AIR RAID

St. Anthony's Academy 1962

The three of us trudged behind Mr. DiFabio. Alvin was desperately trying to grab Mr. D’s pant leg as Charlie Cossack hop-stepped to keep up with them. I lagged behind, worrying about my upcoming reaction to the thing the three of us feared most. The air raid siren, that demon mounted on the wall, put there to warn us of destruction and imminent death.

Alvin summed it up best one day. “If we’re all going to die anyway, why hide under our desks?”

Sister Mary Bridget didn’t reply, probably because there was no good answer. She kept the three of us in her classroom during lunch hour to discuss the events of the past week. We got to eat lunch at our desks, but it came with a price.

We all loved her, the sweet Irish brogue, a wicked sense of humor, that beautiful complexion peeking out from her habit. I may have loved her more than the rest, habit or no habit, she was my Marilyn Monroe. Once in a while, to liven things up, she would lift Alvin from his desk and tuck him under her arm, moving through the aisles as if she was carrying a football to the goal line, willing to straight arm anyone in her way. Alvin was a small kid by any standard, but he was not embarrassed by her attention, he reveled in it.

Charlie was quiet, maybe even stoic if that’s possible for someone our age. She would often wink at him and say, “I’ve got my eye on you Charlie Cossack, still waters run deep.” He’d always smile back, but I’m not sure if any one of us understood what she meant.

As for me, a nick-name was born. During attendance, before desks were assigned, she peered about the classroom, looking for someone or something.

“Is the man with two first names here, Noah Gregory, are you gracing us today with your presence?”

Everyone laughed, and for me it was a great stress reliever, I stood out in a good way, but the moniker stuck. Coaches, bosses, teachers, at one point or another, referred to me as the man with two first names. I didn’t mind, I guess I’ve never found it derogatory, since it was originated by Sister Mary Bridget. It always makes me think of her and where she may be today. The buzz among the adults was she left the order to get married. I hope so, she always told great stories about her four brothers and the fun she had with them. God had no intention of denying her a family of her own.

“Gentlemen, the best way to overcome a fear is to face it.” She was serious but not stern.

During the air raid drill, the three of us had exposed some vulnerabilities, I guess I should re-phrase that. We were piss your pants scared. Charlie vomited, Alvin held his ears and rolled on the floor, and I simply refused to come out from under my desk. When I lived with my real parents, I was told to hide under the kitchen sink when they weren’t home, and not to come out, or heaven forbid answer the door. If I did, someone would take me away from them. Looking back, that was the behavior I resorted to on the first air raid drill of the school year. There was something big going on that all the adults were talking about, I didn’t understand it at the time, but the fear of a nuclear attack had become alarmingly real.

So, our assignment was to follow Mr. D and watch him crank the siren for the next drill. He met us at our classroom and we followed him down the hall. He had a nice presence, always calm, always smiling and kind. He had a thick head of curly hair, meticulously combed, along with bushy black eyebrows which kissed at the bridge of his nose. There was, however, one disconcerting aspect about him. He had a hand with only stubs for fingers. I tried not to look at them, but it was difficult not to. Poor guy, he cleaned up a lot of vomit and during his tenure at St. Anthony’s, due mostly to some overbearing shrews parading as brides of Christ, convincing children they would be doomed to hell for harboring a bad thought but for a moment. Even Sister Mary Bridget acted differently when the old crows descended upon her classroom. It was noticeable, and when they darkened the doorway, the laughing stopped, the smiling stopped, only their cold stares persisted.

Mr. D addressed us once we had reached the point of no return.

“Everything is going to be all right boys, cover your ears if you want to, but rest assured, nothing bad is going to happen. Any questions?”

“Did the Japs chop off your fingers?” Charlie Cossack dared to ask the million dollar question everyone else was afraid to ask. He did it. One fear down for the day.

“Some very angry soldiers did some very bad things to me and my friends Charlie, but that’s water under the bridge now.”

“Did they use a sword?”

“It doesn’t matter what they used, what’s done is done.”

“Did you shoot any of ‘em?”

“I never shot anyone Charlie, I was lucky that way.”

“I would’ve shot all of ‘em.”

“Let me tell you guys something, if you spend your lives trying to get even, you’re never going to get ahead, you’ll never amount to anything.”

Tony rolled his shirt sleeve up to watch the second hand on his watch as he cranked the siren, leaving his maimed hand in full view of his entourage. A much scarier sight than the silly siren which echoed through the hallways of St. Anthony’s Academy.

I don’t think Charlie accepted what he had been told, he was always fixated on revenge, but he backed off on the questioning and our assignment was a success. No pants pissing, puking, or passing out. Mission accomplished. Tony DiFabio marched his triumphant battalion back to the classroom single file, three proud soldiers who had spit in the face of death.