(Some names have been changed.)
One of my fondest memories of my work life revolves around experiences teaching at St. Munificentia Roman Catholic School. It was wealthy. That is if you count gifts of the spirit, God’s love everpresent, and glorious hardwood floors, lovingly maintained wooden desks, doors with transom windows, and glowing radiators as richness. I do.
The school operated on the third floor of a sturdy red-brick parish social hall, in which the community of parishioners came to see movies in the early twentieth century, sitting in folding chairs in the cavernous first floor. “Third floor walk-up” had an entirely new meaning for a St. Munificentia teacher. Since children in elementary (or grammar) school grades need to be escorted everywhere by the teacher, we did a lot of up- and down-ing on those stairs. We called it the true fitness plan of the school.
This school was tiny in population and in square feet. Classes were multi-grade decades before it became fashionable. This was not due to any St. M. undisclosed research on educational benefits of combining ages. No, it was because there were only five classrooms serving nine grades. In this setting, the space for the administrative office was proportionately small. Actually, it was smaller than proportional. Most homes have powder rooms larger than our office.
The office contained a desk for the secretary and a desk for the principal, Mrs. Mary Kathleen O’Grady. One could walk in a mere three feet before colliding with the secretary’s desk. This was no business office-sized desk. It was wooden (of course) and about 33 inches wide. It reminded me of the desks that furniture stores sell for a child’s room. In front of it, a chair sat sideways for visitors to conduct their business. Behind it sat Téresita, the secretary.
Ah, Téresita! She was an angel with the mischievous gleam of the devil in her eye. Attractive and slender, dark-haired and perpetually smiling, she always seemed to have time for a few friendly words, regardless of her workload. Because of her inviting presence, she attracted visitors and confidences. Especially from men.
Thus, it is no surprise that on the appointed day for school pictures at St. M., the photographer, after checking in at the office, lingered. He was the familiar traveling school photographer we had used for several years running: an ambitious, trendy, single guy trying to make his way in the world and trying make his life sound bigger and better than what it was.
This was 1999. A certain medicine for older men had just become available to the American public and there was quite an advertising campaign pushing it into everyone’s awareness. Apparently, younger men were also intrigued by it.
Our photographer came to the office in the early afternoon. He was formally dressed, with tie and snazzy jacket. Evidently, he’d had an extraordinary experience with his morning Catholic school client and needed to spill it all to someone. Who better than our Téresita? As Principal O’Grady was not present, he felt free to confide.
It seems that this new medicine had so captivated his curiosity, that he was able to procure one pill. Not that he had any problems, mind you. However, he just wanted to know what it might accomplish in a healthy young man. He paused. This was too much temptation for our Téresita to resist. With a combination of sympathy and extreme interest, she egged him on to reveal the whole story. With total privacy prevailing, there was time for him to pour it out. And, of course, the reason the rest of us know it is because Téresita wickedly shared it all later.
The young fellow took the pill the evening prior to this work day. It worked very well. However, it continued to work for a very long time. So, as he prepared to go to his first client school, he needed an outfit that would provide “coverage.” Arriving with his photographic equipment, he was greeted by that school’s principal. She was a very elderly, veteran nun.
From what Téresita reported, I imagine this principal as round-faced and kindly, with eyeglasses and the VERY old-fashioned penguin habit: a floor-length black robe with a rosary swinging from her rope belt as she walked. I picture her with sensible thick-heeled quiet shoes. Gnarled competent hands. Someone who had lived with her sisters in Christ for the last 45 years and had watched with pride many a graduating class of 8th graders. Now she was greeting the photographer who would take the autumn school portraits.
Early autumn in the northeast is unpredictable. Some days are brisk; others are summer-like. To this man’s misfortune, it was already humid and hot that morning. As the nun welcomed him and guided him to the room he would use, he took care that his jacket was well-placed, prim, and proper looking. Classes were called. Individual and class portraits were begun. Very quickly, though, the photographer was roasting. Of course, the sister noticed his face and hands covered with beads of sweat and encouraged him to take off his jacket to get comfortable. Any reasonable person would have immediately complied.
However, conditions were not yet favorable. He had to thank her and decline, saying he was good, while it was quite obvious that he wasn’t. As the picture taking continued, all those little student bodies in a small space added to the temperature and moisture levels. Several more times, the principal urged him to remove his jacket and loosen his tie so as to be comfortable. Each time, he needed to create some sort of excuse and smile. He had a rough morning! Finally, he was done and, at the same time, coincidentally, so was the medication.
So, with this amazing story unburdened and the freedom to work in shirt-sleeves restored, our photographer went about his business at St. Munificentia. Later, after the students left, Téresita relished telling us the entire episode. The story itself was hilariously funny, but the idea that he told someone else was irresistibly riotous. Poor man. Little did he know that for every year thereafter, as he came to conduct photography business, we were enjoying this adventure of his which was absolutely NONE of our business!
