Columnists |
Cover Story
from the November/December 2007 issue
Also in this issue of Faith: |
Written by Anne-Marie Welsh
When Juliana Dickant was a little girl growing up in Ridgway during the 1940s, one of the highlights of her week was the arrival of the diocesan newspaper, the Lake Shore Visitor.
“The first thing I did was look for the pictures of St. Joseph’s Home for Children and the sisters in the nursery holding the babies,” she remembers, the glow of the excitement still evident on her face more than 50 years later.
She entered the convent right out of high school, and within two years she was in Erie, overseeing the daily lives of 25 girls ages 3 to 5, referred to as the “baby girls,” at St. Joseph’s Home.
 |
“I loved every minute of it,” she says. “My heart would go out to these children because they didn’t have their moms and dads to kiss them goodnight.” (Of course, lining up for a goodnight kiss from the woman who had become Sister Perpetua became an important part of the evening ritual for her charges.)
After four years with the baby girls and another four or five with the junior girls, at last there was an opening in the nursery. Sister Perpetua transferred to the position and, sure enough, eventually found herself being photographed with the babies for the Lake Shore Visitor.
Sister Perpetua’s hard work and dedication—just like a parent, it was a 24/7, 365-day-a-year commitment—were exemplary. (The sisters gave up many a holiday visit with their own families and friends in order to create the best, most stable situation for the children.) But this is not really meant to be a story about Sister Perpetua. Nor is it meant to be the story of Father Ted Carter, who was brought to live at the home with his two brothers when he was just two. He stayed there through high school graduation, at which point he decided to enter the seminary. After ordination, he returned to the home as its chaplain, following in the footsteps of his mentor, Msgr. James Sperry.
|
They are simply two voices in a sea of thousands of children and adults whose lives were touched by the home founded and run by the Sisters of Saint Joseph in the Erie Diocese from 1865 until 1971. It is the story of a ministry that blossomed to meet the needs of its time, and then quietly stepped out of the way as the need diminished. It is also the story of selflessness and commitment, of courage and, most especially, of love.
Let’s be honest. In a sea of thousands of children whose personal stories involved significant pain and loss, it was not always smooth sailing. Two, three or four hundred children resided at the home at various times.
|
In the earliest days, some of the children at St. Joseph’s Home were orphaned due to the Civil War. Later on, many came from homes where disease had claimed the lives of one or both parents. Destitution also sometimes played a role. But by the time WWII approached, very few of the residents were orphans in the true sense of the word; instability in their family’s lives became the most likely reason they came to live at St. Joseph’s Home for Children.
“By the time I was working there in 1956, most of the children came from very difficult situations,” says Sister Perpetua. “But although the agencies involved and the home had all the histories and backgrounds, most of it was kept confidential. We were only told what we needed to know in order to help each child.”
The children who came to the home at the youngest ages naturally had an easier time of it. It was the only life they knew. Some felt it was a very structured life; others scratch their heads today, wondering how it all came together considering how loosely organized they felt it all was.
 |
“Somehow it all worked,” says Father Ted Carter, who recently retired from his last parish post as a senior associate at St. George Parish in Erie. “Having so many big brothers and sisters was a help,” he says. “And I know each of the sisters assigned to the home was hand-picked. If it wasn’t a good fit, they would return to a different ministry.”
Father Ted is among those who feel the home ran with the least amount of structure possible. “That’s why I always say it was right that they called it St. Joseph’s Home,” he explains. “Calling it an orphanage would have had a negative effect. It was called a home and that’s what the sisters really tried to make it.”
Again, let’s be honest. A hand-written schedule, in the perfect penmanship that could only belong to a sister, found in the archives at the Sisters of St. Joseph’s current motherhouse, reveals that the schedule was nothing, if not organized. Its light-hearted tone is also very telling, with personal comments interspersed among the daily routine:
“Five-thirty a.m.,” the schedule reads, “ding ding, rising bell. Six a.m., prayers and meditation. Six-thirty a.m., Mass and holy Communion. Seven a.m. get the children up. (Sister, where’s my belt? I can’t find my sock!)”
The schedule continues with breakfast, chores, arrival of the school bus, breakfast time for Sister at 8:30 and on and on until 8 p.m., when the note says “night prayers at last, bed time. ‘Goodnight and God bless you, Sister,’ echoes through the dorm as everyone goes to bed. Eight-thirty p.m., Sisters’ recreation, anyone for ping pong? Finally, a prayer of thanks is offered that all is well at the end of another day. Deo gratias.”
It’s nearly impossible to mention St. Joseph’s Home for Children without having someone bring up Msgr. James Sperry. Beloved as “Father Jim,” his association began long before he ever considered the priesthood when his father packed everyone into the family Model T Ford one Sunday afternoon to drive to Erie from their farm in Lake City. There they witnessed the ground breaking for the new home that was to be built for the children on West Sixth Street in Erie. He was in the second grade.
The future priest grew to know many of the residents during his young life, as about half of his classmates at Cathedral Center were residents of the home. Years later, when he received his first assignment as a priest for the Erie Diocese, he was delighted to learn he would be both a teacher at Cathedral Prep High School and chaplain at St. Joseph’s Home.
|
“All you really had to do as chaplain was to say morning Mass for the sisters and hear weekly confessions for the older children,” he says. But Father Jim was well aware of the example set by Father Trembly who held the position just before him. “He was kind of a farmer,” Msgr. Sperry remembers. “He’d take the kids out by Fairview and let them work the fields. He’d walk to Prep with them. So when I came, I just got involved right away.”
The home was well-known for its sports teams including baseball, football, basketball, softball and track. On Mondays and Thursdays the boys went to the Peninsula to swim; the girls had their turn on Tuesdays and Fridays. There was a band, and opportunities to participate in Bluebirds or Boy Scouts. At one point, when many of the children were quarantined due to an outbreak of a contagious illness, Father Jim managed to scare up a movie projector, going from room to room showing silent movies.
“I remember it kept shorting out, but we eventually figured out how to make it work,” he says, revealing an upbeat, can-do attitude even now that he has celebrated his 92nd birthday.
A handful of employees helped with laundry, sewing and cooking. But the sisters also relied on an army of volunteers who came to their aid year-round. Whether it was families hosting some of the children for the holidays or “Mrs. DiRaimo” sewing elaborate costumes for the home’s annual Christmas production, generosity prevailed as people opened their hearts, their doors and their wallets. Those who reside in the Erie Diocese can take pride in the fact that an annual collection taken throughout the diocese was absolutely essential to the home, which welcomed children from all 13 counties of northwest Pennsylvania.
When the need for St. Joseph’s Home for Children dwindled toward the end of the 1960s—foster care became the preferred option for children whose parents were unable to care for them—the sisters quietly began phasing out their services, one age group at a time. The nursery was the first to go, which meant Sister Perpetua left before the actual closing of the home. “I don’t think I could have handled seeing those doors close for the last time,” she admits. “It would have been very hard.”
She went on to work at a local day care center, later obtaining training as a practical nurse. Today she can be found working in pediatrics at St. Vincent Health Center in Erie, and she never misses a reunion when alumni of St. Joseph’s Home for Children gather each summer. But the impact she had on the lives of children at the home continues to make itself evident. Just last year, when new residents began training at the health center, one of them approached and asked if she was Sister Perpetua.
“Did you work at St. Joseph’s home?” the young doctor inquired.
“Oh yes,” Sister Perpetua replied.
“My Mom always told me about how Sister Perpetua took care of me as a baby!” she said, opening her arms. Apparently the young woman had been adopted by one of the few families Sister Perpetua had been allowed to meet.
As they embraced, Sister Perpetua admits she was almost in tears, filled with joy and pride in the life of this young woman whom she had fed and bathed and cuddled for the first few days of her life.
Deo Gratias.
Please tell us what you thought of this feature
