I found the sisters very mysterious. Even my own aunt Rhea, (Sr. M. Thérèse Anna), my mother’s sister, was a remote and ethereal figure in our lives before Vatican II. She left home at the age of fourteen to enter the convent in Marlborough Massachusetts, never to return save for very occasional visits. Families at the time “gave” their daughters to the Church (and “gave” sons to the priesthood as well). Our infrequent visits with Aunt Rhea were really with a stranger and we were a little afraid of her until we got to know her better when the rules were relaxed. We treated the sisters with utmost respect: “Yes, Sister. No, Sister.” (“Oui, ma Soeur.” “Non, ma Soeur.”) When we knew the answer to a question, we eagerly raised our arms fully extended, holding our elbow and wiggling our arms right down to the fingertips, trying our best to get sister’s attention: “Sta! Sta!” Whenever the Principal entered the classroom, we rose as one and greeted her, “Good Morning, Sister Superior.” (“Bonjour, Soeur Supérieur”).
As children, we wondered what the sisters’ heads looked liked under their all-encompassing habits. Did they have any hair? Was it shaved off? Was it long and tucked? Braided? A sister’s name of origin was a big secret. I remember well my fourth grade teacher asking me to mail a letter for her. It was to her mother, she said, and she cautioned me not to tell anyone what her name was. I honored that trust. And the sisters’ castanets! A long-buried memory -- one clack was to sit or stand, two to kneel. Sister’s knuckle was in your back if you dared to lean your backside on the pew while kneeling. To this day I kneel, always, ramrod straight. A wonderful sound was the sister’s long wooden rosaries attached to a belt at her waist, resonating distinctly against her leg as she walked the halls.
We could scarcely comprehend how the sisters survived the summer months under that voluminous black habit. The head piece covered the entire head, the white linen rolled at the front extended before the face so that from the side you saw nothing of the human being residing within. The robe was layers thick worn down to the wrist and to the ankle, with heavy black stockings, and of course sensible shoes.
I am convinced that I am the person I am today because of the strong and positive influence of the Sisters of St. Anne, exceeded only by the influence of my wonderful parents.
God bless them all!
Memories of a Student Become Teacher
by Sr. Rita Deroy '58
by Sr. Rita Deroy '58
Summer was almost over and school would start on Wednesday. This year (1954) was different from previous ones. I was going into high school. All was ready. The white blouses were ironed and the light blue jumper was waiting on its hanger. The big day came and off I went to Notre Dame High School. It was exciting to meet new classmates and find out where they had been in school before. Of course, it was only girls, since the boys all went to Sacred Heart Academy or some other neighboring high school. We met all our new teachers, all nuns except for one lay woman, Claire Quintal, who was to be our Latin teacher that year. We learned the routine of changing classes which had not happened in our previous school years. We had four different classes in the morning followed by a study period before lunch. During study, many girls participated in Choir and/or Glee Club. Most of us had our lunch in the school “cafeteria” which was a room in the old gym building. Some devoted ladies would prepare meals for those who chose not to bring a lunch. Classes resumed in the early afternoon following the recitation of the rosary. Dismissal came after the two afternoon class periods. Extra-curricular activities were always after school. The basketball team would share the gym with the cheerleading team.
The routine was pretty much the same from day to day and year to year. Various events punctuated different seasons, most notably the Glee Club performances each year. But who could forget the rag collections to raise funds? There were closed retreats in Manville, special movies in the upstairs hall, bowling in the gym where you had to set up your own pins. Activities away from the school meant we had to find our own transportation.
Our teachers encouraged us as we struggled through the various subjects required for graduation. We left the school prepared for college or the business world. Upon graduating from the high school, I was excited to be done with one stage of my education but somewhat nervous about what was to come. I had applied for entrance into the Sisters of Saint Anne and had been accepted for entry on August 4 of that summer. I knew I would be leaving home forever and probably never see many of my classmates again. So I guess you can say that the feelings were bittersweet.
Ten years later, I was again looking forward to the first day of school at Notre Dame High. This time I was to be on the other side of the desk. My specific task was to teach math. When I was assigned to teach at Notre Dame High, I was both happy and scared. Until then, I had only taught on the elementary level and this meant entirely different class preparation and dealing with older students. At the same time, I was happy to go to a place familiar to me and with people that I knew.
Upon my arrival, I found that some things were still the same with many of the girls coming from neighboring schools and the schedule being very similar to what I had experienced as a student. In some ways, the girls were the same: friendly, fun-loving, ambitious, enthusiastic, and cooperative. However, life in the late sixties had become more complicated. There were more family problems, time commitments, social activities, and financial difficulties to contend with.
Other things had changed a lot. As a student, my classrooms were mostly on the first floor of the building, now the rooms were on the third floor. There were fewer sisters and more lay teachers. Many more of the students had to work after school which was not as prevalent when I was a student. There were lots more out-of-town students. We were now serving more parishes. Unfortunately, equipment had not changed an awful lot. However, I could not have gotten along without my overhead projector which did not exist in the 50's!
On the plus side, there were a lot more clubs and activities. I became involved in Math Club and sports activities. A physical education program was introduced using the facilities and the staff of the YWCA. Our girls had the opportunity to enjoy many sports and games that could not be done at the school. A new type of flexible schedule was developed for the school. Classes could last anywhere from 20 minutes to 80 minutes depending on the structure a teacher wanted. Study periods were not all at the same time. A week of mini courses was introduced. Winter vacations gave opportunities for ski trips to Canada. There was lots of activity, lots of work and lots of fun.
Innovation even allowed us to welcome boys into the high school. Adaption was the word that year. The experiment was successful. Unfortunately, the closing of the elementary school forced the high school to close also. All the students transferred to other local schools to complete their high school.
The routine was pretty much the same from day to day and year to year. Various events punctuated different seasons, most notably the Glee Club performances each year. But who could forget the rag collections to raise funds? There were closed retreats in Manville, special movies in the upstairs hall, bowling in the gym where you had to set up your own pins. Activities away from the school meant we had to find our own transportation.
Our teachers encouraged us as we struggled through the various subjects required for graduation. We left the school prepared for college or the business world. Upon graduating from the high school, I was excited to be done with one stage of my education but somewhat nervous about what was to come. I had applied for entrance into the Sisters of Saint Anne and had been accepted for entry on August 4 of that summer. I knew I would be leaving home forever and probably never see many of my classmates again. So I guess you can say that the feelings were bittersweet.
Ten years later, I was again looking forward to the first day of school at Notre Dame High. This time I was to be on the other side of the desk. My specific task was to teach math. When I was assigned to teach at Notre Dame High, I was both happy and scared. Until then, I had only taught on the elementary level and this meant entirely different class preparation and dealing with older students. At the same time, I was happy to go to a place familiar to me and with people that I knew.
Upon my arrival, I found that some things were still the same with many of the girls coming from neighboring schools and the schedule being very similar to what I had experienced as a student. In some ways, the girls were the same: friendly, fun-loving, ambitious, enthusiastic, and cooperative. However, life in the late sixties had become more complicated. There were more family problems, time commitments, social activities, and financial difficulties to contend with.
Other things had changed a lot. As a student, my classrooms were mostly on the first floor of the building, now the rooms were on the third floor. There were fewer sisters and more lay teachers. Many more of the students had to work after school which was not as prevalent when I was a student. There were lots more out-of-town students. We were now serving more parishes. Unfortunately, equipment had not changed an awful lot. However, I could not have gotten along without my overhead projector which did not exist in the 50's!
On the plus side, there were a lot more clubs and activities. I became involved in Math Club and sports activities. A physical education program was introduced using the facilities and the staff of the YWCA. Our girls had the opportunity to enjoy many sports and games that could not be done at the school. A new type of flexible schedule was developed for the school. Classes could last anywhere from 20 minutes to 80 minutes depending on the structure a teacher wanted. Study periods were not all at the same time. A week of mini courses was introduced. Winter vacations gave opportunities for ski trips to Canada. There was lots of activity, lots of work and lots of fun.
Innovation even allowed us to welcome boys into the high school. Adaption was the word that year. The experiment was successful. Unfortunately, the closing of the elementary school forced the high school to close also. All the students transferred to other local schools to complete their high school.