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Two converts to Catholicism from the state of Nevada entered the Burlingame community.  Sister Ursula was born March 29, 1887 and Sister M. St. James on Nov 20, 1888. They were professed on November 21, 1915 at ages 28 and 27 respectively.  I do know that their mother was very disturbed with her daughters and according to St. James, never spoke to them again.

Sister M. Ursula, was missioned to Notre Dame Hospital.  The only memory I have of her is when she came to Burlingame for her yearly vacation.  We would see St. James and Ursula on the grounds, sitting on one of the green benches, not saying a word to one another but evidently enjoying themselves.

St. James ministry seemed to be to the deceased.  It was her duty to set type for printing community death notices.  She would practice when there was “no business” at hand by setting up her own death notice.  She also set type for sister’s vow cards. 

St. James loved dogs.

When we were in the novitiate we had precious little time for study.  Our study, Holy Innocents, was very near the music rooms.  Now in those music rooms would be St. James practicing the flute.  I don’t think she ever really learned to play the flute, but someone must have told her that playing long notes to achieve a correct embouchure was the way to go.  For hours she would prolong one note after another achieving what, I do not know.

When we changed from the long black habit to the shorter blue one, we had a shorter veil.  When it was hot in chapel St. James would whip that thing off her head and without a thought for how it looked, vigorously fan herself.

This was not the only “show” she put on in chapel.  The novices and postulants would wait until everyone was out of chapel to take a look at her “spiritual reading” book.  Sometimes it was Jane Eyre and other times it was “Mental Health in a Mad, Mad World.”

St. James also had the duty of answering phones.  Of course there were not many phones.  There was one outside the Superior’s Office and the main phone in what is now the mail room next to the front reception desk.  St. James would have her turn at answering this phone.  If the  phone call seemed complicated she would say, “Call back in an hour, please.”  One time when Sister M. Modesto (Rita Fantin) received a phone call, St. James was heard to say, “Sister doesn’t reside here anymore.”  Now I knew she was a teacher at the high school. I saw her there every day because I was also a teacher at the high school.

St. James confided to Marguerite and me that she would love a beer.  She often thought how good it would taste.  So Marguerite and I got her a beer.  We were very prudent about how we presented it to her.  We thought she should be close to her bed or even in the bed since she had not had a beer in so long, and we didn’t know how her system would take it.

We got St. James up to her room, positioned her on the bed and gave her the beer.  She sighed deeply in satisfaction but then her smile changed to resignation.  With that she said, “Oh dear, it doesn’t taste like it used to.”  Well, that was the end of the beer.  (Perhaps Marguerite and I finished it.)

When St. James moved to Marian, the staff put her on a diet because she was hard to transfer.  She received nothing like candy or ice cream.  One day I put a dish of ice cream in a gift box so no one could recognize it.  The staff would not know it was the forbidden stuff.  Well, there was pure delight coming from this old nun.  She simply loved it.  Her concern was that I didn’t have some too. When the dish was empty and every last bit consumed she took up the bowl and actually licked it.

St. James loved to whistle.  She wasn’t very good at it, but it truly pleased her.  I planned her funeral Mass and the Sending Forth I had the nuns whistle the hymn.  Everyone seemed to appreciate this with the exception of Fr. Schleck who was celebrating the Mass.  He registered his disapproval to one of his nun friends.  I say, “Too bad!”

Here was a grand lady whose life was at the heart of Mercy.

What I know of her life:

Sister M. deChantal came to the Sisters of Mercy even though she was attracted to Holy Name Sisters.  One day as she was listening to a priest as he delivered a Mission in her Oakland parish, she decided that she should enter religious life.  She knew the Holy Name Sisters and liked them.  There was one drawback.  They had beautiful grounds and the young deChantal thought that in entering there she would not be “giving enough up.”  She chose instead, the Sisters of Mercy.  Now she was in for a surprise because when she got to Burlingame she discovered that the grounds were even more beautiful than those at Holy Names.

I’m not sure how deChantal came to be a piano teacher but she must have been proficient in the instrument, and it was during the depression and any sister who could teach piano was headed that way.  The community needed the money.

When I entered, dC thought I was the answer to her prayer and that I would be a fine piano teacher.  She very humbly asked me if I would teach her organ!  It didn’t last long. She was too busy to take on a new instrument at that stage of her life. I was never a good organ or piano teacher.

Anyway, deChantal became a very fine piano teacher.  She studied at the San Francisco Conservatory of Music and picked up the best methods of teaching.

When I knew deChantal in the ‘50s, she not only taught, but she guided young teachers in a methodical way using the best tools at hand. She remained in touch with the San Francisco Conservatory of Music.  She had me go there for instruction.  I studied with Adolf Baller and a woman whose name I can’t remember.   Poor deChantal!  I must have been a disappointment because I never became that great piano teacher. 

In community deChantal was exemplary.  I remember her at community recreations.  For a special feast we would have entertainment. DeC had a little notebook full of stories she would tell.

It was after World War II and deChantal collected clothing to send to her relatives in Austria? She had a “cell” on the first floor where she collected things to send.  She began to present programs to raise money for the cause of refugees and she hired “DPs”    (Displaced Persons) as piano teachers.  They were always well trained musicians. (Marilyn knows their names.)

dC met up with Ruth Slenzenska.  Ruth was a child prodigy.  Her father was relentless in pushing her to become a great pianist.  She had no childhood because the father made her practice, practice and perform.

deChantal hired Ruth to teach piano for Mercy School of Music.  She was a star and dC was delighted to have her not only because of her abilities but because dC wanted to help her.  (Somewhere along the way a book, “Forbidden Childhood” was written. It might have been another example of Ruth being exploited.  Now it was Ruth’s husband who was pushing her just as her father had.)

Ruth became very fond of deChantal.  One time when Ruth was on “This is Your Life” she received a large combination stereo and radio.  She gave it to deC and it was placed in the Conservatory (the black and white marble floor room in the High School.)

When I entered the convent, dC wanted me to be a good piano teacher so I studied with Ruth.  I didn’t find her a good teacher.  She just seemed to want one to drill passages over and over.  I had had an excellent teacher at Immaculate Heart – Franz Darvis. 

deChantal became good friends with important people but I noticed that she treated everyone the same, rich and poor, important or not. 

Somewhere deChantal met Leonora Wood Armsey.  They became very good friends.  Mrs. A. was instrumental in getting Pierre Monteux to come to San Francisco as orchestra conductor. 

Leanora was treated no differently than Frank, the janitor.  I remember once Leanora came to see dC just as Vespers was about to begin.  She sent the portress back to the front door with the message, “I’m sorry I cannot come to visit.  I have an engagement with the King.”

When Mrs. Armsby was dying she called for dC to come visit her.   When dC arrived, Monsignor Cummins from St. Catherine’s was there.  He hated dC because she taught piano in his school, and she always booked it at Mercy School of Music rather than St. Catherine’s School.

dC had cancer and all the time I knew her she had her arm bandaged. It was always swollen with fluid.

Whenever we went anywhere dC was so much fun.  One time we were just going to San Jose but she said, “Let’s pretend that we are in a foreign land for the day.”  That we did and had a great time.

We went together to a National Music Convention in Pittsburg.  We stayed in a hotel and she loved it.  She went around turning on all the appliances “because we are paying for it.” She knew an FBI man who was a parishioner at Our Lady of Angels.  She told him of our up coming trip to Pittsburg.  He told her she must also go to Washington D.C.  He told her he would arrange a tour.  Well, she was so excited.  She agreed to add Washington D.C. to our trip.

We were met at the train station by this undercover FBI man.  He looked the part – very stealthy looking.  We went straight to the FBI building and began a tour.  After learning all about people who were swindlers, murderers, etc. it gradually occurred to me that we were not due for a tour of the city but simply of the FBI building.  I couldn’t wait to get out of there.  All day long as we did our very limited tour of the city by ourselves, I kept looking at people we encountered and wondering what crime they had committed.

The loveliest thing dC did for me was to release me from teaching piano.  I hated it and was not good at it.  By this time I was doing a little teaching in the high school and Russell College.  I loved group work rather than one-on-one teaching.

I hesitate writing about Sister Rose Christy.  She was SUCH a character that I know I cannot do her justice.  Other sisters know incidents in her life that make her so very unique.  I hope in writing this that other stories about Rose come forth.

Here are a few tidbits.  Rose was a nurse in Oxnard where there was a small enclave of very conservative nuns.  Sister M. Theophane was one of them.  She was a convert to Catholicism and was shocked when she felt that we were beginning to espouse some of the things she felt she had left behind as a Protestant.  I know that firsthand through music.  Theophane chided me for introducing “those Protestant hymns” into our repertory. Those were not proper for our Roman Catholic liturgy!

Rose’s conservatism was expressed in politics.  It was said that she was almost a “Bircher.”

I don’t know if it was before her stint in Oxnard or after but I do know that Rose was a nurse at St. Joseph’s in Phoenix.  She had met up with Loretta Young.   They became very good friends, a friendship that lasted throughout Loretta’s lifetime.  It was in Phoenix that Rose began to take an active part in politics.  I know that she worked for the recall of the Governor.  At some point Sister M. DePaul, the hospital administrator, spoke in an interview that got into Time Magazine.  She stated emphatically, “The opinions of Sister Rose Christy do not reflect the positions taken by St. Joseph’s Hospital.”

Rose was stricken with back trouble and she was confined to bed.  Now she had time to read and read she did.  She was transformed from her far-right views to far-left.

My first experience of Rose was when she was recuperating as a resident in the Motherhouse.  It was an exciting time.  We were to decide who among us was to be our representative at the Community Chapter. Things were changing in the Sisterhood.  Previous to this Chapter important matter to be taken up would be such things as “Should we take the bottom pin out of the Veil?”  Now the times they were a’changin. 

Each house sent a delegate to the Chapter.  Now in the Motherhouse Mother Monica, a member of the General Council, would be an ex- officio member of Chapter.  We felt that we should have an additional member to represent us along with Monica because she was already going.  We felt strongly about this.  We were spurred on by Sister M. Madalen Ward.

Sister M. Madalen Ward was visiting in Southern California at the time, but she got herself home pronto so that she could rev up the troops and cast her vote.  

Unfortunately the “powers that be” heard about our underground movement to elect an additional person to attend Chapter.  Well, they did what they thought was the proper thing to do.  They consulted a Jesuit Canon Lawyer, Fr. Richard Hill, and of course he said that we were wrong.

We were meeting for our house vote in Coolock Hall, now the Sequoia.  In rolled Rose on a stretcher to cast her vote.  She voted on the losing side but her vote was cast in a dramatic way.  Rose excelled in drama.

Rose had worked for Native Americans in Arizona and she was good at raising money for them.  Someone on the General Council thought she would be good as a fund raiser for the community.  So began a new phase of her life.  During her time in this new venture she launched a “Nun-Run” that took place at Coyote Point.  All of us who could manage one foot in front of the other were recruited to be in the nun-run (actually she wanted to call this venture “The Forty-Nuners” but that name had already been taken by some other enterprising group.)

Even our dog, Andy, was a part of the action.  He never figured out what was actually happening but he posed for some cute pictures near the water station.

Rose could be seen all over the Bay Area.  She figured any publicity was good publicity.  One of our friends said she saw Rose in the City with what the woman termed a Bumble-Bee outfit.  She had taken to wearing hats at this time and she was quite a sight in her bright yellow and black outfit.

The climax came when Rose called a press conference in the front of the convent.  The place was swarming with print media.  The next day the local papers had us plastered all over their front page.

That evening I was facilitating Taizé prayer in Antioch.  The woman who introduced me said to the assembled group, “I don’t know if you read in today’s Chronicle that Sister’s community is badly in need of money.  I have left a basket on the piano here, and I invite you to put some money in that basket.” Well, I could hardly make it through the prayer, my head sunk deep into my lap.

One night Rose was watching the evening news and she saw the  plight of orphans in Romania.  I don’t know if Rose already had a passport, but I do know that she got herself to Romania in record time. There she worked to get help for those orphans, and knowing Rose, she did it in a big way.  As she worked in Romania, she found that the problem was more systemic than institutions housing orphans and so she began to work with family units.  She even had a radio program.

This chapter of Rose’s life must be recorded in our archives.  It should occupy a major part of those archives. This was the action of a woman with a big heart and lots of energy, a woman of whom we are very proud.  (Sister Marilyn Gouailhardou will tell you that she couldn’t spell.)

By Sister Suzanne Toolan

This may have been 1984 or 1985.

The family from El Salvador that lived with us longest was the MontSols.  They were connected with Montsalvat Community and lived on the third floor of the McAuley wing.  They were Tomasa, Anna, and Cristo.  Anna took some classes at Mercy High School.  She loved the high school community and spent her evenings in our community room where she played with Andy, our dog, and attempted to teach me a few Spanish songs.

The family was eventually settled in Edmonton, Canada where they had a hard time adjusting to the weather.  Unfortunately, Anna had an idealized memory of her time with us and had a very difficult time.  She attempted suicide once.  Her family sent her back for a visit a couple of years later, but it was not the same for her.

Among the families that lived at the Lodge was a mother, father and these little boys, Oscar, Moises, and Isaias.  To keep them busy I invited them to help me greet Interns coming in for a month-long program in Spiritual Direction at Mercy Center.  I asked the oldest to go along in the car to pick up interns as they arrived at the airport.  He was very proud of himself but the other two were jealous.  So I invited them to help bring in luggage of interns as they arrived.  I gave them a dime (!) for each little item they brought in.  I didn’t realize the interns were tipping them quite generously.  By the time the big-shot brother got home from the airport trips the little guys had a pocket full of money.  We could hear sounds from a big fight brewing.

There were other refugee families that lived at the Lodge.  They would come up to the convent to eat their meals.  I remember one little fellow leaving to go back to the Lodge.   He had his pockets overflowing with food.  They were evidently so used to not having enough to eat that when they saw such plenty, they put some away for leaner times.

As families came to stay at the Lodge we soon realized that it was difficult for them.  They were not near other refugee families and far from public transportation.  So which ever Sister was in charge (I don’t remember who it was) relocated them in the City.  I had one family come from the City every Saturday to help out with projects in the Center.  They did a lot of painting.  I was able to pay them with cash that I had stashed away from income cash through the Center.

Airport

When we first started to go to the airport to help transfer refugees from one plane to another we found they needed some quick protein.  Sister M. Amadeus (well into her 80s) would boil 300 eggs each night.  The group in charge of refugee resettlement would come and pick the eggs up to give out.  

We took our high school kids along with us when we went to help at the airport.  The kids were great.  They related so well with the refugees.  We would leave the convent at 5 a.m. and pick up the refugees at a motel the resettlement group would have provided.  The refugees would have so little with them, sometimes a piece of needlework that would remind them of home.  Many of them were going to cold states and the fabric of their clothing was very thin.  One time a young man was going to a very cold place and he didn’t even have a sweater.  I gave him my school sweater.  I was sorry afterward because it was acrylic and looked warmer than it was. If he had had no sweater at all I know someone would have provided him with a nice warm one.  (Not to be outdone, the next day Sister Jean Evans gave someone her shoes.)

When I write about refugees I am so conscious that other sisters were the ones who were in the forefront of caring for them, especially Sisters Marilyn Lacey and Ellen FitzGerald.   My part and other high school sisters’ part was very minor.

Marilyn’s endeavor developed into important ministry in San Jose in Refugee Resettlement and now her extraordinary work with Mercy Beyond Borders.

Anyway, back to some experiences that come to mind.  I was helping a group find their way from one plane to another that would take them to their destination.   We all attempted to board when a very officious looking flight attendant accosted us.  She drew herself up to her full height and rather haughtily said, “I suppose they are bringing all sorts of germs into our country.”

I heard coming from my own meek and cowardly self this retort, “These people have all been recently checked by a doctor.  Can you say the same thing about the rest of your passengers?”  She THOUGHT she had met her match, and she stepped out of the way, even helping a bit.

Another time I was waiting for check-in with a group.  Many people were giving us frosty looks that seemed to say, “More foreigners coming into our country!” Then approaching from behind was a young woman with a baby.  She was delighted to see all of us and edged closer.  Far from being worried about what “these people” were bringing in, she reached into her baby’s stroller and brought out snacks for all.  She gave them out with a welcoming smile.  I was so proud of her.  She had been in the Chorale when she was a student at Mercy, Burlingame.

I came to live in the Mercy Convent Community in January of 1953, the night of my First Profession.  It was a formal enterprise.  We sat in seniority for Reading at 5 P.M.  During the reading of pious books we would do our sewing.  Because we received new clothing at profession (our novitiate clothing was truly worn out!), I felt very self-conscious until my new clothes were forced to a state of repair and I could be occupied like every other sister with a needle and thread in hand.  I was hard on clothes so it didn’t take long.

We also sat in seniority in the early evening.  This was the time the school sisters corrected papers and prepared their classwork for the next day.  The time commenced with the prayer, “Direct we bespeeched thee, O Lord, all our actions by thy holy inspiration and carry them on by thy gracious assistance so that every prayer and work of ours may always begin through thee and by thee be happily ended.” A nice prayer.

After study hour came recreation.  For recreation we sat in our U shaped arrangement as in spiritual reading, but we didn’t have to sit in seniority.  At the end of recreation a junior professed would go around saying, “Scraps.”  One would put any tidbits from whatever one was working on and any candy papers (if we were lucky) and any other matter that did not belong in that pristine environment.  A few years later we could even move around the community room at will instead of remaining in our places.  Such liberty!

We were a large community and remained so until sometime in the 70s, when three of us, Sister Pat Ryan, Sister Marguerite Buchanan and I went to Mother Eucharia with the concern that it was pretty hard functioning as a real community with 72 sisters.  Eucharia agreed and went into action.  She assembled us and with a list of sisters in hand she proceeded to create three communities by simply reading off names in order on the page. 

The community I landed in happened to have Marguerite and Pat as members.  The group included Sister M. Marcella among others.  We had nine Uganda sisters living with us, and they were distributed among the community  groups.   Our group therefore got three of the Ugandas.  We took over the present day Cypress Room for our community room.  We also had what is now the Maple Dining Room.  We had by far the best spaces.

We had an election for superior of the group.  Pat Ryan and I tied in the vote.  Pat, always a creative thinker, came up with the idea that we should take turns being superior.  We would switch every month.  Well, that lasted for about three months.  Sister M. Marcella, seeing a problem here, said to the group, “Now sisters, I think Sister M. Suzanne is a fine person but let’s face it.  She shouldn’t be our superior.”  She couldn’t have been more correct.  So thus ended this strange arrangement and I was free.

Dividing the large group in the way Eucharia did was not a good idea and at the end of the year we same three people approached her with our observations.  Eucharia again listened and suggested that we form a high school community.  She said that sisters not in that ministry should be free to join.  And that is what happened.  We had a nice mixture of ages.  In the group were two elders:  Sisters M. Amadeus and Benignus. 

Benignus had been the purchaser in a couple of our hospitals.  She was used to big time.  There are stories of her going to vendors, taking along some poor junior professed and embarrassing them to death by her manner of asking the vendors for free items.  Well, she was no longer a purchaser, but she brought her expertise to our small group and continued to embarrass the poor victim who accompanied her to furniture and various and sundry show rooms.  Actually she no longer had a card of admittance to these wholesale places.  That didn’t stop Benig.

When the Christian Brothers changed their wine labels, they had a  surplus amount of wine they wanted to get rid of.  St. Mary’s Hospital was the recipient of a lot of it–good sherry and port.  We heard rumors that the wine filled a whole convent room at St. Mary’s.  Unfortunately for them but fortunately for us, the room was too hot for the wine so they brought it all down to Burlingame.  Benignus found out about the shipment and met the truck with a very large laundry cart that she proceeded to fill with wine.  To anyone who enquired about the destination of that cart she said, “This is for the High School Community.”  You didn’t mess with Benig.

Now began a fine game we played in freeing some of that wine for our community use.  It was placed in a room next to the chapel storage.  The connecting wall only went so far. I have very long arms so I could easily reach over to relieve the top shelf of its content until in time the top self was emptied of all wine.  After that shelf was vacant more daring measures were used.  Sister Sharon climbed up on shelves – even on a sack of flour once (not a good idea) to do the job.  Now we don’t want you to think this was stealing.  After all, the gift of this wine was for the Sisters of Mercy.  We all signed our names with “S.M.” so that meant US.

It sounds like we were real drinkers.  Not so.  We partook in moderation, but it was fun finding ways to get those bottles.  At this time there was a slogan in San Francisco, “Free Angela Davis” in an effort to free a San Francisco woman who was being detained by the police. We used the phrase, “Free Angelica.”  A good deal of the wine was Angelica Wine.

All this activity provided a lot of amusement and some rather good impromptu parties.  One time Sr. M. Consolata set her alarm for 2 A.M. (when the rest of the house would be asleep) and drove one of those laundry trucks into the Chapel Storage to do the deed.  We had many brave heroes in our midst.

Well, that high school community thrived.  Pat Ryan continued to be superior and she was just right for us.  The community has kept evolving through the years.  The latest in a long string of community manifestations is Montsalvat Community.  We’ve heard that our name is a stumbling block for some.  This is how it came about. 

A couple of us were at our vacation house in Saratoga.  Mercy Center had just been formed.  Our community room was where the present day bookstore is.  Like it or not, the room was on the “road” to the Center, and people passing by would look in to ask directions or just to chat.  We accepted this and began to think of ourselves as a Center hospitality community. 

While we were sitting around the pool at Saratoga, Sister Rosaleen O’Sullivan suggested a name that would become for us a way we wanted to function as a hospitality community.  She said, “You should be called Montsalvat.”  This literally means “Mount of the Savior.”  In Arthurian legend Montsalvat was a place in a hilly terrain where people came seeking God.  Well, we really liked the idea and we so named ourselves.

A beautiful aspect of this community is its welcoming spirit.  All sisters and visitors are welcome, and I think they know that the minute they are met at the door for prayer, for social, for watching the best TV in the house (!) or just to be present to one another.

Other small communities in the house have their own history but this is ours.  So there.

When I entered the Sisters of Mercy of San Francisco, I was struck by how Irish they were.  Everything was “Holy Ireland.”  There was simply no one like someone who originated from that Little Isle.  It didn’t take me long to react to all this.  I found myself responding to inquiries about my ethnic origin by saying, “Oh, I’m German.”  I totally negated my Irish half.  The Irish were just too much to deal with.  It wasn’t until I made my first trip to Ireland in the ‘60s that I reclaimed that part of me.  Then I grew to love Ireland and the Irish people as I learned to get along with the exaggerations of some San Francisco natives.  Fortunately the community began to take on a more diverse composition.  Several Hispanic sisters, with their rich culture, joined us.

Probably the most Irish of the Irish were the two Gaul sisters:  Sr. M. Petronilla and Sr. M. Kevin.  They could have taught our sisters in Dublin HOW to be Irish. 

The “Gaul Girls” loved to do Irish Step Dancing.  Even when they were in their 70s and 80s they would be ready to dance with little or no urging – in fact, with NO urging.  As they got older and older we would hold our breath, sure that the next day’s obituary column would record the fact that two elderly Sisters of Mercy met their demise on the dance floor as they were attempting an Irish Jig.

Shaina Friel was very interested in learning how to do these dances.  Shana asked the Gaul Girls to give her a lesson.  The Girls were only too happy to oblige BUT after Shaina watched for a while she was forced to tell them, “I can’t tell your shuffle from your hop.”  (By this time the “Girls” were quite portly and they had difficulty raising their feet at all.  The shuffle looked just like the hop.)  The Girls were a bit offended, but everything turned out all right because Shaina found and married her husband Larry and he is an expert on Irish Folk Music and Dance.

The Gaul girls never learned how to drive.  It must have been hard on them when they saw all the other sisters taking off in a car to visit relatives, to go to the doctor or to the store whenever they needed anything.  Their response always was, “Well, when you don’t drive.” This was always accompanied by a deep sigh.

Petronilla became superior of the Motherhouse.  I was back at Notre Dame in Indiana for summer school as were Srs. Rosemary Sullivan, Rose McArdle, and Regina Sutton.  Rose had to get home for some event so she took a plane whereas we took the train.  We knew that the “changes” were going to come out imminently because it was that time in the summer when our changes (assignments for the year) were overdue.  Rose said, “I’ll get home before you so I can wire you the changes so you don’t have to live in suspense.”  Well, she did indeed wire us.  We were traveling under Sister M. Esther’s name on a clergy pass.

We were sitting peacefully in our train when we heard the conductor coming through the cars yelling this message, “Telegram for Esther, Telegram for Esther!”  It took a moment for us to realize that was us.

The writer of the telegram was really trying to save money on words. The one part I remember was “Pet sup in Burl.”  Thus we found out that Sister M. Petronilla would be the new superior in Burlingame.

Sisters were pretty good about taking “the Girls” where they needed to go, but the driver always knew there were going to be some add-ons.  “Would you mind stopping at Walgreens?  My nephew is going to have a birthday and I need to get a card” or “My sister just lives up the way a bit–the way being San Francisco on Anza Street – a little way from Burlingame.  Incidentally, this particular sister loved Bourbon and Seven.  The Girls came to like it too.

Marguerite and I had a couple nice vacations with Kevin.  One was up north at Big Trees.  We had just received permission to wear “sport clothing” for outings.  Our definition of “sport clothing” was anything we could find that fit us.  A little old man in the area, not knowing that Kevin was a nun, took a shine to her.  Marguerite and I were looking out the window laughing at the exchange.  Kevin was oblivious of the      old man’s interest.  That made it all the funnier.

The Girls were thrilled when their priest cousin from Ireland came to live in San Francisco as an assistant pastor at St. Mary’s Cathedral.  But it was a total thrill when he became Bishop!  They loved to say, “Our cousin, the Bishop.”  I wish they could have lived to see how much we appreciate their cousin the Bishop now.  Of all the bishops in our geographic area, he is easily the best. 

I was with Kevin when she died.  Her nephew’s wife and I were taking turns keeping vigil as Kevin was dying.  My turn started about 1 A.M.  The nurse had turned her so her head was facing the direction opposite me.  Kevin had been in a coma for quite some time.  I just had a feeling that I should go to the other side.  I was so glad that I did because Kevin’s eyes were open wide.  I could tell that she was really SEEING whoever it was who was waiting for her on “the other side.”  Indeed, after this look of recognition, Kevin closed her eyes and very peacefully entered her new life.

The Girls had a very loving family.  After Kevin’s death one of their nephew’s little grandchildren said to Petronilla, “You can come and live with us now.  You can have my bed.”  Petronilla survived Kevin by a few years.  There will never be a pair quite like them and I look forward to meeting them again.  (But let’s forget the dancing!)

Nature and Grace

Who do we think of when we hear these words, “Nature and Grace?” Of course, it is Sister M. Juliana Stapleton.  How many times Juliana regaled us by putting before us these two possibilities.  Nature acts this easy way, but grace prompts us to act in this more noble way. 

Nature is the way that brings immediate pleasure and comfort, but grace is the way that takes us on that narrow road and it is not so pleasant.  The model for Julian’s discourse was “The Imitation of Christ.” Julianna had a way of catching us in our foibles and making it funny as she contrasted how we SHOULD act and how we DO act .

Juliana was a wonderful English teacher. She had a breadth of vision and used Literature to express it. Students would especially love to hear her read aloud to the class.

Juliana taught at Mercy, Burlingame for years.  There she was loved by all.  She was comfortable in her teaching, but then came the tragedy of Sister M. Charleta Barry’s rather early death.  Charleta was a much-loved principal.  With her death, Juliana had to take over as principal, a job for which she was not suited.  But, most of all, Juliana missed Charleta.  Both in their thirties, these two were best friends. 

When I knew her, Juliana was back teaching.  We used to love our time in the “Sisters’ Room,” a room on the first floor that had been a wine cellar when the building was a mansion but converted into a chemistry lab when the building was made a school.  Now it became the room where sister faculty went for breaks and for lunch.  The famous caravans – containers of meat, potatoes and veggies were delivered here.  The old chemistry tables were still there.  We had so much fun in that room and Juliana was the source of most of it.

On days when things got difficult Juliana would often say, “I’m going to get my big beaver hat and walk right out of here and down Adeline.” Her favorite exclamations were “Great Scott!” and “Great Caesar’s Ghost!”

One summer when we were having a Chapter, Juliana was not a member of the group.  It was in the days when each house sent two delegates.  The Motherhouse always got the short end of it because the superior always went and there was always a General Councilor who lived with us.  She went as an ex-officio delegate and they counted her as our second delegate.  We always thought that was very unfair. 

Much to Juliana’s surprise, as the elections went along, she was voted to be on the General Council.  She had been doing things around the house and when she got word to come to the Chapter she had to hunt around for her big sleeves so that she could make an appearance at the Chapter.  Well, she was a wonderful addition to that Council.  Not only was she very wise, she was loved by the entire community.

Somewhere along the way, Juliana became active in arranging our retreats and she became the retreat organizer for these events. Then she became a retreat director herself, and everyone wanted direction from her.

Juliana did all the arrangements for a Thirty-Day Retreat given by Fr. Armond Nigro, SJ.  This retreat was a big thing because Nigro was very much in demand.  There were about thirty of us on that retreat.  Juliana assigned retreat directors.  Nigro gave the conferences and celebrated Mass.  He didn’t have any directees.  However, Juliana asked him to direct me!  It couldn’t have been worse. I spent every day trying to think of what I would say to this famous man when I met him in the early evening.  It was torture.  I would so much rather have had Juliana herself as my director.

I don’t remember Juliana showing the signs of aging, but indeed she must have had health problems.  It came as a terrible shock to all of us when she died.  It must have been a shock for the doctor too, because she died there in his office.

Well, Juliana was truly a beloved member of the community.  She was a wise woman who had a wonderful sense of humor and she will never be forgotten.

We really had an Uncle Henry, but we didn’t meet him until we moved to California.  In the Los Angeles area we discovered a whole branch of the Schwartz family that we didn’t know existed.  Schwartz was my Mother’s name and these cousins were related to her.  As we got to know them, we found we didn’t especially care for them – especially Uncle Henry.

Now there are four “girls” in our family.  Three of us entered the Sisters of Mercy.  The fourth is named Suzanne. It was her name I received when I became a sister. My sister Suzanne entered a religious community also, but it was the Sisters of Charity in Ohio.

As the original Suzanne boarded the train for her trip to Ohio, my Father was a bit apprehensive.  He said, “Suzanne, if you ever want to come home, you just let me know.  It may be that they censor your mail.  In that case let’s use a code.  Just write, ‘How is Uncle Henry?’  We’ll know we have to get there fast and get you out.”  Well, we all laughed, but believe it or not, that is what happened.  I don’t know why Suzanne thought she couldn’t just tell them she wanted to go but she didn’t.  That “How is Uncle Henry” letter arrived at 7400 Hollywood Blvd. and my Dad took the next train to Ohio and brought Suzanne home with him.  This was war time and air travel was out of the question.

Now I’ll skip ahead a few years to another of my siblings – Mary Louise.

Mary Louse needs not a little article but a whole book written about her.  A more colorful character you couldn’t imagine.  Mary Louise left the Sisters of Mercy for a period of time.  In this interim there were some extraordinary happenings in her life!  I’ll relate one of them.

Mary Louise loved to get new jobs.  She was very capable and could do all sorts of things.  Anyway, once when she was quite bored she was looking through the L.A. Times and found an ad.  It was for a tutor to accompany a family to Hawaii for an extended time.  Sounded good to M.L. so she applied.  She received an answer to her inquiry right away and was invited to meet this family immediately at the airport for lunch.

All seemed to go well.  The woman was impressed with M.L’s credentials and M.L. was impressed with the family.  She instantly liked the little boy and thought she would enjoy teaching him.  SO – off they went to Hawaii to quite a lavish residence.  In fact, the life style of this family was opulent.  The woman went into M.L’s closet and took her clothes out and replaced them with clothes of her own choice.  M.L. didn’t like this, but she liked the woman and thought she could live with the substitute clothes the woman provided her.

Pretty soon M.L. began noticing two Hispanic maids.  They seemed very unhappy and they seemed to be constantly working.  M.L. was very kind to them and even though she couldn’t speak Spanish she sensed the women were trying to tell her something.

In the meantime M.L. was enjoying the little boy.  He was a pleasure to teach and M.L., in addition to teaching him subjects appropriate for his age, began to tell him stories about God.

All seemed to go well but M.L. was uneasy about the two unhappy maids.  Somehow they communicated to her that they were being ill- treated.  They never had any time off and their living quarters were very poor.  When M.L spoke to the woman about her concerns, the woman turned on her and M.L.’s life began to change.  No longer was she the favored tutor of the little boy, the one who could do no wrong.

Well, at this time M.L. came to realize that the two young maids had been trafficked.  She later found out that they were forced into the country in the trunk of a car.  M.L. began to worry about her own safety too.

Here comes Uncle Henry!  We received a letter from M.L.  Not knowing if her mail was censored, M.L. wrote, “How is Uncle Henry?”  Now WE began to worry BUT knowing M.L. we knew she was very resourceful and that she could take care of herself.  Indeed, she did take care of herself and she left a message for the maids to get out of there fast!

Now moving ahead a bit – the woman was apprehended and brought to court.  M.L. was summoned as a witness.  She was worried about it and asked my sister Suzanne to come along.  When it came time for M.L’s testimony she was so nervous and upset that she just cried and was unable to help the prosecutor very much.

The woman was jailed for a time and that is the last we heard about her UNTIL we noticed a mini-series on TV that began to sound very familiar. The series was entitled, “American Greed: Deadly Rich.” It was about a woman, Sante Kimes and her son, Kenny who were accused of murdering a woman in her New York apartment.

It seems that this duo, mother and son, asked to rent a spectacular apartment in a high rent district of N.Y. for $6,000 a month.  The owner was a woman named Irene Silverman.  Silverman noted the very strange behavior of mother and son.  Among other things, they always covered their faces in front of the corridor TV camera. Silverman asked the couple to leave but instead, they murdered her, taking all her possessions. Friends noted Irene’s absence and began to get suspicious.  They contacted the police.

As I read an account of this couple on line, I was horrified to see the evil that they perpetrated.  They were responsible for considerable theft and several murders.  Look it up online!  Sante and Kenneth Kimes.

I later read an article about a reporter visiting the prison where Kenny was incarcerated.  At one point Kenny got the woman’s ballpoint pen away from her and attempted to take her hostage.

Despite everything M.L. learned about Kenny, she insisted he was a lovely little boy and was just “turned” by his evil mother.  As for Sante, the Mother, M.L. was always worried that she would get out of prison and come after her with snakes. She had discovered that M.L. was terrified of snakes.  In the articles on Google, I found that Sante died in prison at age 79.  Kenny must still be incarcerated. 

So much for M.L’s lovely little boy.  But thanks for the family code, “How is Uncle Henry?” 

Guests who come to 2300 Adeline Drive tell us that the minute they drive through our front gates they feel a sense of peace.  These comments always make us happy and very grateful for the 40 acres of beauty our foremothers so carefully chose back in 1924.

But these gates have their own story.  I remember as a newly professed sister back in the early 50’s, we juniors would have to open those gates in the early morning.  The men, and “the men” at the time meant our faithful Pat O’Brien and Pat Kennefick, did EVERYTHING from maintenance to tending the boilers, to driving the school bus, and probably many more things, but I don’t know what they were.)  “The men” would lock the gate at 5 P.M. and it remained closed for the night. It was up to us Junior Professed Sisters to open it in the morning so that the priest from Our Lady of Angels could come in for Mass. 

We juniors would rush down to the gate as soon as we could so that we would be back in time for 5:25 A.M. Meditation in chapel.  The brisk walk (almost run) would really wake us up and there was a good chance we would stay awake during meditation.

In rainy weather there were the most god-awful rain coats you could imagine.  They covered one head to toe, maybe even the toe.  And they were a disaster to put on and take off.  But they did the job.  We returned to our stall for meditation with dry habits.

Time marched on and in the early 60’s there was a sort of reprieve.  There was one way that we could avoid this early morning excursion.  The high school had a unique janitor, Bill, who lived at the Lodge.  It was his job to unlock the gates.  The trouble was that we couldn’t rely on Bill to do this, and we would get in trouble if the priest didn’t show up for 6 A.M. Mass. 

My room faced the back road.  While I was getting ready to go down to chapel, I would keep my eye on that road.  I would see the headlights of Bill’s car and then I would know that the gate would be open!  My way of communicating with the poor nuns who had gate duty that morning was to place a little white card on the ledge of the first pew in chapel.  Then there would be happiness in the hearts of two young nuns.  However, if I didn’t see Bill’s headlights, I would put a blue card on the first pew. Then there would be, at best –resignation.

We could always rely on “the men” to lock the gates at 5 P.M.  The trouble came if there was a high school function at night.  Naturally, it would only be a high school function because there was never anything at the convent that happened after 5 P.M.

If a high school sister was in charge of a night function, she had to remember to tell “the men” not to lock the gates at 5 P.M.  I found this out the hard way.  It was the first spring Glee Club Concert for which I was in charge.  I was walking up the hill with the principal of the school.  She casually mentioned, “You DID tell the men to keep the gate open, didn’t you?”  Of course I didn’t!  No one had told me!  Well, this was just the first in a series of things I did wrong.  Fortunately, the girls sang very well, and the principal put up with me for these little lapses. 

Now, these many years later, as I look at those lovely gates, I am so happy to see the two shields of Mercy.  One says, “Sisters of Mercy” and the other says, “Mercy Center.”  How wonderful that these gates open both ways.  We share our sacred space and our years of prayer and service.  Mercy Center guests bring the richness of their own lives and their deep search for God.  O admirabile commercium.  O wonderful exchange!

Sister Mary Gabriel Nelson on the right.

She was half Russian and she was proud of it.  Her Father, (the Russian half) was not present to the family.  I don’t know the story but I do know that Gabriel’s Grandmother and Mother were very dominant. 

Gabriel and her sister, Consolata, were dressed alike and went to school in rather old-fashioned clothes.  They lived on a steep hill, went to St. Peter’s School and were very proud to be San Franciscans. Both girls were very bright.  They graduated from St. Peter’s in 1945.  Gabriel went on to Nurse’s Training at St. Mary’s Hospital. There she excelled in studies and in mischief.

Gabriel stayed in training for just the one year and then followed her sister, Consolata, by entering the Sisters of Mercy.  I suppose she expected to continue her studies to be a nurse after she finished the novitiate.  That was not to be.  Like so many of our young sisters at the time, she went right into the area most needed by the community.  Sometimes nurses were needed in the Mercy world and sometimes teachers were in demand.

I’ll continue this from the time I knew Gabriel.  She was teaching history at Mercy, Burlingame.  She was, of course, a favorite among the girls.  She said outrageous things that were very funny.  The kids loved it.  But she was an excellent teacher. There were years when she went around with a yo-yo in her spare time.  She was determined she would do extraordinary tricks with it.  Actually she had difficulty with the ordinary tricks, I noticed. That didn’t keep her from trying – and from amusing us.

It was fun being with Gabriel.  My sister Pat, (aka Sister M. Ernest), remembered a time she went to the doctor with her.  Absolutely nothing unusual or exciting happened but when they got home Gabriel recounted all the amazing things that she had seen and heard.  My sister saw or heard nothing of what was being spoken.  She was in utter amazement at what this woman was saying.  Well, Gabriel could spin a yarn.

Every visiting Sunday Mama and Grandma trudged up Adeline Drive to see “the girls.”  They had taken the bus from San Francisco.  They always brought a Blum’s cake.  Eventually Blums went out of business – probably when Mama and Grandma no longer gave them their patronage.   

Gabriel arrived at Mercy, Burlingame the same year as Sisters Rosemary Sullivan and Barbara Moran.  They called themselves the “Three Bears.”  Gabe was Papa Bear, Barbara was Mama Bear and Rosemary was Baby Bear.  Sister M. Martin, the Principal called this her Kindergarten Faculty. 

The first day of school Martin had the freshman class line up on the tennis courts.  Each of the teachers was to read off the names of the girls who would be in her section.  When it came to Gabriel’s turn, she was very nervous, and for the rest of her life we would imitate her shaky voice reading the names of that section:  “Mi Mi Mina Mae Aaaahern.”

Gabriel looked forward to those extraordinary days in community when  we were free to do things like go into the walk-in fridge at night and rescue any food that looked good.  She would make an enormous onion and salami sandwich and love every bite of it.

I remember one time at St. Hilary’s.  St. Hilary’s was a welcome respite from the rather austere lives we led.  We were on vacation for one week of the year and it was heaven.  We didn’t have to rise at 5 A.M. -hospital sisters even earlier than that.  (Well, there is such a gold mine about life at St. Hilary’s that I won’t write of it here.  There is just too much.)

We were to go home from St. Hilary’s on this particular Last Wednesday (when we had Chapter of Faults, where we asked pardon for any inconvenience caused by loud noises, forgetfulness, carelessness, but nothing in the realm of conscience).  Gabriel was lamenting an event that would crown the evening of our arrival home.  All day she went around bemoaning, “I have no matter” (meaning:  nothing to declare).  Well, around 2 P.M. she came to the group swinging her broken pocket watch saying, “I have matter.”

Gabriel and Consolata were wonderful about attending plays, musicals, and especially games in which the girls were participants.  However, Gabriel was shocked with my sister and me when we were putting on a little opera: “Amahl and the Night Visitors.” She finally let us know her objection.  She thought it was “A mol and her night visitors” and she thought it was a strange thing for our girls to be involved in a musical about illicit activities.  She came to the opera and loved it.  She had a way of remembering little phrases of any production and repeating them at appropriate times.

The MAA (Mercy Athletic Association) loved these two sisters, Gabriel and Consolata.  They were the biggest fans at every game.  Later, Consolata became the Vice Principal and she dealt with the Student Body Officers.  She was wonderful with them and they could do no wrong.  They took over one of the rooms on the Fourth Floor.  Just to get up to the forbidden Fourth Floor was worth all the time put in this rather thankless job.

Consolata

I have just one incident to add about Consolata and it occurred at the end of her life.

Marguerite and I were giving a retreat to retired Holy Cross sisters in Ventura.   One morning I related a dream that I had the night before.  I am so glad that I told Marguerite this dream at breakfast because I don’t think anyone would have believed me.

In my dream Consolata had died.  I went to her room (in my dream it was Room 268 in Mercy Center).  Consolata opened the door; she looked very calm, but she told me she was not ready to die.  I came back a little later.  She opened the door and I swear the room had a goldish color.  She said, “I’m ready.”  She didn’t say it in a dramatic way – just as a matter of fact.

Well, that was my dream.  Marguerite and I laughed over the fact that Consie had not been ready.  (She always had unfinished projects all over the house and the school.)

The extraordinary happening was that after that breakfast, around noon, we received a phone call telling us that Consie had just died.  Now she was still ok at the time of my dream.  She had been on retreat and she drove two sisters (one of them was Maggie Hoey and I don’t remember the other).  She was having difficulty driving but made it to the carport.  She got out of the car, sat on the bench and died.

Both Nelson girls came to an abrupt earthly end.  Both died of a heart attack, Consolata on a bench outside the carport and Gabe on the first day of school as she was preparing the History Resource Center for the arrival of the girls. 

Both sisters were characters and they were our good friends.