School day reflections

Rick Wimer

CHAPTER 1

Contributor Rick Wimer has written a lengthy piece on his many memories from attending St. Mary’s School in Storm Lake. So many details, and we couldn’t bear to cut any of them out, so we have divided it into two sections. Here is the first….

I attended Storm Lake St. Marys from 1954, graduating with the Class of 1963. There were so many great, life shaping, cherished memories that even this narrative can’t describe them all. But here goes…

My mom, Alice Wimer, was a very staunch Catholic. It was imperative for her to see that all four of her kids grow up and practice the Catholic faith. My journey of faith started in Ute, where I was baptized and received my first Holy Communion.

My most vivid early memory took place at the Catholic School in Charter Oak, six miles east of Ute, participating in catechism classes. I’m not sure what age I was on the first day of class, but the moment I walked into the classroom I was horrified. 

At that point in my life, I had never seen a nun. There, all in black, I thought she was a monster. I screamed and broke out crying incessantly. Someone took me out into the hall until I calmed down. At the suggestion to go back into the classroom and face the monster, I asked to go to the restroom which turned out to be an outhouse in the courtyard. Once, inside and hooking the door shut, my brilliant little mind surmised that I didn’t have to come out and they couldn’t get in unless I unhooked the door.  

In spite of numerous attempts to get me to come out, I remained steadfast until someone came to pick me up and take me home to Ute. I do not recall how or when I was able to overcome my fear, but I was able to finish the course and was able to answer that first question, “Who made you?” and many more.

‘I always wanted to have a voice like him’

Flash forward to age nine when we moved to Storm Lake. My mom was thrilled about the presence of St. Mary’s and eagerly enrolled us all. Sadly, about two months after our arrival, my “rock,” my whole world, my “mom,” passed away unexpectedly.  I was devastated. I’m sure that without her love, attention, guidance and direction, I often times stumbled growing up at St. Mary’s.

On my first day of school at St Mary’s, I’m sure one of my sisters Sandy or Carol walked with me the six-seven blocks from our home in the 300 block of West Third Street. I recall tentatively entering the north entrance of the grade school, up a small flight of stairs and making a quick U-turn into the grade school principal’s office. A new life experience had begun. Mom would have been so happy at that moment.

My grade school memories are a bit fuzzy. I’m sure I attended classes learning the Three Rs, the fourth “R” religion, science, history and more.  I believe Sisters Mary Agnes, Bernadine, Denise and Alexander, along with Fathers McFadden and McCoy and a lay teacher Dorothy Schmitt were grade school teachers.

Fr. McFadden gave my mom’s last rites. Fr. McCoy officiated my sister Sandy’s marriage to Bob Pigott. Monsignor Ivis was there but not as prevalent until high school. Fr. McFadden often visited our classroom and would always sing an awesome Irish lullaby “Oh Danny Boy” before he left. He had a wonderful Irish tenor voice, and I always wanted to have a voice like him, but that never happened. 

Miss Schmitt, while I don’t remember what she taught in the seventh grade, did play the Yankee-Dodger World Series Games during our classes with her. The Yankees won four games to three.  How cool was that? I recall Mrs. Steinkamp at the lunch counter and peanut butter and honey sandwiches.

They thought I would be a cab driver

On  the stage in the lunchroom, I recall a skit by the outgoing eighth graders predicting what we seventh graders would grow up to be. I was to be a cab driver which I remember taking exception to. Why not a doctor or a lawyer or a teacher like other classmates? I recall a point in the future when, as the director of operations of a national property management company, flying on a private plane and being picked up by a limousine at each stop on my annual inspection of multiple sites, a bit sarcastically, thinking that this was somewhat better than being a cab driver. I have always enjoyed a good challenge!

High school was much more memorable. First, Monsignor Ivis taught world religion, the first class of the day in my freshman year. Based on his reputation, I can’t explain when I fell asleep in his class, why there were never any repercussions for doing so.  However, I sense that as I was his early morning Register paper boy and also his alter boy, occasionally at seven o’clock Mass, he cut me some slack.

He taught me just how exact and precise I was to be performing my duties as an altar boy and provided a lot of one-on-one explanations of the Mass which at that time was all in Latin. He was a very stout man and a purported former boxer. While it never happened to me, there were tales about other guy students getting physically lambasted by him in a hallway for being unruly or disrespectful to the nuns.

I was always just a bit apprehensive of him, even when I served at his Mass. I recall twice hearing the deacon announce that he could not make it to Sunday mass because he had hit a cow with his car and was unable to get there. I understand he was a bonafide demon behind the wheel. He also predicted in class that California would someday slide off into the Pacific Ocean and that Russia was going to send a rocket full of germs to the United States that would eventually wipe out all Americans, making it easy for them to take over our country.

I remember “Puffer”

Coach John Murray, who taught social studies and bookkeeping was one of my paper route customers along with being my track and baseball, my basketball coach where I became the best of two greatest of all time (GOAT) bench warmers, the second being Al Steinkamp.

I have a picture of us at one of our five-year reunions, sitting approximately in the same spots on the bleachers with the Panther emblazoned on the wall behind us that his daughter captioned, “Still sitting on the bench.” At one home game during half time when the team was not playing well and were unruly and raising cane when coach entered the dressing room, in his frustration, he kicked a duffel bag on the floor, only to have it fly up and hit him in the head. Dead silence!

On an away game when we were behind by 25 points at Danbury Catholic, Coach Murray put Al and I in to play the last five minutes of the game. I am sure I set an all-time St. Mary’s team record. Turns out, I may have been a bit uncoordinated and a touch bit overweight. So much so that running down the floor at full speed it was hard for me to stop. Subsequently, in those last few minutes of that game, sprinting from end to end, I would plow into members of the opposing team. My school record? I fouled out of the game within those five minutes. Nuff said!

Coach Murray had a nickname — “Puffer.” While I never knew why, it was explained to me that, when he was standing, listening and preparing to speak in either the classroom or at halftime of a game, he would sort of fill his cheeks with air and would “puff” out the first word of his following statement.

I was sitting directly in front of him during one bookkeeping class, when he made a very prophetic future prediction.  While at the time only the Diners Card existed and American Express had just begun, he predicted that in the future, rather than using cash or checks, Americans would make the majority of their day-to-day payments and purchases with a plastic card. Amazing. Little did he know that someday we could also do the same with, nor could he even fathom, a cell phone.

Incidentally, while I was a disaster in math classes, I enjoyed and got good grades in bookkeeping that would bode well for me in my future career.

Sr. Mary Vincent throughout my high school year taught numerous classes: algebra one and two, geometry, biology, physics and geology, that I recall. Her classroom demeanor, while not harsh, was demanding and earnest. No goofing around in her classes. I was a train wreck in algebra, geometry and physics (just couldn’t capture X and Y, nor the essence of the Pythagorean Theory and had no aspirations of being the next Einstein) Biology (loved dissecting the frogs) was my favorite with a nod to geology. 

If she was unhappy with your performance or classroom demeanor, you could most assuredly count on getting a knuckle tap on your head, forehead, shoulder or hand; nothing painful, but certainly attention-getting. She was a great teacher. I got A and B grades in biology and geology, not so much in the other classes. In fact, there may have been an occasional, incomplete, D and one F that I recall, but Sr. Vincent allowed my to make them up.  

Sr. Mary Sarita was the high school principal. While I do not recall her teaching a class, I do remember various interactions with her. First of all, I was notorious for being late for school and also for skipping a day of school now and then. There were days that I was delayed by the weather completing my paper route and couldn’t get to school on time.  Other days, I tried to take a brief nap after my route or .007 a.m. altar boy duty and quite frankly overslept. On yet other days, I just didn’t feel like getting there on time. Also, quite frankly there were days that I just didn’t want to go to school, so I didn’t.

On these occasions I forged my dad’s signature on a note of excuse to give to Sr. Sarita before I could go to class. I occasionally got a small but stern lecture from her. But throughout high school, at these times, we often had very pleasant encouraging interchanges together. She was always present each day being supportive, as were all the other sisters.P.S. I don’t think that, even once, she believed that it was my dad’s signature.

My first writing triumph

Sr. Mary Ignatius taught English and speech. She was small in stature. Her classes were very organized and expedient. She was stern but gentle. She often got harassed and abused by upper classmen. Once, one of them — a real jerk whose name I will not divulge — took her syllabus off her desk and held it above his head and ran around the classroom with her chasing him. 

While I thought it was very cruel and disrespectful, over the years, I occasionally chastised myself for not doing anything to stop it. While I may not have realized it at the time and for years to come, Sr. Ignatius played a part in my love for writing and whatever skill I may have. She gave a homework assignment that required us to write about a topic of our choosing that we would each have to read in class the following day.

For whatever reason, I arrived at class having nothing completed. Alphabetically, by last name, as my classmate read theirs, and as a “W,” in a state of panic, I started writing.  Working at the Bradford Hotel and admiring and observing the daily actions of the Manager, Mr. Ahrens: I wrote what I call “A Day in the life of a Hotel Manager” describing in detail everything I saw him do and how he interacted with people from my perspective. I completed it just as it was my turn to read. 

Once read, Sr. Ignatius, paused momentarily, then asked “what magazine did you copy that from?” While I don’t remember my response, if any, it left somewhat an indelible mark in my subconscious, that along with another episode while taking a writing class in college ultimately got me into writing, but not until years later. 

So, any time someone complements my writing, I flash back to the moment Sr. Ignatius asked “the” question and give her full thanks and credit for whatever skill and enjoyment that it provides me.

Sr. Mary Dominica, our music teacher, was my all-time favorite. I loved singing anytime and anywhere I could, whether it was delivering papers, at Boy Scout Camp or just singing in our bathtub. I was in the high school choir boy’s double duet with Jim Knebel and the musicals that she put on every school year. 

In my freshman year my voice was soprano and much better than most of the girls. I thought once it changed, and it did, I would have an awesome tenor voice like Father McFadden. While I ended up a tenor, I disappointedly never had the full range that he did. Nevertheless, I just loved singing! I also greatly enjoyed every meeting with her individually. She taught me how to read music. She was always so patient and positive and I’m sure passed that trait on to me for future use.

To be continued…