Sister Mary Agatha, the Enforcer

Sister Mary Agatha looked nice enough. Peering into the funnel of her habit we could see an old smiling face. It was hard to tell with nuns but this one was sort of grandmotherish. So she couldn't be too bad.

It was 1954 and I was part of the seventh grade class at St. Albert the Great elementary school.

“The first day of school went just fine,” I told my mom. “We got a nun for a teacher again, not like Miss Allen at all. We have a real nun in a real habit.”

We all ambled in the second day of class, laughing, talking and ignoring the person in black sitting at her desk in the front of the classroom.

She just sat there. She didn't say a thing. She didn't yell at us to be quiet like Miss Allen did every morning last year. She just stared at this class of 30 kids who had made Miss Allen’s life a living hell the previous year.

Well maybe hell is too strong a word but we didn't make it easy. I guess we were pretty mean to Miss Allen. I don't say poor Miss Allen, because I never liked her and worst of all, like the entire class, I didn't respect her.

Was it because she wasn't a nun that she lacked authority? Was it because she was human with real hair that wasn't hidden beneath a medieval wimple? Was it because she looked silly aiming the nun’s traditional clicker at us? We ignored her. Any nun could use one of those clickers to silence an entire class. But not Miss Allen.

We just didn't seem to listen to her. We laughed and passed notes, we didn't line up in perfect rows or stand up simultaneously when she demanded it. She either screamed or pleaded with us to behave. Yes she even whined. She chose Pauline Wagner to use as an  example of the perfect deportment she expected the rest of us to emulate. We hated poor Pauline. It took me years to realize she hated being a teacher’s pet as much we hated her.

So to the sound of whispering and giggling, spit balls were thrown and notes passed. We did imitations of her mannerisms. The boys put icky things in her desk drawers. They attached a string to her chair to make it fall over. We tried our best to make her miserable.

As I realize now, we were bound to pay. No properly run 1950s Catholic grade school called St. Albert the Great and administered by a principal named Sister Melathon was going to let that situation go on forever.

So here we were, it was the second day of school and that sweet grandma thing had disappeared. Yes indeed this was no Miss Allen.

This was Sister Mary Agatha. And there was no raised voice, no pleading, just silence as she sat there staring at us. And each time a kid would look at her face there was one less kid laughing and talking. This lady was going to be a whole different story. Only she wasn't a lady at all. Or a woman. She was what Miss Allen wasn't. She was a nun.

She rose from her seat and slowly walked up and down the rows of desks. We were allowed to feel the full impact of the long black robe, the perfectly white collar and bib and the blue, blue eyes that didn't seem to blink.  And the clicker not quite concealed in her pocket.

Sister Mary Agatha’s long heavy rosary swayed gently from her waist. Her faded hands were folded and it didn't take long for us to realize that she meant business and we were the business she was going to deal with.

As I think about it now she must have been the travelling Enforcer of the Sisters of Charity. A force so formidable that she was called in to clean up errant classes like ours. Classes that had gotten out of control.

There she was quietly looking us over. Taking our measure. Almost inaudibly she enumerated the Rules. No one needed to be told to write them down and remember them. No getting out of your seat without asking permission, no talking without permission, no laughing without permission, no anything without permission. There would be punctuality, quiet and attention. Or else.

It was the ‘Or Else’ that did it. No one wanted to test what ‘Or Else’ meant.

Was there corporal punishment? Caning? A rap on a knuckle? Nope, not once. Just that look, that stare and a voice that could have raised the dead and buried them again all in one long minute.

So I spent the first half of the year unable to eat breakfast because I felt too much like throwing up. I think it was the only year in my life when I handed my homework in on time. I kept a low, low profile in class, skipped my little comments and was the picture of a Good Girl.

We were drilled in grammar, arithmetic, history and catechism. Our penmanship was scrutinized. Essays had to be letter perfect and in ink. No erasures, no gravy spots, no misspelled words.

She knew whether or not you had actually read the book you were reporting on. Nothing seemed to get past her and if she raised her voice, terror, real fear gripped the room. A few tried to cross her: a few spit balls were tossed, a note or two were immediately confiscated and even a real worm was hidden in her desk drawer. She just laughed and tossed it in the wastebasket.

By December we were marching to her drum and she prepared to show us off. She taught us a Gregorian chant and arranged for us to sing at Sunday Mass. We were a real hit.

After Christmas she began sort of smiling from time to time. Then there were actual jokes. She said nice things to us. Praised a good job. Spoke words of encouragement. I could eat breakfast again.

She decided we should put on play for the rest of the school.

I don't remember much about the performance but I know all the lyrics to June is Bustin’ Out All Over to this day. We practiced and practiced and on the appointed day pranced and performed and sang and danced and had a great time. In fact I think I can speak for the entire seventh grade class of St. Albert the Great school: we began to love Sister Mary Agatha.

The school year ended and she said goodbye. We were sorry to see her leave.

The next fall we were given Sister Henrietta, a nun so mild and sweet only a perfectly behaved class like us could be assigned to her.

And Sister Mary Agatha? We never saw her again. I guess she went on to next bad class in the next school. After all she was the Enforcer.