On The Sly

Foxy, As usual, you had a name I had not heard for many years, also had a very positive influence on my life. Father Thomas Votraw was the Assistant Pastor at St. Joseph's in West Chazy, and he was very active with the youth in the community while there. I remember his love of Volkswagons, and remember piling in his VW bus, with a bunch of other alter boys, and taking us climbing, in the Adirondacks. He also showed us back then, where the railroad tracks criss-crossed the highway leading into his hometown of Ausable Forks, and told us that the scenes in many old silent movies where the train is chasing a car was filmed right there. He was also in charge of the alter boys, and since I lived only about 150 yards away from the church, spent many days serving mass, and teaching us life's lessons. Thanks for the memory.

Foxy:

This blog has served to bring back all sorts of memories about my days in Catholic school. Like you I learned a strong sense of morality, was an active altar boy, dabbled with the idea of becoming a priest (until more earthy desires filled my adolescent brain), and recognized that the ladies that served under the banner of Sisters of Charity of St. Louis were the most well meaning educators in the world.

On the other hand, there were darker moments:

There was the elementary report card ritual, where the principal would arrive at our classroom (leather strap in hand) and ascend the throne situated on a platform well above the masses (us). Each child would be called in alphabetical order and their grades announced to the class at large. A high grade in religion would elicit positive comments to the effect that the Lord was very pleased, etc. (regardless of the rest of the grades). A lower grade in religion followed by a stellar sequence of grades in English, math, science, etc. would result in dire predictions regarding one's soul and hell. After the report cards had been dealt with, the principal would inquire of the classroom teacher: "Who gets the strap this month, Sister?" I recall being singled out along with two of my friends with the rationale: "They haven't had it yet this year." No mention of guilt whatever. Did I learn from this - you bet! In 40 years of teaching I never belittled a student in front of their peers and any discipline that I handed out was always based on solid guilt.

In eighth grade we had an older Sister with a heavy Irish brogue who threatened to "jump right down your throat" if we misbehaved. Her favorite trick was to stroll up and down the aisles with her heavy rosary held in her left hand ( to silence her approach) and to whack unsuspecting students along the back of their heads if she thought they were even thinking about something other than the subject at hand. She did this once to Tommy M. and he promptly went into a rage and punched a large hole in the plaster wall at the front of the classroom. Sister immediately covered the damage with a calendar (so Mother Superior wouldn't see it) until Tom returned later in the week to repair his little faux pas.

At the high school level, there was the prom ritual. About two months before the prom, Sister would begin urging the girls to wear "Mary-like" gowns. Yes, this was a brand of prom dress which covered the objects of our lust from chin to ankle. There was always a prominent advertisement for these pieces of attire. As the prom date neared, Sister would make veiled references to the boys about "violating that tabernacle which resides just below a young lady's heart". I often suspected that Sister had taken a course in mind reading to know so accurately what the young men in her class were thinking!

The priests that served our parish were, in my opinion, much more rational. I greatly admired Monsignor Brisson, as well as Fathers Robillard, Lamitie and Aubin. I ran into Father Robillard recently at a sandwich shop in Ogdensburg and we had a nice visit. He's now retired and seems to be doing well.

For better or worse, I'm now nowhere as devout as I was in those days. I've learned to ask a lot of questions that were verboten when I was in school. I'm afraid that the answers to some of those questions might not be appreciated by my former teachers. Life has certainly been an interesting adventure. Like you, Foxy, I can still feel the impact of those days spent in school "on the hill".

(Foxy's note: Thanks for sharing, Ron ... and I guess many of us from that school did end up with careers in education.)

Even though this is my first time posting, I am an avid Blog reader. Thanks for filling us in with all this fun information about times gone by in the North Country. I too served as an alter server at Our Lady of Victory and remember vividly the rare occasion that I got to hear father Conti speak. He too had such a impact on me that I have written about him in several of my papers in school. It's father Conti who influenced my family's Sunday night dinner tradition, of gathering once a week just to catch up over the some traditional dishes. Keep up the great blogs ( they give me something to look at while I should be studying!)

(Foxy's note: Great to hear from Kasey. I knew him when he was just a kid!)

Foxy,

Although I am sure you would have been wonderful in being "Father Fox", you need to understand that you made a very lasting impression on a lot of kids' lives. Speaking as one of those kids, I sure am glad that the teaching career won out.

I attended St. John's from 3rd grade thru graduation. I remember how much time and effort the nuns gave of themselves to make sure we had a good education. The May Crowning was always a big event as was marching down Broad St. to St. John's Church each Friday during Lent for Stations of the Cross and also for Holy Days of Obligation. Do you remember: the pennies we used to bring to school for the Foreign Missions, Midnight Mass when select girls were chosen to be Angels and wore white gowns with gold in their hair, the live Manger scene at the altar rail, the music that made you feel like you were in heaven that night?

I'm glad that you received a good moral base by attending the local Catholic School here in Plattsburgh. I, however, had a different experience while attending Catholic Schools in Brooklyn and NYC.
My first experience was at a local parish school. At Our Lady of Corporal Punishments I learned to be obedient and subservient to the clergy, nuns and priests alike. I followed the rigorous and unwavering regime that would make me a true servant of the Almighty.
Impressed by the discipline by that parish school, my parents decided to continue my secondary education at a Catholic high school in Manhattan.
So, off I went. Forty-five minutes by subway during rush hour to my higher education at Our Lady of Perpetual Guilt was a hoot. At that school I learned that I was a more miserable sinner than I had experienced in my former school. I endured four years there paralyzed by fear and the condemnation to everlasting fires of hell. I was reminded every day by the black clad Lords of Discipline that I was not worthy. After escaping that school, my parents were very pleased that I had been accepted at another Catholic college, St. John's University.
So, I went to St. John's - for one day.
On my way home from my first day of college, I walked into an Air Force recruiting office and offered my miserable life to the service of my country.

(Foxy's note: Thanks for sharing the other side of the Catholic education coin, Skip! You should have been with all of us happy guys at OLVA, working with Sr. Mary Bernadette, Sr. Mary Genevieve and kindly Mother Theresa. You did dust off my memories of ruler-toting Sr. Gemma of Jesus and stern Sr. Marie of Christ the King!)