Chapter 6 - Four of the Best Years of My Life

My aunt was Sister Francis Regis, SCL, and I owe four of the best years of my life to her. My father was a machinist and a mechanic, so there was· little extra money in our home. In my day, only children of quite well-to-do families could go to college. However, my aunt always encouraged me to aim high, and, thankfully, I was a good student, and I presume she pulled all kinds of strings for me--a courtesy scholarship and a work scholarship for me with dear Sister Agnes Marie Homer in the chemistry labs, and she probably helped in ways I never heard about. I am very grateful to her.

Since my home was in California and I knew no one planning to attend SMC, my aunt paired me up with Corrine Medved, a former student of hers in Kansas City. Corrine attended only her freshman year, but she was maid of honor at my wedding, and we have been lifelong friends.

"Corky" was a darling and had the most disarming, innocent manner. We lived on the second floor of Mead, by the elevator. Every night, there was a "lights out" check, forewarned by the rattling of Sister Rose Vincentia Tomlin's rosary beads as she approached. This signaled a mad jump into bed, the lower bunk for me, but Corky was on top. One night, Corky didn't quite make it and was halfway up the ladder when Sister opened the door. Corky dropped to her knees on one of the rungs and blurted out, "Oh, I was just saying my prayers, Sister."

Same room in Mead and second year - Phyllis Hogenmiller was my roommate. One Sunday afternoon, we had nothing better to do, so we borrowed a dress form from the sewing lab, draped it in a black college gown, and enough odds and ends to look like a Sister, put it on the old wire cage elevator with "her' back to the door, then watched to see the fun.

Students got on and off the elevator. "Afternoon, Sister," they would say, then would timidly peer around to see who the silent Sister was and burst out laughing. All well and good until the Dean brought some important visitors onto the elevator. I don't remember why we thought this was such a hilarious prank, but it backfired when one of the Sisters found my name label on the black college gown. As underclassmen, we were scared to death of strict Sister Mary Clarence Burns. Twenty-five or thirty years later, she sat with us at one of our alumnae dinners. We teased her about being so tough, and laughingly, she confessed, "YOU scared of me? I was just out of the Novitiate, and I was scared to death of you!"

When we lived in Mead, the bakery was directly below us in the basement. We had a wonderful baker, who always made luscious sweet rolls for Saturday breakfasts. (To this day, my family gets sweet rolls on Saturday mornings.) Late on Friday nights, we boosted one of our smallest friends (Kathleen Talley comes to mind) over the bakery transom. She was able to unlock the door from the inside and bring out our midnight snacks. I think we - and too many others - got too greedy, because pretty soon both the transom and door had heavy-duty locks.

I was very naive, and my roommates loved to play jokes on me. Marion and 1 were always late to bed, and one night I heard the clinking of rosary beads as Sister came down the hall, so I made a flying leap into bed. An ear-piercing ring broke the stillness. Marion had borrowed a doorbell and batteries from the physics lab and had hooked them up under my bed springs.

Marion got as good as she gave. A five-foot statue of St. Joseph stood on a pedestal at the end of the hall outside our door. One night in the dark, she jumped into her bed, already occupied by St. Joseph.

In 1945-49, we always wore our gowns to daily Mass. We would dash down that spiral staircase off the back porch of St. Mary Hall, with those gowns billowing out behind us (we zippered and buttoned as we went), probably looking like witches riding spiral broomsticks.

It always meant a few extra winks of sleep if we wore our curlers under our cap, and rolled up pajama legs under our gowns. More than once, the darn pajama leg would come unfurled as we went up the aisle to Communion. I still have my gown fifty years later. It has been a wonderful prop for plays, Halloween witches, a villain's cape, as well as Batman. I think I should add that we actually did do some studying. However, "All work and no play makes Jill a dull girl."

In my last two years, six of us – Bettianne Neale Gable, Marion Horne, Ferdie Cain Klein, Ileana Lebron, Pat Blankinship, and I - occupied a suite in Berchmans Hall. Marion and I were the night owls, studying in the closet or the bathroom after final bed check, with towels stuffed in the crack under the door. They always teased us about that, and me about the long, blonde hair in the bathroom sink.

Unfortunately, Ileana died in a car accident a few years after we graduated. However, for forty years we kept a round-robin letter going (today, it's e-mail), and made a vow that we would meet every five years for Alwimae Weekend (some, like Marion, were all over the world). We have supported each other through all the joys and tragedies of life. Marion is my travel pal, and we have had some great adventures together.