I’d always been fond of licorice - at least up until that day. The reason I had such a memorable experience that day back in 1947 started with the licorice.
In the late 1940’s our small Catholic parish in Pittsfield, Illinois, held its own Bible School for two weeks right after the public-school year ended. That meant the freedom from teachers and books and clean overalls and shoes was postponed two more weeks for us Catholic kids. My brother John and I suffered through two more dreadfully boring weeks, while Mom and Dad didn’t seem to appreciate how much we were needed at home on the farm. “But Dad, the corn planting isn’t finished, and the alfalfa hay down by the O’Connell barn needs to be baled,” we pleaded. Despite all our good reasoning and arguments, Mom hauled us off to Bible School each day.
So in my memory, I’m back in Bible School again. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Our days are made more miserable by the presence of some creepy kids we call the River Bottom Bullies who come from farms on the bottom land down by the Illinois River. They only come for free meals and to pick fights. They are a mean scraggy bunch, including the girls, who seldom come to church except for these two weeks in May. Our pastor, Father Scanlon, receives help from two Dominican Sisters who drive daily from Jacksonville to conduct the School. Ladies from church fix breakfast and lunch for all of us in the basement of our parish hall. These ladies prepare the meals that the River Bottom Bullies come for, especially the meanest of them all, Buddy Kemper.
Eight or so second graders are preparing for first communion down in the parish hall basement around the lunch tables with Sister Mary Joseph. They are learning how to go to communion properly and practicing for their first confessions. The rest of us file into the hall at ground level above them each morning and again after lunch. We listen to Sister Simeon scold us for not knowing our catechism when she isn’t leading us in endless repetitions of some Latin hymn. Sister Simeon’s measure of success for Bible School is how well and how loudly the hymns get sung at the First Communion Mass that caps off these two longest weeks ever.
On this eventful day, as soon as the lunch bell rings, I head for Franklin’s Five and Dime Store across from the courthouse about three blocks away. It’s worth missing lunch because I have taken 25 cents from my secret bank and know exactly how I’m going to spend it. On licorice! I glide up the alley behind the parish hall as stealthily as I can and onto the street that takes me to the store, making sure that no one sees me leave the grounds without permission. Once in the store, I go directly to the candy counter, give my order to Mr. Murphy, and boldly slap down my quarter. He seems to take forever until I realize that the quantity of licorice I can buy with 25 cents is more than I had expected. Not wanting to appear foolish I accept the large sack of licorice he hands me with an air of nonchalance as if I’ve been sent on a mission to buy licorice for everybody at Bible School. How is he to know that I have just squandered my precious 25 cents on more licorice than I can eat?
I cautiously return down the alley, enjoying handfuls of sweet fresh licorice. My only concern is where I am going to stash all the excess licorice I’m going to have left after filling my belly to the brim. As I stroll along I suddenly discover the powerful natural laxative effects of licorice. I have suddenly developed strong stomach cramps and an urgent need to go to the toilet, and I mean a big “number 2”! The situation is getting more urgent by the second. I need to go so bad my fingers tingle. Oh well, not to worry, the boy’s two-hole toilet is right behind the lilac bushes beside the alley, and I’m almost there.
But that’s when things get complicated.
As I approach the toilet, I realize the door is closed and the toilet is occupied, but not by someone who could be persuaded to hurry up. Instead, I can tell by the sounds coming from the toilet that several River Bottom Bullies are occupying the toilet. If they catch me alone they will delight in grabbing me and shoving my head into one of those holes. They have done this to one of the smaller kids earlier in the week, but no one dared to tell on them. I suspect they are smoking because this is the one place the smell of smoke is masked by the outhouse aroma. The Sisters hold their noses when picking peonies beside the nearby parish hall. Anyway, I have to make a fast decision about an alternative to the toilet.
This is not that difficult for a farm boy who’s had plenty of practice in the woods and pastures: carefully pick dry leaves or dry grass in advance to use. Never use leaves from vines, and despite their reputation, corncobs are a last resort. But here I am in town, not on the farm, in totally unfamiliar territory! Then I notice the large peony bushes beside the parish hall that will provide the privacy I need. And paper from the paper bag holding my licorice (which no longer has much appeal) will solve the second problem.
As I scurry out of sight behind the bushes, I get even luckier. There is a window well that I immediately drop into that guarantees me even better privacy. Ah - blessed relief.
Suddenly I hear the shrill scream of one of the first communion kids from down in the parish hall basement! I wonder what could be causing such distress. Then there comes another scream - and another. The crescendo of screams suddenly includes Sister Mary Joseph and a kitchen lady! My heart absolutely stops and my head about explodes, when I realize I am squatting in full sight of the first communion kids staring up in shock and horror at the window well as my private bodily functions perform in full display.
A rush of adrenalin makes every muscle in my body act as one giant sphincter snap! My legs propel me out of the window well, and I clear the peonies in one Superman leap. No one is in the alley, thank God, and I run for several blocks worth of alleys. Somehow I’ve gotten my overalls raised enough to run. My underwear finds a home under Uncle Jimmy McGinley’s woodpile, and the licorice is left scattered under the peony bush. I will never go back to claim it, that’s for sure.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That’s how I remember that day. Miraculously I didn’t get caught, and now I possess a secret to take to the grave. Everyone suspected Buddy Kemper; he was the kind of River Bottom Bully most likely to perform such a despicable act. He denied it so vehemently he practically cried. So some good did come out of this event; Buddy Kemper stayed on his best behavior for the rest of Bible School.
Meanwhile, the older kids convinced the first communion kids that witnessing such an awful act was a major sin that had to be described in detail in their first confession. I suspect that Father Scanlon almost lost his Irish temper as he listened to that story repeatedly, knowing that the first communion kids had been brainwashed by someone.
So it really turned out well. I gave the Sisters, the first communion kids, Father Scanlon, and the River Bottom Bullies, especially Buddy Kemper – something special to remember about Bible School that year. Ironically, I still like licorice… but only in moderation.
