Christmas was over. The New Year, 1950, was ushered in to blasts of fire whistles, horns, and the pop of an occasional firecracker. Now we waited it out through cold mornings and dreary days until the spring thaw.
Every cold January morning grudgingly gave way to the heat of a stoked fire and a fresh charge of black diamonds. As heat gathered in the belly of the furnace, we’d stake out positions near a grate or radiator. Sitting on chairs brought in from the kitchen, we warmed our hands and feet while socks, shoes, and even corduroys and shirts were spread on the grating to capture heat. Warm clothes felt good on a cold morning, and soon we forgot the frigid air that had greeted us just minutes earlier.
Once dressed, all were welcomed into the kitchen for a hearty, stick-to-the-ribs breakfast of oatmeal or cream of wheat. Then we’d bolt out the side door ready to take on the world.
St. Matthew’s School
In the 1940s and ’50s, St. Matthew’s School had four classrooms — all on the first floor. On the second floor was a hall or auditorium with a stage used for special occasions like Christmas or Thanksgiving. Restrooms were in the basement, with the girls’ room on the “convent side” and the boys’ room on the 12th St. side. Each classroom housed two grades — first and second together, third and fourth together, etc. The lower four grades were on one side of the hallway, and the upper four grades were on the other.
Anytime we had a chance — like when we got there early on a cold January morning — we’d venture across the hall to have a look into these “upper” classrooms. They were much different from the one to which I was confined. The blackboards seemed larger, and the alphabet above was in “cursive” — not block letters. There were maps of the world at one end of a blackboard. And there was a world globe sitting on top of a bookcase that held a whole set of about twenty-five or thirty red books. Even the desks were different. They were larger, had fold-down seats, were bolted to the floor, and had room under the desktop to hold books. We could hardly wait until the day we’d move across the hall.
Once, on a really-cold day, Sister Theodore rang the bell, but hardly anyone heard it. She was so cold that day she wore a heavy, black woolen shawl over her habit and coat, and the bell was muffled somewhere under the layers.
February Approaches
I really liked the second month for a few reasons: (1) we almost always had a lot of snow, (2) school was closed for either Washington’s or Lincoln’s birthday, (3) my birthday was during the third week and, (4) even if Lent came early and I missed out on birthday cake, we still had candy on St. Valentine’s Day.
February was a festive month in our classroom. Pictures of Washington and Lincoln hung on the walls. Streamers of red, white, and blue connected the pictures, along with evenly spaced American flags with thirteen or forty-eight stars. We read of the felled cherry tree and a boy who “could not tell a lie.” We also heard of the youngster in Springfield, Illinois who walked miles to return a penny to a store customer.
The Heart Cards
The Sister distributed red construction paper to each of us to “create” something special for our mothers. We were told to fold the paper in half lengthwise. Next, we had to draw a teardrop shape on the outside half. Using sharp scissors, we then cut out the teardrop shape without unfolding the paper. We unfolded the paper and — voilà! — it was a heart.
We learned that St. Valentine was martyred for his faith during the early days of the church. Other people also were special, and we often sent them Valentine cards. I remember sending one to Aunt Gert, but I was too embarrassed to sign my name and I didn’t deliver it in person. It cost only two cents for the postage as long as I didn’t seal it.
In our classroom, we also exchanged cards. The five-and-ten had packages of cards for twenty-nine cents. On 10th St., the left-front window of Gardner’s candy store was filled with red, heart-shaped boxes adorned with bows and flowers and filled with chocolates. Scattered among the boxes were tiny multicolored candy hearts with little sayings like “Oh you guy,” “Sweet thing,” “Bee mine,” and “Hubba hubba.”
Mailboxes
Around the 10th of the month we were told it was time to get our “mailboxes” ready. We attached a brown paper poke (the kind we used to carry lunch) to the side of our desk with scotch tape. With a little luck, mine would be filled with cards from the five-and-ten by Valentine’s Day. We weren’t allowed to take out any cards until the 14th. On the 11th, it was empty — darn! The 12th came and still nothing. Everyone hated me; I just knew it!
Finally, the 14th came. Out came the Valentine cards and onto the desks. I got a couple of cards that were animated. There was a slit with a paper tab protruding, and when you pulled the tab, a cartoon figure tipped his hat or a dog sat up.
I spread them out and began to count: one, two, three … fifteen, sixteen. Wait a minute! There are eighteen kids in this classroom, and no one’s out sick. Two people must hate me!
I really felt bad, but my disappointment was quickly erased by the presence of pink frosted cupcakes and apple juice.
When lunchtime came, most of us bolted through the door out into the bitter cold. When we got back from lunch, the school doors were locked. That seemed strange. As I ran by our classroom window, I glanced up and saw a couple of the big kids inside.
Settling in at my desk, I began to finger through the small pile of Valentine cards when we were told to put the cards back in our “mailboxes.” As I put mine away, I noticed a small cardboard box of candy hearts on the bottom of the bag. It was just like the ones at Gardner’s, and everyone in our room had one. We looked at one another, wondering how they got there. The mystery was solved when we were told why the doors were locked at lunchtime. Those big kids from across the hall made “special deliveries” to each of our mailboxes.
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