Priests, Nuns and Staff

Monsignor Burns was basically the boss. At least, the nuns all deferred to him. He was a nice enough guy, I suppose…if one was white. But my main memory of him was from 1964, when he announced from the pulpit of the Cathedral during Mass that he would never, never, integrate the parish schools! Of course, next year, they were, anyway.

Oh, one other memory: Eddie Drozd (Coach Drozd's son) and I were the only guys in class with (or who could grow) sideburns. When we were about to graduate, Sister Philip Joseph ordered us to shave them off. I went over her head to Monsignor Burns, who granted us permission to retain our sideburns; and Sister Philip Joseph relented.

Monsignor John P. Burns was pastor at the Cathedral while it was being built. He was proud of the fact that his birthday was March 17—the feast day of St Patrick. We always had that day off from school but had to put on a sensational performance for him at the Lyceum next to CPS. To be honest I suppose it was the nuns sucking up to him, but he never objected.

Father Bluett was sent to Florida in 1963 and initially served at St. Charles Borromeo Parish, which would become the cathedral for the new Diocese of Orlando in 1968, before coming to St. Augustine. He went on to serve seven bishops and several parishes. He became a monsignor, and had a long and dedicated career in the Diocese of Orlando, before he retired after six decades of service.

However, my memory of Father Bluett was the time they separated the boys and girls to tell us about, um, um…sex. And little gay me had to sit there and listen to him tell us boys how masturbation was a sin.

Father Julien had to be one of the nicest guys alive. My primary experience with him was at what is now called the Marywood Retreat and Conference Center, on the banks of the St. Johns River. In my first few years after graduation, I continued to be active in the Church and Father Julien had me help him out with various organizational chores before it opened for the season.

Father O'Flaherty was the priest who said Masses at the Shrine of LaLeche and out at San Sebastián where he was starting that parish. He was very funny with a typical Irish humor!

Sister Philip Joseph was the principal of the school my senior year. She was a short woman who made herself seem larger via attitude and voice. I imagine this was in self-defense, given that we teenage boys could get pretty unruly.

That said, she and I got along pretty well. And, thanks to her, I got to spend almost no time in actual classes, as, in addition to being the high school yearbook photographer, I was also the A/V guy so if I wasn't taking photos, I was projecting movies in the auditorium.

Sister Mary Daniels taught English and creative writing, but not to me. I doubt if I ever spoke to her. She looks pleasant enough, though.

Mrs Harris was the school secretary. She pretty much lived in a little enclosed cubicle near the school's front door. It was she who handed me my tuition bill each month to take home to my mom.

Sister Mary Victor taught Spanish. Funny thing about Spanish. Like all the other students, I had taken Latin I as a freshman, and Latin II as a sophomore. That satisfied the state's language requirements at the time. But I found I really enjoyed Latin, and wanted to learn Spanish. The normal progression would have been taking Spanish I my junior year, and Spanish II my senior year. However, there was a timing conflict between Spanish I and some required class in my junior year. So, when I signed up for Spanish I as a senior, I got called into the principal's office. You can't just take Spanish I as a senior, Sister Philip Joseph insisted. It won't do you any good. You need two years of high school Spanish for it to do you any good getting into college.

However, she had a solution. I was dubious, but I guess it worked out okay. She signed me up for Spanish I and Spanish II concurrently.

Now, if I hadn't already taken Latin, this would have been pointless. I'd have surely failed Spanish II. But Spanish evolved from Latin and has many similarites, especially in grammar. So it worked out in the end. And although I'll never be able to read One Hundred Years of Solitude in the original Spanish, at least I can be polite to people and ask for the restroom.

Sister Teresa Carmel was the school librarian. Although I was familiar enough with how libraries work having being going to them since I was in fifth grade, and so didn't require much help, she was always pleasant and the library was always in great shape. And guess what: No banned books back then! This was where I first encountered the Churchward book on Lemuria.

I believe Sister Paulinus taught typing, which I fortunately didn't take, as that method of typing turned out to cause carpel tunnel syndrome. It's funny, because, as it turned out, I have made a living typing in at least two different careers. But no carpel tunnel syndrome!

She had been principal of the school in my previous years. I'm not sure why she stepped down my senior year.

And then there's Sister Fabian, our senior homeroom teacher. Oh my. We were cruel to her, hopefully not to her face but as far as I know she was known throughout the school as Fat Fabe and it wasn't utterly without cause. To give you an idea, our school building, made of poured concrete some 60 years before, developed cracks in the concrete floor in front of the senior room door, during the course of the senior year, that hadn't been there before, and no other room had.

And, speaking of that door, when Sister Fabian entered, she had to very deftly swing her body sideways as she entered, because she was too wide to go straight through.

But here's the kicker. A couple years after graduation, I came back to St. Joe as a teacher myself, teaching choir. And I was sitting with the principal at that time, who told me that, the year after I graduated, Sister Fabian took over the reigns of the school yearbook from Sister St. Charles. Now, I hadn't really thought about it, but the yearbooks cost money—but not as much as we were charged. In other words, the yearbook turned a profit, which of course would normally be turned over to the school. But apparently one day Sister Fabian went to the bank, withdrew all the yearbook money, flew to Europe, and was never seen or heard from again.

So I guess she had the last laugh!

I've spoken of Sister Marie, who changed her name our senior year from her previous unfortunate choice of Sister Concepta. She taught the sciences, and also English. Except for one disagreement (she accused me of making up what was actually a true story for an assignment), we got along great. She was really good at explaining scientific concepts. I mean, thanks to her I kind of understand electron shells; and how many people can say that?

Sister St Charles, in addition to being the yearbook editor, taught religion and was also our classmate Dianna Bishop's aunt…which, presumably, is why Dianna became yearbook editor. Sister St. Charles also taught religion; and her catchphrase, delivered every time one of us asked a tough question (like, if Adam and Eve were the first humans, how did their kid Cain move away and get married?), she would half-close her eyes as if in ecstasy and utter joyously, It can't be known! As if that were the point!

Mrs. Shultz taught freshmen English. She had just come to the school so I had no interaction with her.

I really wasn't crazy about Coach Drozd when I had him as a teacher. Lots of things—the time he forced my leg to straighten, which sent me to the doctor with an inflamed tendon; or the time after graduation, when I was teaching choir, that he informed the kids in one of his classes that I was a warlock—it got back to the principal, and I had to explain I wasn't, and had no clue as to why he would think, much less say, such a thing.

But he also worked hard with me in phys ed, especially in those things you do while hanging from pipes and stuff. And he did give me the job as football cinematographer, which got me a team letter and sweater which I certainly would never otherwise have had. So I have to say, my feelings about Coach have warmed considerably through the years.

Sister Francis Joseph was the guidance counselor. Bless her heart, I'm sure she was a lovely person but she really wasn't a good fit for that job. When I told her I wanted to become a film director, she told me to go to junior college but had no idea what classes I should take. The best advice in 1969 would have been UCLA, but I didn't know it existed and I don't know that she did, either.

She came to the classroom once with a paper to fill out in which we said what kind of work we might like. My classmate, Danny Guidi, wrote that he wanted to become a garbageman; and she didn't get that it was a joke, and exhaustively went through with him all kinds of literature (that she must have ordered) on careers in waste management.

Or…did she? And that was her way of teaching him a lesson?

Alas, that would have been great but I never saw any evidence of that level of awareness, let alone cleverness.

St Joe was also a girls' boarding school, and Sister St. Anthony ran their dining room and the snack bar for the rest of us.