Up until my second year in seventh grade, Saint Joseph’s school was a very old brick building just down off a gentle slope from the church. One year prior, the archdiocese of Hartford had given the pastor of Saint Joseph’s permission to build a brand new school adjacent to the old one. It was completed by the time I entered eighth grade, and we would be the first graduating class from this place. I’d been handed over from Mother John Francis to Sister Helen Margaret, who turned out to be one of the most incredible people I ever met in my life. At least six feet tall, this nun was beautiful, even though all we could see of her was her face. She looked like a movie star. She had fifty-two students in her class, and commanded attention from all of us. Two weeks into my last year of grammar school before finally going on to high school, Sister Margaret told us we needed to have class elections. There would be a President, Vice President, Secretary, and Treasurer. Everyone was handed a ballot, and told to write their choices. Naturally the two girl brainiacs in the class got to be Treasurer and Secretary. The Vice Presidency went to the best athlete in the class, a good friend of mine, and I was elected President. Couldn’t believe it, a kid who shined shoes for bookies, didn’t know how to play little league baseball, and couldn’t even dribble a basketball. I wondered if it was just because I was a year older than all of them. Once again got called after class, this time by Sister Margaret. I told her I didn’t have to be told where to sit, I’d already been through that a couple of times. Different Nun this time, same hands folded on her desk, but a lot taller than the prior two; I was addressed. “Joe,” I couldn’t believe she didn’t call me Joseph, “your fellow students are going to expect a lot from you in guidance, are you prepared for this?” I’d learned something about politics on the West End, the biggest guy always has the last word. Trying to be as diplomatic as I could, I gave her a response. “Sister, you have the desk in the front of the room, I sit next to a window six rows back. You’re supposed to give us the guidance, I can only tell my classmates how I feel about how you feel; that’s how I’ll give them guidance.” Bristol, CT was a small town, and news traveled quickly, especially through the schools. Once again, sitting on the shoe shine box at Novack’s, studying my algebra book, looked up and saw Nikki coming across the street from Jonsies. Didn’t know how to tell her about what had happened in school.. This time she didn’t come and plop herself next to me. Instead, standing in front, and over me, hands on her hips, but with still the big Nikki smile, I got asked, “Do I have to call you Mister President now?” Took her hand and told her no, but I would invite her to a presidential lunch if she would accompany me. Holding hands, we took the long way to Pete’s.
Posted on: Mon, 16 Sep 2013 21:51:48 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015