Dear Daniel,
On Thanksgiving, 2020, I posted a
sixty-seven-year-old photo of my older brother Joe's graduation from
kindergarten to first grade. Though I posted the photo on a holiday, the photo
received a large number of likes, comments, and shares. It wasn't my brother,
handsome tyke though he was, who generated such love. It was the woman with the
slightly tilted head in the very back row, a woman I had never met, and whose
name I did not know.
I remember seeing this woman in church.
I remember the slight but permanent tilt of her head. I assumed it was a medical
problem of some kind, but I somehow knew that this anatomical anomaly did not
mark her as less; I somehow knew it was a minor martyrdom she carried with
grace. Of the hundreds of people who, when I was a child, I watched walk up
that aisle to receive communion, she stood out. There was something beatific
about this woman I never met, never stood next to, and never heard speak.
Because I posted this photo on Facebook,
I now know who she is. She's standing in back of my brother's kindergarten
class of fifty-two students. There are no teacher aides standing with her;
she's solely responsible for those kids. The following comments are cut and
pasted from Facebook.
"Miss Gilpatrick was the best."
"She surely was!"
"What a great lady."
"My favorite teacher EVER."
"I learned to read with Miss
Gilpatrick. She made a classroom in her garage to give kids extra help."
"When we were seniors I was a cashier
in the Haskell A&P grocery store. One day Miss Gilpatrick came to my
checkout. I felt like royalty was in my line. I didn't have to tell her who I
was. She said, 'Little Marilyn Evans of course I remember you.' I bet she
remembered many students. The very best teacher!!"
"Naomi Gilpatrick was a wonderful
teacher! Who else could teach more than 50 kindergarten children without an
aide or two? She did science experiments, and taught us to read and write. She
even had a pageant, at year's end, where our class sang and recited the
Gettysburg Address. In her later years, she would cut the flowers she grew in
her garden, put each one in a vase, and deliver them to nursing home residents.
She was really an incredible woman!"
"Mrs. Gilpatrick kept everyone
straight. Guess I was in kindergarten in 1958 with her. In the early 70s my
security clearance was being raised and the security services talked to Mrs.
Gilpatrick. I told them she has had hundreds of students since I was there. I
was called into a major's office. He had done her interview and told me she not
only could name EVERY student she ever had, she had our pictures also. He
grinned and said I would get my clearance anyway. Not sure if he was busting my
chops or what! She was a GREAT Lady and I'm sure heaven is now in line."
A Google search brought me to an obituary.
"GILPATRICK Dr. Naomi, 92 … Born to
the late Honora (Sheehan) and Amisa Gilpatrick … Irish American, author, and
professor, Naomi graduated Salutatorian from Pompton Lakes HS in 1935 and Summa
Cum Laude from St. Elizabeth's College in 1939. She received her Master's
Degree at the University of Michigan (Honors in English; Phi Beta Kappa) and
her Doctorate in Education from Columbia University … She won the Avery Hopwood
Award for Major Fiction with her novel, The Broken Pitcher (1943). This book
was reviewed as 'The great Catholic American novel.' Naomi will be remembered
for her deep dedication to family and friends, her skillful pen, her clever
mind, her Irish wit and sense of humor, her love of children and her dedication
to her Catholic faith."
Mexican American author Richard Rodriguez
wrote, "I cannot overstate the influence of the Irish on my life and the
lives of my family … All the nuns who taught me English and then introduced me
to the idea that I was an American … were Irish – and the priests, too. The
nuns made me learn the preamble to the Constitution. The nuns taught me
confidence. There was no question about my belonging in America … There was no
question about English being my language. The nuns were as unsentimental as the
priests were sentimental. But they all assumed my American success."
My beloved friend Liron writes from
Israel. "My mother-in-law's name is Theresa Rosendahl (nee Friedrich). She
was born Yoheved, but the nuns gave her a new name: Theresa. She kept this
Catholic name in gratitude to that towering heroine who saved her life."
This heroine was Teresa Janina Kierocińska, one of many Polish nuns who hid
Jewish children during the Holocaust.
I want the Church sex abuse story to be
told in a way that inspires change. That has happened.
I want this story told, too. A story of thousands
of not-famous, not-glamorous priests, nuns, and Catholic school teachers who shared
the best, the truth, the heart of Catholicism with their students.
Higher-ups in the church hid the abuse.
That's criminal and destructive.
It is no less criminal and destructive
to hide the world that Mrs. Gilpatrick and others created for millions of
children. They weren't just "nice" people who did "nice"
things. They were Catholics, obedient to Christ's commands and a Catholic
tradition of learning and love. Yes, we know about failures and errors. We also
need to know about Catholicism's unique gifts.
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