Kindergarten - 8th Grade
2017 - The following was written in March of 2017.
My Name is Edward Poulin but I go by Ed and much of my formative years were spent at Holy Name School in Springfield, Massachusetts. Whenever I think about the subject I just think, "blah". Who knows why? Obviously, there were many good times. It's just getting harder to recall details but I'm pretty happy I was able to remember what I did. Some of it reads kind of stream of consciousness because I just made a list of events and wrote about them as they appeared on the list. Maybe some of you who come across this might just write down some of your memories for your kids or for those long lost souls who were a small part of forming who you are today. But first, Kindergarten at Sumner Avenue School...
Kindergarten - Sumner Ave. School - Springfield, Massachusetts
Cool fact: Dr. Seuss and I attended the same school. Not at the same time, mind you.
I went to Sumner Ave. School for Kindergarten and it was OK, I guess. I don't remember anything traumatic. It was kindergarten. The trauma came later. Kindergarten was fun and games, drawing, singing, learning to interact with your fellow man. I remember playing with blocks and pretend store and painting in a small room off of the main one. I can recall the insanity of a bunch of kids running around. I remember the Kindergarten was a separate building than the main one (above picture) and I think we went over to it maybe once to go see the library. The only names I remember besides my teacher Miss Jean Sessions (and that might just be because I've periodically looked at my old report cards!) were Marie and Gwen. We'll get back to Marie.
Gwen was a friend of mine, I guess. I liked her. My girlfriend? Well...we were just 5 or so. I remember going to her house with my Mom. Did my mother know her mother? I suppose. Why else would we have gone over? Anyway, I remember that one day we hatched a plan. It was a bit devious. We were going to walk home from school the WRONG WAY. Oohhhh. This involved taking a longer route and me not getting home at my usual time. I think my mother noticed but I don't remember my excuse. Anyway, we walked down the hill of Fort Pleasant Ave and back up Belmont Ave. We were probably emboldened to do this because we had once had a field trip to the fire station down that way (it looks to be the New England Funeral and Cremation Center now - irony). On the way down we were stopped by someone, I think an officer or a postman, and asked if we were lost. Evidently we didn't belong. We confidently told him no and continued on our way. We never did it again. Don't know why. Don't know why we did it in the first place but it was an adventure. I never saw her again after Kindergarten. Hey Gwen. I hope you had a good life.
Another interesting fact about my first school. It was built where there used to be a cemetery. Nice. Let me clarify. I found one map from 1899 which indicated that the site was a cemetery. I didn't find this on any other map but the site did belong to the City. I suppose Springfield had at one point considered making it a cemetery but never got around to it. And, if you think about, would they really have dug up and relocated a cemetery to build a school? Probably not. But it's a good story.
I went to Sumner Ave. School for Kindergarten and it was OK, I guess. I don't remember anything traumatic. It was kindergarten. The trauma came later. Kindergarten was fun and games, drawing, singing, learning to interact with your fellow man. I remember playing with blocks and pretend store and painting in a small room off of the main one. I can recall the insanity of a bunch of kids running around. I remember the Kindergarten was a separate building than the main one (above picture) and I think we went over to it maybe once to go see the library. The only names I remember besides my teacher Miss Jean Sessions (and that might just be because I've periodically looked at my old report cards!) were Marie and Gwen. We'll get back to Marie.
Gwen was a friend of mine, I guess. I liked her. My girlfriend? Well...we were just 5 or so. I remember going to her house with my Mom. Did my mother know her mother? I suppose. Why else would we have gone over? Anyway, I remember that one day we hatched a plan. It was a bit devious. We were going to walk home from school the WRONG WAY. Oohhhh. This involved taking a longer route and me not getting home at my usual time. I think my mother noticed but I don't remember my excuse. Anyway, we walked down the hill of Fort Pleasant Ave and back up Belmont Ave. We were probably emboldened to do this because we had once had a field trip to the fire station down that way (it looks to be the New England Funeral and Cremation Center now - irony). On the way down we were stopped by someone, I think an officer or a postman, and asked if we were lost. Evidently we didn't belong. We confidently told him no and continued on our way. We never did it again. Don't know why. Don't know why we did it in the first place but it was an adventure. I never saw her again after Kindergarten. Hey Gwen. I hope you had a good life.
Another interesting fact about my first school. It was built where there used to be a cemetery. Nice. Let me clarify. I found one map from 1899 which indicated that the site was a cemetery. I didn't find this on any other map but the site did belong to the City. I suppose Springfield had at one point considered making it a cemetery but never got around to it. And, if you think about, would they really have dug up and relocated a cemetery to build a school? Probably not. But it's a good story.
Get this. I walked to school by myself at age 5. So, this wasn't all that uncommon when I was young but...still crazy. Since a number of kids in the neighborhood went to Sumner Ave it was not common for me to be alone, really. I followed the stream of people. However, I seem to recall that the stream wasn't there when I went home. I am guessing that it was because I went for a half day of school but I don't know. Anyway, I remember a particularly troublesome dog, an Irish Setter, who came barreling at me and jumped up on me and scared the crap out of me. He didn't bite me but it was enough for me to keep a very wary eye on the house every other time I went by. I likely started diverting down another road to avoid him. That was my way.
Once, my brother Ken brought me to school on his motorcycle. That was very cool and I think I kept bugging him to do it again but I think it was only the once. Mom must have yelled at him.
Once, my brother Ken brought me to school on his motorcycle. That was very cool and I think I kept bugging him to do it again but I think it was only the once. Mom must have yelled at him.
1st-8th Grade - Holy Name School- Springfield, Massachusetts
So when I entered 1st grade there was a day or two where I flirted with the thought that my new teacher was actually my Kindergarten teacher Miss Sessions. I recall that they were a) both female and b) both of a similar age and c) both had the same haircut. I quickly realized that I was just being an idiot.
Throughout my school "career" at Holy Name the principal was Sister Mildred Groh and her assistant was Sister Cashmere. I recall Sister Mildred as being firm and fair but Sister Cashmere was, how shall we say, a bit sour. We used to refer to her as Sister Cashier because all she seemed to be interested in was taking our money. Sorry, Sister. That's how it seemed.
Early on there seemed to be about 4-6 other Sisters who worked as teachers. There was Sister Ruth, Sister Nina Fisk, Sister Theresa Nolan, Sister Anne (I think), Sister M. Raphael and maybe others. This was about the time that the number of nuns was going down in the Catholic Schools and the number of "lay" teachers was increasing. Most of the nuns were fine, some sterner than others, but Sister Nina was a cranky old bat who couldn't seem to get out of the past. She used to jack kids up against the wall and pointedly mention that she used to be able to swat us kids with abandon but that she couldn't anymore. She probably figured her mean countenance was enough but she just seemed flustered with the new rules and was irritated that she couldn't take out her rage on little people anymore. She did her best with jacking kids against the wall and grabbing them by their ears and calling them big ninnies. I expect that this was a practice used quite frequently in the "good ol' days" but she just had a particularly hard time changing. Sad, really. I must say, though, having spent my early life with these kids for 8 years, some of them deserved it. Little fuckers.
Here is a list of my teachers:
1st - ????
2nd - Sister Theresa Nolan; Mr. F Watson
3rd - Mrs. J Percy; Sister Theresa; Mr. F Watson
4th - Sister Nina Fisk; Sister M. Raphael (don't remember her); Mr. Larkin
5th - Miss Spring; Sister Ruth Virginia; Mrs. Ianello; Mrs. Kelliher; Miss Cardona (don't remember her nor why Mr. Larkin wasn't on my report card)
6th - Sister Ruth Virginia; Mrs. Ianello; Mrs. Kelliher; Mr. Larkin
7th - Ms Smyth & Mrs. Connors; Ms. O'Herron; Ms. Kennedy; Mr. Quinn; Mr. Larkin
8th - Mrs. Skala; Mrs. Connors; Ms. O'Herron; Mr. Quinn; Mr. Larkin
Not all are as memorable to me as others, especially the early ones. But most were decent people. Also, generally, the class of kids you had in 1st grade was the class of kids you were with throughout. There were two classes and there were many kids I never interacted with through the 8 years! Occasionally, they switched some kids to the other class so some whom I may not have known early on were known to me later.
Mr. Watson and Mr. Larkin tolerated the fact that I was a terrified little guy who HATED the water. I'm sure they were frustrated with me and I conveniently "forgot" my gym clothes whenever it was the time of year for swimming. It was particularly rough the few times they let the girls and boys use the pool at the same time. Typically, the boys and girls had separate gym classes. I was as much mortified by my inability to swim as I was of actually being in the water. One time, a kid stood on my head on purpose when I was under water. Not too terrifying. I had managed to get up the courage to at least hold my breath and go under standing up in the shallow end and this asshole contributed to my fears by trying to make me drown. I remember his name but I won't say here. Maybe he's not such a dick anymore.
I did better with all of the "dry" sports like kickball and basketball and I was quite good at the timed/measured running & athletic trials. In 1980 Mr. Larkin wrote that I had a "Remarkable level of fitness..." and this was particularly interesting because I didn't really eat all that well at home. In the Spring of 1980 I even had the record for the Standing Broad Jump at 8' 5 1/2". I remember Mr. Larkin making me do the jump twice because he was dumbfounded that I, a little guy, had just set the school record. Frog legs (that's a Frenchie joke) or technique, I guess.
Another part of gym class was square dancing. This may have been for only the later years but I'm not sure. For about 4 weeks (before Christmas, I think) we would line up, boys in one row and girls in a facing row, and we would be paired up by the boys' and girls' gym teachers. I was always hoping to be paired with a girl I liked (Theresa, Laura, Tanya, Robin) but it didn't always work out that way. Kind of disappointing because at one time or another I "loved" these girls.
I remember once I was out going door to door selling whatever wares Sister Cashmere had given us to sell. I knocked on one door but before doing so I noted a large spring on the storm door and thought, "what a big spring". Who should answer the door but Ms. Spring. I was slightly flustered because a) it was a teacher and you just didn't see them outside of school and b) I kinda had a crush on her. I gamely tried to sell her the ware and she politely refused. I clumsily noted the spring on her door and her name and went on my way somewhat embarrassed.
OK. Now back to Marie. As luck would have it Marie, one of my Kindergarten acquaintances, went on to Holy Name for a couple of years or so. I liked her because I thought she was pretty. My first girl crush. She was pretty and put the other 1st graders to shame. Well, that's how I saw it. And then, just to illustrate how shallow I was (I'm not proud), she had a cold and I saw a booger in her nose and it turned me off to no end. It was ridiculous. The next day she was back to being her beautiful self. Did I mention she was very nice, too? So what was my problem? Again, shallow. I'm embarrassed to admit that story.
There was a time in the early grades when I was to audition for singing in a play or something like that. I don't really know how I ended up signing up for this because I had terrible stage fright back then. Likely, one of the teachers put my name on a list. I think I told my mother that I didn't want to do it but she said I had to. So, I was in a particularly worrisome mood that day. It was getting toward the end of the day and luck shined upon me like a ray from God. I swear this was not intentional. I had on my gold cardigan (it had a small stain on the arm and I was so embarrassed about it that I always rolled up the sleeves of the sweater. Must have looked like a dork). I brushed up against the chalk tray of the blackboard and got a huge sliver in my arm through the sweater. Needless to say, I got the requisite attention from the teacher and the nurse and they were sure to send me home because of the intense trauma. I was soooooooo relieved. Best sliver I ever got, bar none!
In second or third grade we got a new student named Andrew Ng (pronounced Ing). Wicked dumb name, I thought. I was a racist little SOB back then and I'm sure it contributed to my jealousy over a drawing he did. He drew a nice picture of the big jet he had flown in to come to America with his family and it seemed to me that there was much overcompensating oohing and aahing and fawning being done by the adults over him and his dumb picture. I could draw that, I thought. What's the big deal? I felt that they had to be sure to treat him with special care, I guess, or they'd seem racist. That is how I felt, even at such a young age. Hard to say what was going on now but my guess is that the adults were just trying to make this kid feel welcome in his strange surroundings. Anyway, for a while I felt that he was my Art Class enemy. Whatever I'd do was met with a "that's nice" and whatever he drew was gold-starred to death. I was jealous but I think I also knew that he WAS good and that irked me all the more. Sorry, Andrew.
I guess I got some solace within the year from the fact that I designed the Nativity Cradle & Star patterns used to decorate all of the school windows. They were using those patterns for MANY years to come so anytime I drove past Holy Name School at Christmas I could remember that I designed them and I felt proud.
I remember Mrs. Ianello as being loud and boisterous and she was related to at least one of the girls. That's all I got.
Mrs. Kelliher taught us about cuneiform writing and Egypt and all that cool stuff and she also told us about vitamins & minerals. That's not the interesting part, though. One time, there was going to be a field trip to the Boston Science Museum and you were supposed to get the permission slip signed and bring in the requisite fee. Well, I kept "forgetting" mine and she took note of it. She must have been in charge of arranging things because she wasn't my homeroom teacher. Anyway, she cornered me in her room when everyone was gone and I broke down bawling in front of her about the whole thing. I admitted that the reason I didn't have it was that my mother wouldn't sign it. She wouldn't even sign it to say NO. It was one of the many times I had to explain my mother and her ways. Why didn't she want me to go I was asked and I had no good answer for Mrs. Kelliher and that made me break down. I was a tense little kid.
Around that same time the local newspaper came in to do a piece on some students who had done some project. They gathered up a few students, me included, and put them in front of the project, took some pictures, and went on their merry way. Soon after, a story came out in the paper with a nice photo accompanying it. There was a slight problem, though. I didn't work on the project. I think I mildly protested but ended up posing anyway. If you ever run across that story just remember it's a sham and some people do things for the glory!
Sister Ruth was my 6th grade homeroom teacher. She was a tough character but not a bully like Sister Nina. Once, when I was in a lower grade, maybe 3rd or 4th, I took a different route home. No biggy, right? Well, you were supposed to be part of a predetermined group which would walk a certain way and distance before being released into the wild. Not sure what the purpose of that was but I guess it was just part of the structure. I was supposed to be in the "Dickinson" group but I went in the "X" group. I wasn't supposed to be in the "X" group and to make matters worse I broke ranks and zipped across the street when I wasn't supposed to. I bumped into a car which had stomped on the brakes and then I ran on my way. Now, each group was led by a leader who wore an orange belt that went around the waist and diagonally across the chest (I always wanted that belt but never got it). Apparently, the leader of the "X" group must have reported me because I ended up the next day in front of Sr. Ruth's sixth grade class. Oh boy, was I in trouble. In front of all these big sixth graders she grilled me as to why I was where I was and why I did what I did. I am certain I had no better answer than "I don't know" and I don't know if I got punished. Probably, I had to "stay after school" for a period of days. That was Holy Name speak for detention. Why did I do this? I was constantly trying to avoid bullies and on that day I was apparently more terrified of a bully than of the possibility of being caught.
Another time, when I was in her class as a big 6th grader, a group of assholes were being questioned one by one as to why some fights were happening. Turns out these kids thought it would be fun to bully some of the smaller kids into fighting each other...by signed contract. They tried with me but I somehow had the balls to tell them to fuck off (not in those words-didn't really use those words in 6th grade). I won't name names but you know who you are. Sr. Ruth came roaring into the room and bellowed, "Mr. Poulin!" (she was red with fury) and I barely choked out a "What?" Were you involved in this nonsense was basically what she asked and I said no and I guess I was convincing. No small feat because I never sound convincing when I am being accused of something I didn't do.
Interestingly, I just ran across a Youtube video of Sr Ruth which was made for her retirement. I kinda, sorta recognized her.
Throughout my school "career" at Holy Name the principal was Sister Mildred Groh and her assistant was Sister Cashmere. I recall Sister Mildred as being firm and fair but Sister Cashmere was, how shall we say, a bit sour. We used to refer to her as Sister Cashier because all she seemed to be interested in was taking our money. Sorry, Sister. That's how it seemed.
Early on there seemed to be about 4-6 other Sisters who worked as teachers. There was Sister Ruth, Sister Nina Fisk, Sister Theresa Nolan, Sister Anne (I think), Sister M. Raphael and maybe others. This was about the time that the number of nuns was going down in the Catholic Schools and the number of "lay" teachers was increasing. Most of the nuns were fine, some sterner than others, but Sister Nina was a cranky old bat who couldn't seem to get out of the past. She used to jack kids up against the wall and pointedly mention that she used to be able to swat us kids with abandon but that she couldn't anymore. She probably figured her mean countenance was enough but she just seemed flustered with the new rules and was irritated that she couldn't take out her rage on little people anymore. She did her best with jacking kids against the wall and grabbing them by their ears and calling them big ninnies. I expect that this was a practice used quite frequently in the "good ol' days" but she just had a particularly hard time changing. Sad, really. I must say, though, having spent my early life with these kids for 8 years, some of them deserved it. Little fuckers.
Here is a list of my teachers:
1st - ????
2nd - Sister Theresa Nolan; Mr. F Watson
3rd - Mrs. J Percy; Sister Theresa; Mr. F Watson
4th - Sister Nina Fisk; Sister M. Raphael (don't remember her); Mr. Larkin
5th - Miss Spring; Sister Ruth Virginia; Mrs. Ianello; Mrs. Kelliher; Miss Cardona (don't remember her nor why Mr. Larkin wasn't on my report card)
6th - Sister Ruth Virginia; Mrs. Ianello; Mrs. Kelliher; Mr. Larkin
7th - Ms Smyth & Mrs. Connors; Ms. O'Herron; Ms. Kennedy; Mr. Quinn; Mr. Larkin
8th - Mrs. Skala; Mrs. Connors; Ms. O'Herron; Mr. Quinn; Mr. Larkin
Not all are as memorable to me as others, especially the early ones. But most were decent people. Also, generally, the class of kids you had in 1st grade was the class of kids you were with throughout. There were two classes and there were many kids I never interacted with through the 8 years! Occasionally, they switched some kids to the other class so some whom I may not have known early on were known to me later.
Mr. Watson and Mr. Larkin tolerated the fact that I was a terrified little guy who HATED the water. I'm sure they were frustrated with me and I conveniently "forgot" my gym clothes whenever it was the time of year for swimming. It was particularly rough the few times they let the girls and boys use the pool at the same time. Typically, the boys and girls had separate gym classes. I was as much mortified by my inability to swim as I was of actually being in the water. One time, a kid stood on my head on purpose when I was under water. Not too terrifying. I had managed to get up the courage to at least hold my breath and go under standing up in the shallow end and this asshole contributed to my fears by trying to make me drown. I remember his name but I won't say here. Maybe he's not such a dick anymore.
I did better with all of the "dry" sports like kickball and basketball and I was quite good at the timed/measured running & athletic trials. In 1980 Mr. Larkin wrote that I had a "Remarkable level of fitness..." and this was particularly interesting because I didn't really eat all that well at home. In the Spring of 1980 I even had the record for the Standing Broad Jump at 8' 5 1/2". I remember Mr. Larkin making me do the jump twice because he was dumbfounded that I, a little guy, had just set the school record. Frog legs (that's a Frenchie joke) or technique, I guess.
Another part of gym class was square dancing. This may have been for only the later years but I'm not sure. For about 4 weeks (before Christmas, I think) we would line up, boys in one row and girls in a facing row, and we would be paired up by the boys' and girls' gym teachers. I was always hoping to be paired with a girl I liked (Theresa, Laura, Tanya, Robin) but it didn't always work out that way. Kind of disappointing because at one time or another I "loved" these girls.
I remember once I was out going door to door selling whatever wares Sister Cashmere had given us to sell. I knocked on one door but before doing so I noted a large spring on the storm door and thought, "what a big spring". Who should answer the door but Ms. Spring. I was slightly flustered because a) it was a teacher and you just didn't see them outside of school and b) I kinda had a crush on her. I gamely tried to sell her the ware and she politely refused. I clumsily noted the spring on her door and her name and went on my way somewhat embarrassed.
OK. Now back to Marie. As luck would have it Marie, one of my Kindergarten acquaintances, went on to Holy Name for a couple of years or so. I liked her because I thought she was pretty. My first girl crush. She was pretty and put the other 1st graders to shame. Well, that's how I saw it. And then, just to illustrate how shallow I was (I'm not proud), she had a cold and I saw a booger in her nose and it turned me off to no end. It was ridiculous. The next day she was back to being her beautiful self. Did I mention she was very nice, too? So what was my problem? Again, shallow. I'm embarrassed to admit that story.
There was a time in the early grades when I was to audition for singing in a play or something like that. I don't really know how I ended up signing up for this because I had terrible stage fright back then. Likely, one of the teachers put my name on a list. I think I told my mother that I didn't want to do it but she said I had to. So, I was in a particularly worrisome mood that day. It was getting toward the end of the day and luck shined upon me like a ray from God. I swear this was not intentional. I had on my gold cardigan (it had a small stain on the arm and I was so embarrassed about it that I always rolled up the sleeves of the sweater. Must have looked like a dork). I brushed up against the chalk tray of the blackboard and got a huge sliver in my arm through the sweater. Needless to say, I got the requisite attention from the teacher and the nurse and they were sure to send me home because of the intense trauma. I was soooooooo relieved. Best sliver I ever got, bar none!
In second or third grade we got a new student named Andrew Ng (pronounced Ing). Wicked dumb name, I thought. I was a racist little SOB back then and I'm sure it contributed to my jealousy over a drawing he did. He drew a nice picture of the big jet he had flown in to come to America with his family and it seemed to me that there was much overcompensating oohing and aahing and fawning being done by the adults over him and his dumb picture. I could draw that, I thought. What's the big deal? I felt that they had to be sure to treat him with special care, I guess, or they'd seem racist. That is how I felt, even at such a young age. Hard to say what was going on now but my guess is that the adults were just trying to make this kid feel welcome in his strange surroundings. Anyway, for a while I felt that he was my Art Class enemy. Whatever I'd do was met with a "that's nice" and whatever he drew was gold-starred to death. I was jealous but I think I also knew that he WAS good and that irked me all the more. Sorry, Andrew.
I guess I got some solace within the year from the fact that I designed the Nativity Cradle & Star patterns used to decorate all of the school windows. They were using those patterns for MANY years to come so anytime I drove past Holy Name School at Christmas I could remember that I designed them and I felt proud.
I remember Mrs. Ianello as being loud and boisterous and she was related to at least one of the girls. That's all I got.
Mrs. Kelliher taught us about cuneiform writing and Egypt and all that cool stuff and she also told us about vitamins & minerals. That's not the interesting part, though. One time, there was going to be a field trip to the Boston Science Museum and you were supposed to get the permission slip signed and bring in the requisite fee. Well, I kept "forgetting" mine and she took note of it. She must have been in charge of arranging things because she wasn't my homeroom teacher. Anyway, she cornered me in her room when everyone was gone and I broke down bawling in front of her about the whole thing. I admitted that the reason I didn't have it was that my mother wouldn't sign it. She wouldn't even sign it to say NO. It was one of the many times I had to explain my mother and her ways. Why didn't she want me to go I was asked and I had no good answer for Mrs. Kelliher and that made me break down. I was a tense little kid.
Around that same time the local newspaper came in to do a piece on some students who had done some project. They gathered up a few students, me included, and put them in front of the project, took some pictures, and went on their merry way. Soon after, a story came out in the paper with a nice photo accompanying it. There was a slight problem, though. I didn't work on the project. I think I mildly protested but ended up posing anyway. If you ever run across that story just remember it's a sham and some people do things for the glory!
Sister Ruth was my 6th grade homeroom teacher. She was a tough character but not a bully like Sister Nina. Once, when I was in a lower grade, maybe 3rd or 4th, I took a different route home. No biggy, right? Well, you were supposed to be part of a predetermined group which would walk a certain way and distance before being released into the wild. Not sure what the purpose of that was but I guess it was just part of the structure. I was supposed to be in the "Dickinson" group but I went in the "X" group. I wasn't supposed to be in the "X" group and to make matters worse I broke ranks and zipped across the street when I wasn't supposed to. I bumped into a car which had stomped on the brakes and then I ran on my way. Now, each group was led by a leader who wore an orange belt that went around the waist and diagonally across the chest (I always wanted that belt but never got it). Apparently, the leader of the "X" group must have reported me because I ended up the next day in front of Sr. Ruth's sixth grade class. Oh boy, was I in trouble. In front of all these big sixth graders she grilled me as to why I was where I was and why I did what I did. I am certain I had no better answer than "I don't know" and I don't know if I got punished. Probably, I had to "stay after school" for a period of days. That was Holy Name speak for detention. Why did I do this? I was constantly trying to avoid bullies and on that day I was apparently more terrified of a bully than of the possibility of being caught.
Another time, when I was in her class as a big 6th grader, a group of assholes were being questioned one by one as to why some fights were happening. Turns out these kids thought it would be fun to bully some of the smaller kids into fighting each other...by signed contract. They tried with me but I somehow had the balls to tell them to fuck off (not in those words-didn't really use those words in 6th grade). I won't name names but you know who you are. Sr. Ruth came roaring into the room and bellowed, "Mr. Poulin!" (she was red with fury) and I barely choked out a "What?" Were you involved in this nonsense was basically what she asked and I said no and I guess I was convincing. No small feat because I never sound convincing when I am being accused of something I didn't do.
Interestingly, I just ran across a Youtube video of Sr Ruth which was made for her retirement. I kinda, sorta recognized her.
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The bullies were just mean but I think I can pinpoint the exact moment when I'd had enough. I was in 7th grade and I was reading a book called the Glendaur Legacy and I had it with me on my desk. One big kid turned around and swiped it from my desk, looked at it and then scribbled on one of the pages. I was pissed and I whispered for him to give me my book back and he, of course, smirked and refused. I asked again and nothing. I stood up while Mrs. Connors was talking about some assignment, walked over to him, said, "Give...me...my...book...back!", and ripped it out of his hands. My seat had been pushed back and it had fallen over backwards with a loud clang, clearly getting the teacher's attention. She and the class looked astonished as this was just something Ed Poulin never did. At least that is how I remember it. My heart was pumping and the adrenaline was surging. I looked from him to the teacher and I'll never forget how surprised he was. He was surprised and I think a bit amused and impressed. Mrs. Connors, not so much. She did the requisite, "Mr. Poulin, come see me after class". I did and I explained myself and I don't think she was particularly unhappy with me but I'm sure she must have punished me - she had to. Oh, and honestly, the kid was not really one of the terrible bullies. He was just being a prick that day. You were.
So Brenda Pigeon was a girl that was in 8th grade and she apparently had no problem interacting with students from 7th grade. This was very unusual because girls from 8th didn't associate with boys from 7th and girls from 7th didn't talk to boys from 6th and so on down the line. Well, she dated one of my classmates and I guess that fizzled out but nobody was ever sure if the fizzle was permanent or if there ever was any dating going on in the first place. Anyway, through the grapevine I heard that this girl with a wonderful smile liked me and we got to talking on the corner seen above. We were there for what seemed like an hour, and all the while I was wondering if I was going to kiss her or if she was going to kiss me and, well, it never happened. I was a bit of a nervous nellie coward. Brenda, if you wanted me to kiss you I am sorry I didn't. I was just chicken and should have kissed you hard and long and watched the glow of your wonderful smile afterwards. There, I've said it. I'm married now so it ain't happening. Postscript: The thing is, if I had kissed her it would have emboldened me to further adventures with other girls and my first kiss wouldn't have occurred in 12th grade with my future wife. Weird how that conversation with pathetic nerves was a pivotal moment in my life but I didn't know it at the time.
My mom had a habit of believing me when I said I was sick and I wasn't but not believing me when I said I was sick and WAS. I found myself in class, I think 2nd grade, and I had my arms folded and my head down on my desk. I must have felt quite miserable as everyone else was sitting cross-legged on the floor getting ready for a story or something like that. Well, I heaved all over that desktop, not really changing the color of the desk but certainly changing the decor. It was the good, chunky, oatmeal-like kind. It may have BEEN oatmeal. But it didn't smell like oatmeal. Poor teacher had to clean that one up and I'm sure that in some kid's head I was the kid who puked - kinda like how Marie was the girl with the booger.
Every year we would have these competitions kind of like the Olympics. You would sign up for the events you wanted to be in and, if luck was with you or the teacher liked you because you kissed ass well, you got into the events you wanted. I never did get into the frisbee throw even though I was pretty awesome at it - lots of practice on Westernview Ave. However, I was pretty fast and I got to do the 50 yard dash. I was pretty sure that John Lemke and Vinny Del Negro could beat me but I think I was only in the heat with Vinny (more on him later). We lined up and many kids were breathing down our necks right behind us. Basically being annoying. The starter raised the pistol in the distance and I jack rabbitted off the line ahead of everyone else. Only problem is, some asshole tripped me on purpose so my lead was cut a little. I ran a great race and Vinny was behind me a large part of it. However, he was a natural athlete and about a head taller so he overtook me very near the end and won. I came in second. Vinny came over and congratulated me on the great run and many others were patting me on the back. I was very proud even though I had lost. And I'm proud now of my younger self for being proud.
Vinny was a really good kid and everyone liked him. He was personable and had a great grin. What I remember most about him was that in gym class he would run circles around the rest of us when we were playing basketball. He was impressive and there really was no point in trying to cover him. He would dribble and spin around you and take awesome shots from far away and do layups with some actual height to them. It wasn't until many years later that I discovered why. About 20 years ago or so I discovered that Vinny had been in the NBA and played B-ball in Italy. I checked out his stats and looked him up on the internet from time to time to see what he was up to. Apparently he was very philanthropic back in Springfield. Not surprising. And I discovered that his father was also in the NBA and that little Vinny played hoops all of the time at home. Guess he had some big shoes to fill. Well, eventually, he was tasked to coach in the NBA, the Chicago Bulls, and I couldn't help but think it couldn't have happened to a nicer guy. He took a young team and worked his magic on them for a while. I hope you know, Vinny, that I was rooting for you and I'm sure all of your Holy Name classmates were, as well.
Another really good kid, I mean REALLY good, was Patrick Hayes. He was an altar boy, of course, and he took it all very seriously. The other kids who signed up seemed to take to it like it was another activity or were, perhaps, goaded into being an altar boy. But he was very pious and reverent about it all and I even think he prayed in class. I can picture him with his hands folded. In church, if he wasn't altar boying, he would be in the pews with the rest of us giggling fools but he would be signing the cross, praying with his rosary, and singing the songs and looking very adult. I recently discovered that he did follow the theological route although I'm not certain if he became a priest. But, we were all sure he was going to be a priest back then. It was a bit weird to me but also impressive at the same time. His dedication. Power to you, sir.
My mom had a habit of believing me when I said I was sick and I wasn't but not believing me when I said I was sick and WAS. I found myself in class, I think 2nd grade, and I had my arms folded and my head down on my desk. I must have felt quite miserable as everyone else was sitting cross-legged on the floor getting ready for a story or something like that. Well, I heaved all over that desktop, not really changing the color of the desk but certainly changing the decor. It was the good, chunky, oatmeal-like kind. It may have BEEN oatmeal. But it didn't smell like oatmeal. Poor teacher had to clean that one up and I'm sure that in some kid's head I was the kid who puked - kinda like how Marie was the girl with the booger.
Every year we would have these competitions kind of like the Olympics. You would sign up for the events you wanted to be in and, if luck was with you or the teacher liked you because you kissed ass well, you got into the events you wanted. I never did get into the frisbee throw even though I was pretty awesome at it - lots of practice on Westernview Ave. However, I was pretty fast and I got to do the 50 yard dash. I was pretty sure that John Lemke and Vinny Del Negro could beat me but I think I was only in the heat with Vinny (more on him later). We lined up and many kids were breathing down our necks right behind us. Basically being annoying. The starter raised the pistol in the distance and I jack rabbitted off the line ahead of everyone else. Only problem is, some asshole tripped me on purpose so my lead was cut a little. I ran a great race and Vinny was behind me a large part of it. However, he was a natural athlete and about a head taller so he overtook me very near the end and won. I came in second. Vinny came over and congratulated me on the great run and many others were patting me on the back. I was very proud even though I had lost. And I'm proud now of my younger self for being proud.
Vinny was a really good kid and everyone liked him. He was personable and had a great grin. What I remember most about him was that in gym class he would run circles around the rest of us when we were playing basketball. He was impressive and there really was no point in trying to cover him. He would dribble and spin around you and take awesome shots from far away and do layups with some actual height to them. It wasn't until many years later that I discovered why. About 20 years ago or so I discovered that Vinny had been in the NBA and played B-ball in Italy. I checked out his stats and looked him up on the internet from time to time to see what he was up to. Apparently he was very philanthropic back in Springfield. Not surprising. And I discovered that his father was also in the NBA and that little Vinny played hoops all of the time at home. Guess he had some big shoes to fill. Well, eventually, he was tasked to coach in the NBA, the Chicago Bulls, and I couldn't help but think it couldn't have happened to a nicer guy. He took a young team and worked his magic on them for a while. I hope you know, Vinny, that I was rooting for you and I'm sure all of your Holy Name classmates were, as well.
Another really good kid, I mean REALLY good, was Patrick Hayes. He was an altar boy, of course, and he took it all very seriously. The other kids who signed up seemed to take to it like it was another activity or were, perhaps, goaded into being an altar boy. But he was very pious and reverent about it all and I even think he prayed in class. I can picture him with his hands folded. In church, if he wasn't altar boying, he would be in the pews with the rest of us giggling fools but he would be signing the cross, praying with his rosary, and singing the songs and looking very adult. I recently discovered that he did follow the theological route although I'm not certain if he became a priest. But, we were all sure he was going to be a priest back then. It was a bit weird to me but also impressive at the same time. His dedication. Power to you, sir.
Girls, girls, girls. Boys, boys, boys. We were supposed to be separated in the playground after lunchtime but there was no actual divider. The girls were on the driveway side of the Social Center and the boys had the large parking lot with the tree. Not terribly fair when you view it from 1000 feet up! The monitor (red dot) would stand on the corner to discourage the streams from crossing.
Billy Mulligan and I decided we were going to "let" ourselves be chased by Laura Pickett and Robin Champagne. We liked them so being chased was, I guess, getting attention. Anyway, we were chased into the girl's area and Robin managed to grab hold of the back of my white shirt and it split right down the back! I was very embarrassed that my paper thin shirt should split open and, needless to say, we got into trouble. Why were you chasing these boys around? I don't know. Or something like that, I'm sure. I was OK with it because, at least for short time, Robin was chasing me around and I couldn't be happier. While the picture has your attention I should point out the large tree in the parking lot was where we played "jail". This tree was apparently saved by a woman named Barbara Larkin (related to Mr. Larkin??) when the parking lot was originally being paved in the fifties. Still there and it really doesn't look ANY bigger. Also, the big empty lot is where the old church used to be. It was demolished some time early in my Holy Name career. I just remember it as the building we could never go into. More about the lot later. |
Who could forget Mr. Veto? He always played the organ in the church and sang all of the hymns and other songs. Rarely, he was joined by someone else playing a different instrument. A flute or maybe even, gasp, a guitar. I always thought he was a bit odd in the way he behaved but I was a dumb kid and what did I know about playing a fancy piano. He was just getting into it and feeling the groove, I guess. I say sorry to Mr. Veto for anything I may have said. He played great and sang even better.
So at a Catholic School you might expect some priests lurking around. This was true then as I'm sure it is now. Back then we had Fr. Shea and some others and later on there was Fr. Savage. The Pastor was this large man known as Fr. Mac., short for McNamara. Basically, I remember him as being kind of gruff and he was the cranky sort when giving his homily (speech) during mass. The others were more genial and sounded like guys you'd like to shoot the breeze with. They were the ones you wanted to hear your confession because they weren't judgy. Fr. Mac was a bit of a jerk. HOW many times did you masturbate? You're going to hell if you don't say a whole rosary and flog yourself. OK. Not that bad. But the others generally just gave you 5 Hail Marys to say. Anyway, I recall he always had a nice car, a Rolls I think, and I couldn't help but think even then that somehow that was wrong. Shouldn't a priest be poor? Maybe it was because he was Pastor. In all likelihood, some rich dude probably gave it to him so that he'd get into heaven or something like that. Another thing that bothered me was that he got a bit too chummy with the ladies. Too much flirtation. I don't know. Maybe people just liked being overly demonstrative towards the reverend and I read it wrong. I WAS just a kid. Didn't like him.
Miss Kennedy was the queen of diagramming sentences. This exercise was confusing and, to me, pointless. One added benefit was that it took away all joy related to writing. Not her fault but someone somewhere must have thought it an important skill. Probably the anally retentive folks who started worrying about grammar and spelling in the first place in the 1800s.
So today you use a copier or even print stuff straight from your computer. Right? Back in grade school personal computers didn't exist and copiers were things I only saw in libraries. What we had at Holy Name was a mimeograph machine (aka the ditto machine). It made copies, for sure, but they came out kind of damp and the ink was purple and the copies had a distinct smell. I loved that smell and others couldn't stand it. Of course, it was probably getting all of us high. Certainly the people who made the stack of copies!
I went to one birthday party at Arthur's where we played pin the tail on the donkey and I had to walk to an unfamiliar area of town after school to go. I don't think my mom even knew I went.
In the later years, most likely in 8th grade, we had a dance. I remember decorating the gym with a canopy made from streamers attached in the middle and raised to the ceiling. I think we copied it from what was done for a prior event. Anyway, the fact that I went to a dance was crazy and I'm not sure how that all came about. One thing I do remember was that Robin's mom was there as a chaperone and she was young and pretty (as opposed to most of the mothers I had met up to then who were mostly weather-beaten chain smokers). So, I found it necessary to say something like "I see where Robin gets her good looks". However, it didn't come out as "smoothly" as that and I'm sure all I did was make Robin's mother uncomfortable and Robin mortified. I was never very good at small talk.
This was all very unfortunate because I really liked Robin. A lot. A whole lot. Since she first entered the scene in 2nd grade or so. Not only did she have a great smile with cute dimples but when she did smile her eyes squinted and it was just endearing to me. Plus, unlike other girls I had been attracted to, she was genuinely nice and a good student to boot. She treated me OK but never really gave me any indication that I had a chance but a guy could dream from afar (and at least she chased me). I saw her once outside of school at a flower store at the X and then I saw her only once after 8th grade. It was 9th grade and I had gone off to Classical High and she to Cathedral. Coincidentally, she and I had both joined track and we saw each other at a track meet. We exchanged hi's and probably not too much beyond that and she ran off to join up with friends. My poor heart was ecstatic and crestfallen all at once. Ah well. Life went on.
One "benefit" of going to Catholic school was that you got to go to church every freaking day during Lent. They didn't do that in public schools. Going to church was boring as hell, uh, heck. It was only good if you ended up sitting near a girl you liked and you were able to give her the "Peace be with you" handshake which we Catholics had in our ritual. Other than that, BORING.
Which leads me to the whole topic of religion. Catholicism, I guess. Since I was in Catholic school I was taught that version of Christianity. It has many rituals, as I mentioned, and confusing concepts which baffled my outside friends like ashes on the forehead and the whole 3-in-1 God concept. Not something ever really explained well to us kids and I am not even certain anyone at the school level understood it themselves. Higher ups have at least convinced themselves that it all makes sense. "Teacher, if there is only one God then how can Jesus be God while God was sitting in a golden chair in heaven?" Answer: "He just is". Good answer. I guess you can see where this is leading. I am now an atheist. It took a while but the catechism class I had to take when I entered 9th grade started me on the path. Nobody took it seriously and nobody was interested in following the rules or in being good and I finally said, screw this, and I stopped going. It all seemed very hypocritical. Mom was not too happy but at that point she really couldn't force me to go. I was happily ensconced in my heathen public school and basically loving it. 'Nuff said, for now.
The vacant lot where once stood the old church was to serve as the site for me and a couple of other kids to show off our model rocket prowess. Oh, we were going to impress and be the coolest kids. This must have been about 6th grade. We were able to do a test run earlier in the day to make sure everything would work. Well, it did. Blasted into the sky. When it came time to make the actual demonstration the whole class filed out, maybe even whole grades. Can't remember. Anyway, the kids and their teachers were all lined up on the sidelines and we proceeded to the middle of the field with our equipment. Five, four, three, two, one. Press button. Wait...wait...wait. Nothing. Much fidgeting on the sidelines. Teacher asking what was up. Yeh, yeh, we got it. Five, four, three, two, one. Press button. Wait...wait...wait. Nothing again. Fail. People filed backed into the school. End of coolness.
At the beginning of 7th grade we had a teacher named Ms. Smyth. It was difficult to learn from her and this wasn't necessarily because she was a bad teacher. Frankly, I don't know if she was a good teacher or a bad teacher because I and my fellow horndogs were enamored with her. She was gorgeous and her clothing fit her well. Very well. She would write in script on the chalkboard with her back to us and we would watch her great butt move in unison with the changing direction of her cursive. It was a sight to see and, please forgive us, we had just reached puberty. Our luck did not hold out, though, because she soon had to move away to be with her hockey-playing fiance (jerk). I suppose that was a good thing because we might not have learned a damn thing in science that year if she hadn't left. She seemed to be well-like by the girls, too. As she drove away on her last day, all of her students were gathered together and waving a tearful goodbye. Well, at least the girls were. The guys just had visions of her ass dancing in their heads. Her replacement, Mrs. Connors, was a great teacher.
We had these rooms for storing our things called the coatrooms (cloakrooms?). They were long and fairly narrow with hooks on the walls for hanging your coat. I remember it as being chaotic in the mornings and when it was time to go home. What I really remember was how embarrassed I was of the egg salad smell coming from my bagged lunch. And it was particularly bad when one of the bullies decided that your lunchbag needed flattening. So, I began to NOT bring my lunch if it was egg salad. Let me back up a bit. I hated egg salad. Loathed is a better word. My mother made it way too often and I refused to eat it and often went hungry. What to do with that egg salad sandwich I didn't want? Throw it under the couch before leaving for school in the morning. Of course.
Flirtation took odd forms when I was young. One distinct memory comes from maybe 3rd or 4th grade. Our desks were grouped together in groups of six and your desk would be facing another desk directly across from you. One day, a girl and I were swinging our feet and playfully kicking them together. I recall this was a thing. We probably should have been listening to the teacher. Generally, I was a good student but if there was a girl involved (flirting, no less) my attention was easily diverted!
Once I was in a musical show (not the sliver inducing one) and I was up on stage in the Social Center playing the shakers, I think. That is the extent of my musical career (Well, not really. I did sing in a chorus for one production in college). It was still nerve-racking but at least I was buried in a crowd of others.
The Social Center had a few candlepin bowling lanes on the lower level. I loved bowling but I think we only ever were allowed to use the lanes once. Apparently, once too many.
As part of our Reading Class (there was no English Class) we had these Level Books. They were thin with flexible covers and were numbered sequentially from 1 to 20-something. You started with number 1 and progressed through the numbers through the years. Obviously, each was a little more advanced than the previous one. In theory, the idea was that we would gather in groups to work on particular sections because some kids advanced faster than others. Some were on Level 3 while others might be on Level 4. In an odd little contest some of us raced ahead to finish the activities in these books so that we might advance to the next one. In one respect, the teachers must have been happy to see the progress but in another respect they were probably annoyed with us for having to make more groups!
I remember adults bitching about the "new math". How could math be new, I wondered. I guess there was a new push to break numbers up into component parts (hundreds, tens, ones) and then add them rather than using the tried and true column by column method. Also, an over excitement over sets. Anyway, I'm sure the "new" method was influenced by the emergence of computer programming and the need to make calculations follow a set of rules that could be easily programmed. That's my thought, anyway. Same with the fascination with categorizing things with Venn diagrams (kind of a useless visualization of something logical). The whole block method of today seems to be along the same lines and it's a very visual and complicated way of representing something fairly easy. And memorizing the "times-table" seems to have gone out the window so kids today can't survive without a calculator. I suppose that's considered advancement but it's tough for people of my generation and older to watch children be helpless. I know I sound like a geezer. In my day...
As I mentioned, Sister Cashmere (Sr. Cashier) was in charge of all things money related. Every year we were tasked with selling Christmas Cards and Wrapping Paper. We were given a sample set and told to go out into the world of strangers and make money for the school. Child labor laws, be damned. As it turned out, I basically just tried to sell my samples and call it good. Others, however, seemed to sell hundreds and raked in the cash. Apparently, their parents would take the wares into work and take orders while I roamed the streets knocking on doors, Ms. Spring's included. I was a bit jealous of this fact but I think what bugged me more was facing Sr. Cashier. You would line up in the attic behind your fellow students to hand over your order form or your money and I always dreaded my turn. Here you go Sister. A disappointed stare over the top of her glasses. "Is this all you have?" she would ask as she shuffled the wad of cash she had just received from the previous kid. Yes, Sister. Not good enough, dammit! Not good enough! Or something like that rattled in my brain. Oh, I did not like that lady. You would think all Sisters would be kind, wonderful, saint-like - especially those who had to deal with kids. Nope.
You know how old people tell you they used to walk to school uphill...both ways...in a storm? It's true. Well, not exactly. But I do remember walking to school one wintry day when I was young and slipping and sliding all of the way down Keith Street with my brother Mike occasionally looking back at me with irritation. Dumb little brothers. Or maybe he was concerned?
One project I can still picture is that of a diorama I made of Lincoln's cabin. Or at least I think it was his. It could have been just a generic woods scene. In any case, I made a log cabin out of sticks and I remember being pretty proud of that. Another one that I liked was a clock I made. I guess I didn't exactly MAKE it but more like dressed it up. I pulled apart an existing small clock and used the innards in a cardboard box I made with a clock face on it and called it good. It looked great so I was happy with it. Kinda surprising I didn't end up electrocuting myself. I don't feel the teacher was impressed. A third project involved making a volcano with paper mache. It came out really cool looking, very volcano-like, but there were two problems. The first was that I used my mother's wooden drawing board as its base without asking. Needless to say, she was not pleased. The second was that I needed it to look snow-covered so I dusted it with flour. That, of course, doesn't seem like a problem. However, what ended up being an issue was that after the volcano did its thing with vinegar and baking soda, it sat for a week or so in class. It began to smell and eventually started growing mold on it. Very gross.
One of my favorite stories to tell is that of Fr. Savage and the sex talk. Whoah! A Priest talking about sex. Unheard of. Let me back up a bit. Father Savage was a new priest to the Parish and he was a bit of a novelty. He was super cool and he was black. Both quite unusual in the uptight mostly white and quite Irish-Catholic area. When he came along and began high-fiving and flashing his toothy grin we all loved him...even though he was black (I'll get back to that). I guess he was so cool that they decided that we needed to hear some sex talk from him. Maybe that was something they did anyway for 6th or 7th graders. I don't know. I do know that the girls were whisked away some time earlier to get the "talk" (about their periods, I guess. I wasn't there). Anyway, we boys were gathered together in one room and the girls were off doing something else and Fr. Savage came in and sat at the teacher's desk. I am guessing there were a number of topics discussed and I remember him telling me that my name of Poulin meant chicken in French and everyone getting a good laugh about that. The conversation veered towards the boy's body and the "change". I.e. hair would grow in odd places and boners would arise (pun intended) and things like that. Did I mention that a priest was talking to us? So, we didn't actually talk about the act of sex. What would a priest know about that? However, a priest might know a little something about masturbation. Sure enough, he mentioned that and I'm sure it was discussed that pleasuring oneself was a sin and whatnot but that we would inevitably be doing it because we were only human. He jovially pointed out though, and I'll never ever forget this, that if we were still doing it at age 30 then we might have a problem. Well...age 30 eventually came (pun intended) for me and I couldn't help but think about Fr. Savage and how I was definitely going straight to hell. I love that story!
So he was black. Not brown. BLACK. And up to that point most of us were racist little fuckers because, well, we didn't know any better and we mimicked what we heard at home or at least from our friends who heard it at their homes. Niggers were the worst. The word was like a swear word like Fuck. If you said it you were going to hell. If you thought it you were going to hell. White hell, anyway. So, when I hear black people calling each other nigger in a friendly way today it just doesn't compute in my brain. It's a horrible word. Anyway, back to being racist. I never even interacted with black people. Never really had the opportunity. To me, they were the kids who went to Forest Park Junior High and the myth was that if you went too close to the school on your way home they would beat you up. So went the story. I never experienced anything like this but I was wary because of what I had been told. I imagine somewhere along the line some white kid got into a fight with some black kid and the whole myth arose and had legs. So, you can see where having a black priest come into our lives might be strange and having a super nice black priest come in an act very contrary to our expectations might just plant the seeds of tolerance in our dumb little brains. It did for me. When I got to Classical High School some I might best friends were brown and black and all I saw was their smiles and good hearts...just like white people.
Speaking of getting beat up. It didn't happen. But almost. I was walking home along Dickinson St and I was crossing the street at the corner where Sunter's Drug Store was (corner of Oakland & Dickinson) and a kid yelled at me from behind. "Hey! You!". He ran up to me and demanded to know if I was Kenny Pooler because he was going to kick my ass if I was. Clearly, someone had suggested that that kid up ahead was named Poulin or Pooler or something like that and he took the bait. I bellowed out that my name was Ed Poulin and he was apparently convinced because he quickly ran off. Hope Kenny never ran into him!
Another time my brother John was being harassed by some Laport kid (Joel? I don't know. There were at least a couple of Laport brothers) and the kid tried to start a fight with him. I intervened. Let me pause here. I did not get into fights. I did not encourage fights. I was a world class pussy. I turned 180 degrees from fights. But on this day, some jerk was threatening my little brother and I stood up to this kid (I supposed it helped that he was in a grade lower-or maybe 2!) and swung my schoolbag around in his direction as I yelled at John to take off. He tore off down Lansing St. and I followed once I was sure we weren't being pursued. My heart races just thinking about it. Go figure why I did that because John was kind of a pain-in-the-ass little brother. Oh, and just a curious fact. Lansing street is one street over from Oakland St. There must have been something in the air around there back then.
So at a Catholic School you might expect some priests lurking around. This was true then as I'm sure it is now. Back then we had Fr. Shea and some others and later on there was Fr. Savage. The Pastor was this large man known as Fr. Mac., short for McNamara. Basically, I remember him as being kind of gruff and he was the cranky sort when giving his homily (speech) during mass. The others were more genial and sounded like guys you'd like to shoot the breeze with. They were the ones you wanted to hear your confession because they weren't judgy. Fr. Mac was a bit of a jerk. HOW many times did you masturbate? You're going to hell if you don't say a whole rosary and flog yourself. OK. Not that bad. But the others generally just gave you 5 Hail Marys to say. Anyway, I recall he always had a nice car, a Rolls I think, and I couldn't help but think even then that somehow that was wrong. Shouldn't a priest be poor? Maybe it was because he was Pastor. In all likelihood, some rich dude probably gave it to him so that he'd get into heaven or something like that. Another thing that bothered me was that he got a bit too chummy with the ladies. Too much flirtation. I don't know. Maybe people just liked being overly demonstrative towards the reverend and I read it wrong. I WAS just a kid. Didn't like him.
Miss Kennedy was the queen of diagramming sentences. This exercise was confusing and, to me, pointless. One added benefit was that it took away all joy related to writing. Not her fault but someone somewhere must have thought it an important skill. Probably the anally retentive folks who started worrying about grammar and spelling in the first place in the 1800s.
So today you use a copier or even print stuff straight from your computer. Right? Back in grade school personal computers didn't exist and copiers were things I only saw in libraries. What we had at Holy Name was a mimeograph machine (aka the ditto machine). It made copies, for sure, but they came out kind of damp and the ink was purple and the copies had a distinct smell. I loved that smell and others couldn't stand it. Of course, it was probably getting all of us high. Certainly the people who made the stack of copies!
I went to one birthday party at Arthur's where we played pin the tail on the donkey and I had to walk to an unfamiliar area of town after school to go. I don't think my mom even knew I went.
In the later years, most likely in 8th grade, we had a dance. I remember decorating the gym with a canopy made from streamers attached in the middle and raised to the ceiling. I think we copied it from what was done for a prior event. Anyway, the fact that I went to a dance was crazy and I'm not sure how that all came about. One thing I do remember was that Robin's mom was there as a chaperone and she was young and pretty (as opposed to most of the mothers I had met up to then who were mostly weather-beaten chain smokers). So, I found it necessary to say something like "I see where Robin gets her good looks". However, it didn't come out as "smoothly" as that and I'm sure all I did was make Robin's mother uncomfortable and Robin mortified. I was never very good at small talk.
This was all very unfortunate because I really liked Robin. A lot. A whole lot. Since she first entered the scene in 2nd grade or so. Not only did she have a great smile with cute dimples but when she did smile her eyes squinted and it was just endearing to me. Plus, unlike other girls I had been attracted to, she was genuinely nice and a good student to boot. She treated me OK but never really gave me any indication that I had a chance but a guy could dream from afar (and at least she chased me). I saw her once outside of school at a flower store at the X and then I saw her only once after 8th grade. It was 9th grade and I had gone off to Classical High and she to Cathedral. Coincidentally, she and I had both joined track and we saw each other at a track meet. We exchanged hi's and probably not too much beyond that and she ran off to join up with friends. My poor heart was ecstatic and crestfallen all at once. Ah well. Life went on.
One "benefit" of going to Catholic school was that you got to go to church every freaking day during Lent. They didn't do that in public schools. Going to church was boring as hell, uh, heck. It was only good if you ended up sitting near a girl you liked and you were able to give her the "Peace be with you" handshake which we Catholics had in our ritual. Other than that, BORING.
Which leads me to the whole topic of religion. Catholicism, I guess. Since I was in Catholic school I was taught that version of Christianity. It has many rituals, as I mentioned, and confusing concepts which baffled my outside friends like ashes on the forehead and the whole 3-in-1 God concept. Not something ever really explained well to us kids and I am not even certain anyone at the school level understood it themselves. Higher ups have at least convinced themselves that it all makes sense. "Teacher, if there is only one God then how can Jesus be God while God was sitting in a golden chair in heaven?" Answer: "He just is". Good answer. I guess you can see where this is leading. I am now an atheist. It took a while but the catechism class I had to take when I entered 9th grade started me on the path. Nobody took it seriously and nobody was interested in following the rules or in being good and I finally said, screw this, and I stopped going. It all seemed very hypocritical. Mom was not too happy but at that point she really couldn't force me to go. I was happily ensconced in my heathen public school and basically loving it. 'Nuff said, for now.
The vacant lot where once stood the old church was to serve as the site for me and a couple of other kids to show off our model rocket prowess. Oh, we were going to impress and be the coolest kids. This must have been about 6th grade. We were able to do a test run earlier in the day to make sure everything would work. Well, it did. Blasted into the sky. When it came time to make the actual demonstration the whole class filed out, maybe even whole grades. Can't remember. Anyway, the kids and their teachers were all lined up on the sidelines and we proceeded to the middle of the field with our equipment. Five, four, three, two, one. Press button. Wait...wait...wait. Nothing. Much fidgeting on the sidelines. Teacher asking what was up. Yeh, yeh, we got it. Five, four, three, two, one. Press button. Wait...wait...wait. Nothing again. Fail. People filed backed into the school. End of coolness.
At the beginning of 7th grade we had a teacher named Ms. Smyth. It was difficult to learn from her and this wasn't necessarily because she was a bad teacher. Frankly, I don't know if she was a good teacher or a bad teacher because I and my fellow horndogs were enamored with her. She was gorgeous and her clothing fit her well. Very well. She would write in script on the chalkboard with her back to us and we would watch her great butt move in unison with the changing direction of her cursive. It was a sight to see and, please forgive us, we had just reached puberty. Our luck did not hold out, though, because she soon had to move away to be with her hockey-playing fiance (jerk). I suppose that was a good thing because we might not have learned a damn thing in science that year if she hadn't left. She seemed to be well-like by the girls, too. As she drove away on her last day, all of her students were gathered together and waving a tearful goodbye. Well, at least the girls were. The guys just had visions of her ass dancing in their heads. Her replacement, Mrs. Connors, was a great teacher.
We had these rooms for storing our things called the coatrooms (cloakrooms?). They were long and fairly narrow with hooks on the walls for hanging your coat. I remember it as being chaotic in the mornings and when it was time to go home. What I really remember was how embarrassed I was of the egg salad smell coming from my bagged lunch. And it was particularly bad when one of the bullies decided that your lunchbag needed flattening. So, I began to NOT bring my lunch if it was egg salad. Let me back up a bit. I hated egg salad. Loathed is a better word. My mother made it way too often and I refused to eat it and often went hungry. What to do with that egg salad sandwich I didn't want? Throw it under the couch before leaving for school in the morning. Of course.
Flirtation took odd forms when I was young. One distinct memory comes from maybe 3rd or 4th grade. Our desks were grouped together in groups of six and your desk would be facing another desk directly across from you. One day, a girl and I were swinging our feet and playfully kicking them together. I recall this was a thing. We probably should have been listening to the teacher. Generally, I was a good student but if there was a girl involved (flirting, no less) my attention was easily diverted!
Once I was in a musical show (not the sliver inducing one) and I was up on stage in the Social Center playing the shakers, I think. That is the extent of my musical career (Well, not really. I did sing in a chorus for one production in college). It was still nerve-racking but at least I was buried in a crowd of others.
The Social Center had a few candlepin bowling lanes on the lower level. I loved bowling but I think we only ever were allowed to use the lanes once. Apparently, once too many.
As part of our Reading Class (there was no English Class) we had these Level Books. They were thin with flexible covers and were numbered sequentially from 1 to 20-something. You started with number 1 and progressed through the numbers through the years. Obviously, each was a little more advanced than the previous one. In theory, the idea was that we would gather in groups to work on particular sections because some kids advanced faster than others. Some were on Level 3 while others might be on Level 4. In an odd little contest some of us raced ahead to finish the activities in these books so that we might advance to the next one. In one respect, the teachers must have been happy to see the progress but in another respect they were probably annoyed with us for having to make more groups!
I remember adults bitching about the "new math". How could math be new, I wondered. I guess there was a new push to break numbers up into component parts (hundreds, tens, ones) and then add them rather than using the tried and true column by column method. Also, an over excitement over sets. Anyway, I'm sure the "new" method was influenced by the emergence of computer programming and the need to make calculations follow a set of rules that could be easily programmed. That's my thought, anyway. Same with the fascination with categorizing things with Venn diagrams (kind of a useless visualization of something logical). The whole block method of today seems to be along the same lines and it's a very visual and complicated way of representing something fairly easy. And memorizing the "times-table" seems to have gone out the window so kids today can't survive without a calculator. I suppose that's considered advancement but it's tough for people of my generation and older to watch children be helpless. I know I sound like a geezer. In my day...
As I mentioned, Sister Cashmere (Sr. Cashier) was in charge of all things money related. Every year we were tasked with selling Christmas Cards and Wrapping Paper. We were given a sample set and told to go out into the world of strangers and make money for the school. Child labor laws, be damned. As it turned out, I basically just tried to sell my samples and call it good. Others, however, seemed to sell hundreds and raked in the cash. Apparently, their parents would take the wares into work and take orders while I roamed the streets knocking on doors, Ms. Spring's included. I was a bit jealous of this fact but I think what bugged me more was facing Sr. Cashier. You would line up in the attic behind your fellow students to hand over your order form or your money and I always dreaded my turn. Here you go Sister. A disappointed stare over the top of her glasses. "Is this all you have?" she would ask as she shuffled the wad of cash she had just received from the previous kid. Yes, Sister. Not good enough, dammit! Not good enough! Or something like that rattled in my brain. Oh, I did not like that lady. You would think all Sisters would be kind, wonderful, saint-like - especially those who had to deal with kids. Nope.
You know how old people tell you they used to walk to school uphill...both ways...in a storm? It's true. Well, not exactly. But I do remember walking to school one wintry day when I was young and slipping and sliding all of the way down Keith Street with my brother Mike occasionally looking back at me with irritation. Dumb little brothers. Or maybe he was concerned?
One project I can still picture is that of a diorama I made of Lincoln's cabin. Or at least I think it was his. It could have been just a generic woods scene. In any case, I made a log cabin out of sticks and I remember being pretty proud of that. Another one that I liked was a clock I made. I guess I didn't exactly MAKE it but more like dressed it up. I pulled apart an existing small clock and used the innards in a cardboard box I made with a clock face on it and called it good. It looked great so I was happy with it. Kinda surprising I didn't end up electrocuting myself. I don't feel the teacher was impressed. A third project involved making a volcano with paper mache. It came out really cool looking, very volcano-like, but there were two problems. The first was that I used my mother's wooden drawing board as its base without asking. Needless to say, she was not pleased. The second was that I needed it to look snow-covered so I dusted it with flour. That, of course, doesn't seem like a problem. However, what ended up being an issue was that after the volcano did its thing with vinegar and baking soda, it sat for a week or so in class. It began to smell and eventually started growing mold on it. Very gross.
One of my favorite stories to tell is that of Fr. Savage and the sex talk. Whoah! A Priest talking about sex. Unheard of. Let me back up a bit. Father Savage was a new priest to the Parish and he was a bit of a novelty. He was super cool and he was black. Both quite unusual in the uptight mostly white and quite Irish-Catholic area. When he came along and began high-fiving and flashing his toothy grin we all loved him...even though he was black (I'll get back to that). I guess he was so cool that they decided that we needed to hear some sex talk from him. Maybe that was something they did anyway for 6th or 7th graders. I don't know. I do know that the girls were whisked away some time earlier to get the "talk" (about their periods, I guess. I wasn't there). Anyway, we boys were gathered together in one room and the girls were off doing something else and Fr. Savage came in and sat at the teacher's desk. I am guessing there were a number of topics discussed and I remember him telling me that my name of Poulin meant chicken in French and everyone getting a good laugh about that. The conversation veered towards the boy's body and the "change". I.e. hair would grow in odd places and boners would arise (pun intended) and things like that. Did I mention that a priest was talking to us? So, we didn't actually talk about the act of sex. What would a priest know about that? However, a priest might know a little something about masturbation. Sure enough, he mentioned that and I'm sure it was discussed that pleasuring oneself was a sin and whatnot but that we would inevitably be doing it because we were only human. He jovially pointed out though, and I'll never ever forget this, that if we were still doing it at age 30 then we might have a problem. Well...age 30 eventually came (pun intended) for me and I couldn't help but think about Fr. Savage and how I was definitely going straight to hell. I love that story!
So he was black. Not brown. BLACK. And up to that point most of us were racist little fuckers because, well, we didn't know any better and we mimicked what we heard at home or at least from our friends who heard it at their homes. Niggers were the worst. The word was like a swear word like Fuck. If you said it you were going to hell. If you thought it you were going to hell. White hell, anyway. So, when I hear black people calling each other nigger in a friendly way today it just doesn't compute in my brain. It's a horrible word. Anyway, back to being racist. I never even interacted with black people. Never really had the opportunity. To me, they were the kids who went to Forest Park Junior High and the myth was that if you went too close to the school on your way home they would beat you up. So went the story. I never experienced anything like this but I was wary because of what I had been told. I imagine somewhere along the line some white kid got into a fight with some black kid and the whole myth arose and had legs. So, you can see where having a black priest come into our lives might be strange and having a super nice black priest come in an act very contrary to our expectations might just plant the seeds of tolerance in our dumb little brains. It did for me. When I got to Classical High School some I might best friends were brown and black and all I saw was their smiles and good hearts...just like white people.
Speaking of getting beat up. It didn't happen. But almost. I was walking home along Dickinson St and I was crossing the street at the corner where Sunter's Drug Store was (corner of Oakland & Dickinson) and a kid yelled at me from behind. "Hey! You!". He ran up to me and demanded to know if I was Kenny Pooler because he was going to kick my ass if I was. Clearly, someone had suggested that that kid up ahead was named Poulin or Pooler or something like that and he took the bait. I bellowed out that my name was Ed Poulin and he was apparently convinced because he quickly ran off. Hope Kenny never ran into him!
Another time my brother John was being harassed by some Laport kid (Joel? I don't know. There were at least a couple of Laport brothers) and the kid tried to start a fight with him. I intervened. Let me pause here. I did not get into fights. I did not encourage fights. I was a world class pussy. I turned 180 degrees from fights. But on this day, some jerk was threatening my little brother and I stood up to this kid (I supposed it helped that he was in a grade lower-or maybe 2!) and swung my schoolbag around in his direction as I yelled at John to take off. He tore off down Lansing St. and I followed once I was sure we weren't being pursued. My heart races just thinking about it. Go figure why I did that because John was kind of a pain-in-the-ass little brother. Oh, and just a curious fact. Lansing street is one street over from Oakland St. There must have been something in the air around there back then.
We loved The Fonz. I mean it. He was the coolest. We knew it because he told us it was true and all he had to do was snap his fingers and the girls would come running, and he was always making out, and he would stick his thumbs up and said "Ayyyyy", and he would hit juke boxes to turn them on & off, and he rode a motorcycle. The coolest man ever. Who was The Fonz? He was the James Dean or John Wayne of our generation. He was a character on the TV show Happy Days.
I particularly remember John Quinn doing his impression of The Fonz and, for him, it worked. He was friendly, smooth and had good hair and the girls all liked him. He WAS The Fonz. I liked him because of it and I was also jealous of him for it. The kid was cool. |
I'm sure there are other stories to tell but my brain is taxed. It was an interesting and sometimes torturous time at Holy Name. That's for sure.
Please forgive my misspelling of names and my inability to recall some people's names. It HAS been over 35 years.
Please forgive my misspelling of names and my inability to recall some people's names. It HAS been over 35 years.
Joe Fierro, Susanne Donnellan, Eddie Cardigan(?), Julia Ryan, Mark Siciliano
Tim Clemons, Ann Desellier, Ed Kennedy, _______, Juan Escobar, Celine Roberts Billy Mulligan, Laura Pickett, Andrea Hickson, Arthur Dambrosia Norman Gosselin, Bernadette Brown, Dan Caffrey, Ms. Smyth, Tanya Charest, Paula Foley, Elizabeth Beach Raymond Brainard, Robin Champagne, Leah Maynard, Pamela Proulx, Ed Poulin |
Norman Gosselin, Pamela Proulx, Joe Fierro, Leah Maynard, Mark Siciliano, Paula Foley
Bernadette Brown, Tim Clemons, LeAnn _____, Elizabeth Beach, Paul Gresens, Barbara Lanzillo Ed Poulin, Susanne Donnellan, _______, Dan Caffrey Juan Escobar, Celine Roberts, Laura Pickett, Ms Skala, Ann Desellier, Julia Ryan, Chris Rene Linda Field, Arthur Dambrosia, Tanya Charest, Robin Champagne, Billy Mulligan, Andrea Hickson |
My 8th grade class is on the right and the other class is on the left. That is why more of those names are missing from the list below.
Adults - Top: Sister Mildred Groh, Mr. _____, Ms. O'Herron, Ms. Skala, Mrs. Connors
________, John Lemke, John Mazza, _____, Angela Santaneillo, _____, Julie Sarrasin, Vinny Del Negro / Tim Clemons, Susanne Donnellan, Andrea Hickson, Tanya Charest, Linda Field, Pamela Proulx, Leah Maynard, Mark Siciliano
_____, Patrick Hayes, Linda Fitzgerald, Pamela Hamel, Dawn Fazio, Ed Kennedy, Doris Chavez / Paul Gresens, Barbara Lanzillo, Ed Poulin, Norman Gosselin, Arthur Dambrosia, LeAnn_____, Julia Ryan
Rosemary Ryan, John McCarthy, Lisa Gove, Kenny Pooler, _______, Patrick Sears / Ann Desellier, Joe Fierro, ______, Elizabeth Beach, Robin Champagne, Paula Foley, Billy Mulligan, Celine Roberts, Bernadette Brown
Eric Larsen, Marie Brown, Dino Dalmolin, Cathy Duquette, Andrew Ng, Teresa Romeo / Dan Caffrey, Laura Pickett, Juan Escobar, _____, Chris Rene
Adults - Top: Sister Mildred Groh, Mr. _____, Ms. O'Herron, Ms. Skala, Mrs. Connors
________, John Lemke, John Mazza, _____, Angela Santaneillo, _____, Julie Sarrasin, Vinny Del Negro / Tim Clemons, Susanne Donnellan, Andrea Hickson, Tanya Charest, Linda Field, Pamela Proulx, Leah Maynard, Mark Siciliano
_____, Patrick Hayes, Linda Fitzgerald, Pamela Hamel, Dawn Fazio, Ed Kennedy, Doris Chavez / Paul Gresens, Barbara Lanzillo, Ed Poulin, Norman Gosselin, Arthur Dambrosia, LeAnn_____, Julia Ryan
Rosemary Ryan, John McCarthy, Lisa Gove, Kenny Pooler, _______, Patrick Sears / Ann Desellier, Joe Fierro, ______, Elizabeth Beach, Robin Champagne, Paula Foley, Billy Mulligan, Celine Roberts, Bernadette Brown
Eric Larsen, Marie Brown, Dino Dalmolin, Cathy Duquette, Andrew Ng, Teresa Romeo / Dan Caffrey, Laura Pickett, Juan Escobar, _____, Chris Rene
5/28/2017 - So I recently looked up these people to the best of my ability and found that many were still around Springfield and many were on Facebook. If you are interested, a good place to start is Cathy Duquette Courchesne's Facebook page. I am not on Facebook, though. Maybe someday.