My Life In St. Anne's Orphanage--Part Two

(Continued from a previous post) The die was cast. My mother packed my little suitcase and I was off to St. Anne's. I can't recall now but we must have gotten there by trolley because we had no car during the war with the gas rationing and all. We would have had to take two trolleys: one down to City Hall and the second one down through Kelly Square and up Vernon Hill to St Anne's Orphanage which was off in a field at that time. I recall seeing all these stern looking ladies dressed all in black with "white bibs" and rosary beads (I knew what they were) dangling from their sides walking around the place. After my mother left, I was assigned a bed amidst a sea of beds in a dormitory. I had never seen a dormitory in my life and was scared to death that I wouldn't find it again. I can't recall now what happened to my suitcase of clothing, but my first memory after the dorm is being in a formation of children and marching off to supper. For the next two weeks, we MARCHED everywhere! I did not do anymore marching like this until I entered the United States Army 13 years later. We ate as I recall at rather long wooden tables with benches. The tables were covered with what we called "oilcloth" The nuns dished out the food to you. I do recall breakfast vividly because it was so different from what I was used to at home. We had corn flakes or something like that every day that I was there. There was no sugar bowl on the table. I thought that very odd at the time because I always put my own sugar in my cereal. However, I am sure the nuns did not want a bunch of kids spilling sugar all over the floor so they mixed the sugar in with the milk and put it in pitchers. As a kid it took me a while to figure this out. There may have been another explanation for no sugar on the table. We had "ration books" at home and you needed a ration book with a stamp to buy sugar when you could get sugar. It was very scarce. The nuns probably put Caro syrup into those pitchers.
After breakfast, a group of us all still dressed in pajamas were MARCHED with a lovely nun in front to a room that was quite large. The room had two prominent features that I can picture in my mind to this day: It had a highly polished parquet floor and a lovely statue of the Blessed Virgin at one end. The nun at the head of the line blocked the door and as each of us squeezed by her she handed us two small pieces of felt. I had no idea what I was supposed to do with these pieces of felt until I watched the other children who were well schooled in the routine. I soon found out why the parquet floor was so highly polished. It was because these children took these two pieces of felt and put them under their two feet and shuffled in a circular pattern around and around that room all the time polishing that floor!! This routine was done EVERY MORNING for the two weeks that I spent in the orphanage under the watchful eye of the Blessed Virgin!
I went to bed that first night in that gigantic room full of boys with that nun sitting in a chair under that dim light at the end of the room. I remember how strange it felt to sleep in a bed by myself because at home I had to sleep with one of my brothers. This was indeed scary--too many people,and all strangers. I remember thinking that I had not seen hide nor hair of Jeanny Benoit or an ORANGE. I was also hoping that my mother would come and get me out of this place. I finally fell asleep.
The next morning I woke up before anyone else. I got out of bed and the lady in black way across the room motioned to me with her arm. I thought she was telling me TO KNEEL DOWN AND SAY MY PRAYERS!, so I kneeled down beside the bed and started to pray! The lady in black made a beeline for me! I could see her coming! I prayed faster! When she got to me, she told me to get back in bed; it was too early to get up. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph as my mother used to say, this was only one day into my ordeal and how in the world was I going to make two weeks!! The hell with the oranges. Right now, I didn't care if I ever saw another orange. I just wanted OUT. (The next time I felt like this was my first day in the Army so this was great training at age 9.) I felt a little better once I was into the routine: the MARCH to breakfast with the other boys, the cereal with no sugar except mixed in the milk, the pieces of felt and the catatonic shuffle under the stare of the Blessed Virgin....and then a change. Do you know what? The ladies in black took us to Mass....but not without a little instruction for me first....(Hail Holy Queen Mother of Mercy, our life, our sweetness, and our hope... (TO BE CONTINUED)