Wednesday, September 22, 2010
2nd Grade, 1957
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Ursuline Sisters at Ascension: The first 50 years
Written in 1962 for the 50th Anniversary of Ascension School
Four years after Ascension Parish was formed, Father McDevitt recognized the ever growing need for a school, so he made a trip to Springfield, Illinois to talk over his problems and ideas with Mother Paul Nagle, Superior of the Order of St. Ursula, a semi-cloistered order of nuns with an outstanding reputation as teachers.
“Mother,” he said half apologetically, “I need some teachers. I have a new Parish in Oak Park, a Chicago suburb. Already we have many children and no school and you know how my Archbishop feels about that. The only thing we really have at Ascension is a debt. So your sisters wouldn’t have many comforts. I don’t want to deceive you. It isn’t the best situation in the world. But I will tell you one thing: we have good Catholics and you and your sisters will have the great satisfaction of helping make their children even better Catholics.”
Father McDevitt's words must have impressed Mother Paul. Simply, and with the calmness which seems reserved for the religious, she unfolded her clasped hands and said: “How many Sisters will you need, Father, and how soon?”
On the first Sunday of September 1912, Mother Raphael Armstrong, newly appointed Mission Superior and Principal of Ascension, arrived in Oak Park with her four companions, Mother Genevieve St. John, Mother Fidelis Sams, Sister Aloysius McGrath and Sister Johanna. When registration was completed 240 chilrden were on the first roll of Ascension students and all eight grades were to be in operation.
Living quarters for the sisters were in makeshift rooms on the upper floor of the combined church and school building. Within three years the growing enrollment made it necessary to provide separate living facilities for the sisters. The old Phoenix Clubhouse on Scoville Ave. (once the temporary location of the Church and not the K of C clubhouse) became the new home for the Ursulines.
The sight of this group of black robed nuns walking the three blocks to the school became a familiar one to south Oak Parkers. Neither the summer’s heat nor the winter’s chill could bring a word of complaint from the Ursulines. Six years passed before the Parish was able to purchase a building for the Sisters directly opposite the site of the present Church, and the famous “Bridge of Sighs” was erected later to join the two frame buildings into a single unit. The present beautiful and still modern Convent was erected by Monsignor Cummings in 1940 and due to his farsightedness it provides even now for all the needs of the greatly enlarged community, presently numbering 21 Ursulines.
In the hearts of all of us who have had the advantages of Ursuline education and training for ourselves, for our children and now for our grandchildren, there is a never-ending font of gratitude to thise hold and dedicated women – OUR Sisters – The Ursulines.
Christmas memories
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| Kindergarten class, Christmas, 1945 |
What a magical time it was during the Advent days before Christmas. Every single kid was excited with the prospect of a Christmas vacation: but equally important was the way in which we celebrated it at school. Each corner of the hallway had a wreath mounted about 8 feet high with lighted candles. I was in the choir and our high falsetto voices could be heard wafting into the school when we practiced in the choir loft next door: O Come O Come Emanuel, O little Town of Bethlehem and Adeste Fidelis.
The school would hold a craft fair in the Pine Room so we could buy just the right gift for Mom. As Christmas approached you could feel the excitement in the air. Walking to school in the hard packed snow and hearing the crunch as it was compressed with each footstep made by your galoshes. Getting out of school at the end of the day and walking the several blocks home to the 500 block of south Elmwood; staring at the Christmas lights and trees on every single house you passed, your breath passing your eyes every few steps. You would walk along with friends or if I was lucky I might get a ride from Mrs. O'Connor in their big blue Chrysler limo with jump seats. More often than not you would hitch on the bumper of a car for amusement. Many times I had to accompany my little sister Nancy on these walks to make sure she arrived safely; as if there would be a problem in Oak Park during those times. Everyone looked out for each other.
The culmination for me was at Midnight Mass. We all wore the vestments and we actually had a trumpet accompanying the organist. The manger was set up on the side of the church and I can still see the worn and weathered wise men, sheep and cow. On that night the baby Jesus was placed in the crib.
It is in grade school that you really "grew up" so to speak. Staring out the window or at the blonde hair of the little girl in front of me in wonderment took up most of my time. The education must have entered my brain by osmosis. But by magic the nuns did educate you; like it or not. Bad memories you tend to put away in the back of your mind, but the good ones, the ones at good ole Ascension Grade School are indelible.
John Tourtelot '61
Molly's Candy Store
On Harrison Street , between Wesley and Clarence Avenues, was a little store named Wallace's, but we all called it Molly's. Molly Wallace was an old widow who owned the store, and she lived in an apartment behind the storefront. It was a small neighborhood grocery store, sort of a relic of the old days before supermarkets; she stocked some canned goods and boxed goods, and she even had a meat cooler in there. I suppose some people from nearby apartment buildings came in to buy those things when they were in a pinch. But we went to Molly's for the penny candy.
All the neighborhood kids knew Molly's; we'd stop in on the way to and from Ascension school, and trade our pennies for various little candies and gum she had on display in a large glass case. In the warmer weather the entry door was always open, except for the wooden-framed screen door that swung closed behind you with a slap. Then you'd walk down five heavily worn wooden steps to the worn wooden floor of the store, and in about the time it took to count to 8, Molly would emerge from a back door that separated the store from her apartment.
She had an antique manual cash register sitting on a marble counter to the right, and to the left was an equally antique glass case in which she displayed the candy in small glass bowls-- Sputniks and MaryJanes and Red Hot Dollars; Sixlets, Smarties, SweetTarts, Necco Wafers, Flying Saucers, Twizzlers, Dots (the little candy drops that were dried onto a length of what resembled adding machine tape)... and, of course, Candy Tabs. Candy Tabs were little rectangular candies that fit into Pez dispensers. The official Pez candy cost a nickel, but you could fill your Pez dispenser with Candy Tabs for a penny. Such a deal.
During the summer Molly also sold popsicles and ice cream bars, which she kept in a floor-size freezer next to the candy counter. The freezer had four top-opening doors, which were usually covered by little display boxes of penny candy that she couldn't fit into the candy case. When someone asked for a Pop-Ice or a Choc-O-Malt, Molly would have to move the boxes of Lik-M-Aid and Fizzies and about 4 flavors of Candy Tabs to open up the freezer. Then as she opened one of those freezer doors, the cool smoke would come billowing upward and Molly would disappear into the fog to retrieve the chosen item. It was a summer ritual, repeated many times a day.
"Thank God for the kids," Molly once said to one of the parents. "If it weren't for them, I wouldn't be able to pay my rent." The old neighborhood market was a thing of the past, and it was only the pennies and nickels of the school children that enabled her to eke out a living. But Molly earned every penny she got.
When a large, noisy group of children came in all at once, it was common to hear Molly say, "All right, where's the fire? One at a time!" And the kids would form a single-file line along the candy counter to wait their turn. Molly would carefully unfold a miniature brown paper grocery bag, into which she would place each kid's candy choices, which weren't always rattled off so quickly. Sometimes kids can take a long time to decide what's the best value for their penny. And sometimes the kid didn't know the name of a particular kind of candy-- he'd merely point toward the candy and say, "One of those," and Molly would play "20 Questions" with him until she deduced which kind of candy he was pointing at. Looking back on it, she had an amazing amount of patience.
Some of the older kids, though, would go into the store for a little amusement at Molly's expense. I remember seeing one kid go in and pick 3 cents' worth of candy, and then hand Molly a $10 bill just to watch her get flustered. Another time, an older boy kept asking for certain kinds of candy, and then changed his mind a half dozen times after she had already loaded up the bag. He also asked for a popsicle, and after she had moved all the candy off the top of the freezer and dug it out for him, he suddenly had a change of heart and decided he didn't want it after all. That was the last straw, and Molly threw him out of the store empty handed. He whined back to her through the screen door in a sing-song voice, "Aw, gee, what's the matter, Molly?" And old Molly bounded up the steps yelling, "You mind your P's and Q's, sonny!" I made my candy choices quickly, paid exact change, and left quietly after that.
I was in high school when Molly finally decided to close the store and retire to Fond du Lac , Wisconsin . A couple of the grade school moms and their kids organized a "Molly Appreciation Parade" for her before she left; they paraded around the neighborhood carrying thank-you banners and signs, and the whole entourage ended up in front of her store, where they gave her some little gifts and a lot of good wishes. And with that, our childhood had officially come to an end. In many ways I feel sorry for the young children of today -- that their childhood experience will never have included the wonder of a little neighborhood penny candy shop, or a kindly old lady like Molly.
Mark Sobie
Ascension School class of 1974
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