Once There Was A Nun: Mary McCarran’s Years as Sister Mary Mercy

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Text originally published in 1962 under the same title.

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Publisher’s Note

Although in most cases we have retained the Author’s original spelling and grammar to authentically reproduce the work of the Author and the original intent of such material, some additional notes and clarifications have been added for the modern reader’s benefit.

We have also made every effort to include all maps and illustrations of the original edition the limitations of formatting do not allow of including larger maps, we will upload as many of these maps as possible.

ONCE THERE WAS A NUN

Mary McCarran’s Years as Sister Mary Mercy

by

RUTH MONTGOMERY

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Contents

TABLE OF CONTENTS 3

INTRODUCTION 4

Chapter I 5

Chapter II 14

Chapter III 25

Chapter IV 41

Chapter V 50

Chapter VI 60

Chapter VII 68

Chapter VIII 80

Chapter IX 90

Chapter X 100

Chapter XI 110

Chapter XII 119

Chapter XIII 127

Chapter XIV 137

Chapter XV 143

Chapter XVI 152

Chapter XVII 159

Chapter XVIII 166

Chapter XIX 172

Chapter XX 178

Chapter XXI 184

REQUEST FROM THE PUBLISHER 188

INTRODUCTION

THIS is a true story about real people, and for that reason no attempt is made to present Mary and her sister nuns as saints. These marvelously dedicated women had their little foibles, even as you or I, despite their never-ceasing struggle for perfection.

To the best of my knowledge, every incident in the book is completely factual. The narrative is intended to be as accurate as memory will allow, although the names of some of the sisters, priests and convents have been purposely altered, to avoid any possible invasion of privacy.

Certainly there is no intent to cause pain or embarrassment to anyone living or dead. The purpose of the book is to give the reader an insight into life within an American convent, and to show through the eyes of one of the sisters that this life can be joyous as well as earnest; that nuns can enjoy laughter and suffer pain like the rest of us.

Mary entered the convent for the avowed purpose of learning to love God more. She is today a devout, practicing Catholic, with the same ideals.

RUTH MONTGOMERY

Chapter I

FROM the stillness of a deep and tranquil sleep, I suddenly sat straight up in bed. A voice had spoken, although there was no voice. You must enter today, came the oddly spaced words that throbbed within my temples, and roused me to full consciousness.

Twice before in my childhood, I had heard this inner voice that seemed wholly detached from a blond, blue-eyed Irish-American girl named Mary McCarran. Once it had saved my life.

There was no need to ask the significance of the message. For some time I had felt the inevitability of entering the convent, but until this moment I had every intention of spending a carefree summer in Nevada. In an instant, all was changed. I could no more question the unspoken command I had just received than I could doubt the infinite wisdom of God.

I glanced apprehensively across at Mama, who was sleeping soundly in the other twin bed. My little sister, Patricia was slumbering peacefully on the cot that we had moved into my college room. What would they say, these two who loved me and had begged me not to follow in my older sister’s footsteps? They had come to attend graduation exercises at the College of the Holy Names in Oakland, California where I was a freshman, and to take me home to Reno. Our train would leave tomorrow night.

Slipping into my mules and robe, I quietly let myself out of the door and tiptoed down the deserted hall to the telephone. It was 7:30 A.M. I dialed the number of the novitiate, and in muted tones asked to speak to Sister Margaret Patricia on urgent business.

It was the wrong time to call. It was the wrong hour, on the wrong day, but I had to reach my own sister, who had entered the convent two years before. The soft voice at the other end of the wire told me to wait, and in a minute I heard Margaret asking in gentle alarm, What is it, dear? What is the matter?

Margaret, I half whispered in the silent hallway, I have to enter the convent today.

Today? she gasped. Why, I don’t think it’s possible. The regular day for entry is not until fall, and besides, Mother Mistress is sick in bed. She has taken a dose of quinine, and asked not to be disturbed.

I was not to be deterred. The something within me had spoken, and I knew that I must obey. As firmly as Papa ever lectured a jury on its duty, I told Margaret, It has to be. Please believe me, for I know that God has spoken. Help me, Margaret, and let me know as soon as it is arranged.

My bold words, spoken with great urgency, had the desired effect. Although she had always been the leader in our girlhood enterprises, she now said meekly, I will do my best. I will call you back as soon as I can get an answer for you.

Murmuring a prayerful entreaty for guidance, I went to my room. Mama and Patricia were still asleep, and after a loving glance at their tranquil forms, I dressed hurriedly in a russet satin dress with flaring skirt, and flat-heeled black satin slippers. I combed my short blond curls with extra care, searched my face earnestly for a moment in the mirror, and then noiselessly returned to the telephone stand at the end of the corridor.

I had only a few more minutes to wait. At the first tingle of the bell, I lifted the phone, and it was Margaret. Her voice tinged with awe, she began, I don’t know how such a thing could happen, but you are to be received at four o’clock today. Mother Aloyese has not only given permission, but will get out of bed for the ceremony.

Then it is God’s will, I breathed gratefully. I’ll be there! Not until I had replaced the receiver in the cradle did the enormity of my action strike me. I had no clothes for the convent! Only yesterday Mama had bought me several gay cottons, and a lovely white coat for cool evenings in Reno, but these would have to go back. What would I do for the austere black dress, the black stockings and heavy oxfords which every girl needed for her entrance into the novitiate? Most of my own clothes were packed, and my train ticket was in the saucy red purse that I would forever leave behind. I had nothing else.

I placed a call to my friend Margaret Murphy, in San Francisco. Margaret, I pleaded, please do me the favor of a lifetime. Will you go to the City of Paris department store and charge some things to my account? I want ten yards of black storm serge, five yards of a lighter serge, six pairs of black cotton stockings, a plain comb and brush, a dozen men’s white handkerchiefs, and black oxfords, size five and a half A.

I could hear her gasping before I had half finished the list. Have you lost your mind? she wailed. What’s eating you, Mary?

Just trust me, please, I said softly, and have them sent to the novitiate.

Okay, she agreed dourly, little realizing that within two months she would be making the identical purchases for herself.

Next I called a woman who made postulant dresses, and asked if she had one in a size ten. She said there was one that would probably fit, but that it was not quite finished. I begged her to have it ready by four o’clock, and she promised to rush it through, even if the pressing had to wait until later. Although I did not know it, Sister Margaret Patricia had meanwhile become so excited about my entry plans that she had persuaded the assistant mistress to find a dress for me.

Everything was clicking into place, but how was I to break the news to Mama? During the Christmas holidays I had tried once again to tell her that I hoped to become a nun, but she had exclaimed, Over my dead body! I will never give the permission for you to do so. Mama said she had sacrificed so much to send Margaret and me away to convent school that she had no intention of giving more than one daughter to the Church. Papa was a lawyer in Reno, but with three younger children still to rear, it had been a struggle for them to keep two teen-age daughters in high school and college in California, and Mama perhaps rightly felt that I had a responsibility to stay at home and help her with the youngsters for awhile.

Mama was a convert to Catholicism. After she and Papa became engaged, she studied the Roman Catholic religion and was baptized on the same day that they were married in San Francisco. She had strenuously opposed Margaret’s decision to become a nun, and Papa had also tried to dissuade her because, with her brilliant mind and broad interest in politics and world affairs, he felt that Margaret should have a public service career. Often, in trying to convince her of his views, he would say, Now, if it were Mary who wanted to go, I would give my permission, because she has a quieter, more pensive nature.

The Mother Superior at the convent knew that Papa had promised me his consent, because we had had several long talks about it. In those days only one parent’s permission was necessary, or I could not have been accepted, for Mama would never have given hers. Neither would my baby sister, Patricia. This six-year-old was the joy of my life, and our deep affection was mutual. She was a precocious little thing, and when she arrived with Mama to take me home from college, the first thing that she did was to call me by my pet name and plead, Mercy, you’re not going to enter that old convent like Margaret did, are you?

I told her not to worry about it, but she wheedled, Oh, please don’t, Mercy; please don’t.

Actually, I had sent off for my baptismal and confirmation papers many weeks before Mother and Pat arrived. I don’t know why, except that I knew I would eventually need them to enter the convent, and I wanted to have them on hand. Coincidentally, both arrived from different cities in special delivery envelopes the night before the silent voice interrupted my sleep. We were preparing for bed when the tap came at the door. I tried to slip the envelopes into a drawer, but Mama asked what they were, and I said in an offhand manner, Oh, nothing. Just my confirmation and baptismal certificates.

What do you want with them? Mama prodded.

Striving to sound nonchalant, I replied, Oh, it’s just something you have to present to the Superior if you ever enter a convent.

Well, you are not going to be needing them, she said emphatically, because you are not going into any convent—ever.

I put them aside, and we turned out the lights. During the summer, I thought, I would try again to win her consent. Now, the very next morning, I was faced with the problem of how best to tell her that the decision was irrevocably made. Feeling as nervous as I used to when I returned home late from a dance, I cautiously opened the door to my room. Mama was awake.

Well, you’re up early, she smiled. Why so dressed up?

I looked down at the russet satin, which I had inappropriately donned, and decided to plunge. Mama, I began, mustering all my courage for the most important announcement of my life, I am going to enter the convent today.

If she had fainted, or screamed, I was prepared for the dramatics. Instead she said calmly, Well, you certainly are not, so let’s not spoil a pretty day with that kind of silly talk.

She began to dress with her back to me, while I reiterated that I had definitely made up my mind. With understandable irritation, she chided, What has gotten into you, Mary? One day we are going shopping to buy you a summer wardrobe, and the next day you are trying to enter the convent.

It just has to be, Mama, I said quietly. Please try to understand that God has called me. This is my vocation.

Patricia fortunately had gone out to play before I returned to the room, so that she was spared the unhappy argument that ensued. Mama simply could not believe that I was serious, and I could not understand why she was so unwilling for me to give my life to the church that she and Papa had taught me to cherish and revere.

About three o’clock that afternoon, two of my classmates called to invite us down to their room for tea and cookies. I told them Mama was in a terrible state because I had decided to enter the convent. Waiting to hear no more, they dashed upstairs to help persuade Mama, but she was adamant. Mary is not going to do it, and that is all there is to it, she kept repeating. We are all going home tomorrow night together.

I was frantic. It was time for me to go to the other side of the grounds, to the convent, and put on the black postulant dress. I had not yet had a chance even to learn the short speech that I would need to say on entrance. I was beside myself when little Patricia came bounding up the steps crying, Mercy, are you truly going to enter that convent?

My heart was in my throat as I looked at the adorable little child. Dropping my arms around her, I pleaded: Listen, Patricia, please don’t feel sad about it. I will come back often to talk to you.

Her body stiffened, and she said coldly, I am going to my mother. With that, she left me. A dear friend, Collette Travers, fortunately arrived at that moment, and I fell on her with relief. Unaware that within two months she, too, would enter the convent, I cried, Collette, I don’t know what to do! My mother won’t let me go, and they are waiting for me over on the other side.

Collette showed the mettle that was later to make her a superbly competent nun. Flashing Mama a sympathetic smile, she said, Mrs. McCarran, I know just how you feel, but I guess that these things are inevitable. God has called Mary, and it is in her heart to respond. She took both of Mama’s hands in hers and held them tightly, while I let myself out the door and walked dazedly down the hall. I went down the steps, and out across the lawn to the other side of the institution.

There I met one of the sisters, who took me into her room and dressed me in the little black dress of the postulant. She put a black net on my hair, tied it at the top, and gave me a pair of black hose. Only half knowing what I was saying, I murmured that I had my own things coming up from San Francisco, but she said sweetly, That is all right. We have arranged for you.

The Assistant Mistress came to take me to the novitiate, and as we walked together through the dark, bare halls covered with brown linoleum, and up the dingy stairs I could not help but contrast this side of the convent with the boarding school I had just left behind. The college side sparkled with bright lights, gay flowers dotted the reception rooms, and music flooded the corridors from the fifty pianos where students practiced and the orchestra rehearsed. Here everything was deathly silent, and only a statue of the Virgin Mary relieved the somber plainness of the halls.

As we reached the entrance to the novitiate my leader instructed: You will tap on the door, and a novice will open it. Then you will go into the room. You will see the novices and postulants forming two lines, and Mother Aloyese standing in the center of the room facing them. They will be facing her. You are to go in and kneel down in front of Mother. Fold your arms under your cape, and say, ‘Mother, will you please have the charity to receive me into the novitiate as postulant?’ Now, knock on the door.

I knocked. I was not frightened, because I knew that my sister Margaret was behind that portal, although no sound emanated from it. The door noiselessly opened, and I stepped into the brightest, sunniest room that I have ever seen. Half blinded from the contrast with the dark corridor, I noticed that no word or movement came from the large assemblage of white-veiled novices and black-netted postulants, nor from Mother Aloyese.

They all stood with their arms folded under their capes, facing Mother, and she was facing them. I felt like an intruder. Surely I would not be allowed to join this silent, motionless assemblage, each of whom looked so much like another that I could not recognize my own sister, or my classmate Edith, who had entered the summer before.

I dropped to my knees, folded my arms under my cape and began: Mother, would you please have the charity to receive me... I knew that there was more, but for the life of me I could not remember it. Mother Aloyese looked at me with infinite kindness, and after a moment’s pause said, We are very happy, my dear Sister, to receive you into the novitiate as a postulant. She put out her right hand, lifted me to my feet, and kissed me on both cheeks. The two lines of black-clad women suddenly turned to face a beautiful statue of Mary at the opposite end of the sunlit room, and burst into glorious song: Hail thou star of ocean, Mother of God, ever Virgin Mary, be to me a Mother.

I was overwhelmed! That wonderful group was asking Mary to help me, a lowly postulant! Mother Aloyese gently put her hand on my arm, and a sense of peace possessed me. I little realized how many times that hand would reach out to help me over the rough spots in the thousands of novitiate days to come.

As the last strains of the music died away, the group turned again, and Mother said to me, Go to each sister now, as they want to meet you. I started down the line of novices on my right. Each one said, I wish you holy perseverance, as she kissed me on both cheeks. At last I reached my dear sister Margaret, who hugged me tightly, whispered darling under her breath, and said aloud, I wish you holy perseverance.

I felt a deep longing to stay right there and pour out to Margaret all of the thoughts and emotions that were welling up inside me, but the next sister was waiting and I passed on. Finally I reached my former school friend who was now a novice, and when she, too, kissed me and wished me holy perseverance I knew that I had crossed a threshold that spelled the end of girlhood. Could this be Edith, our old ringleader? The boyish, hilarious jokester of our class was now calmly, religiously, obediently murmuring the same speech as all the others.

While I moved on to the next novice, I marveled at the depth of the change in Edith, in so short a time. She was always the irrepressible one who could think up the merriest pranks of all. I remembered the time she had us tie all of the dining room chairs together under the table with black stockings, the time she had us switch the salt and sugar in their containers, the evening she persuaded all of us to cough and sneeze in study hall until the supervising sister finally sent us home to bed. These things were Edith to me, but now she was a solemn-faced novice in a long black gown, and it was plain that she was no longer thinking of larks.

When I had arrived back again beside Mother Aloyese, she placed a chair for me, and the novices and postulants noiselessly drew other chairs into a circle. We sat talking awhile, but I have no recollection of the conversation, for suddenly I was very, very tired. Margaret was permitted to sit out of her usual rank, next to me; and she put her hand on mine, and talked for me.

Foolishly I began to worry about how I looked, with my hair slicked back under a black snood net, and my plain black dress something less than a perfect fit. Then I glanced at the ten other postulants, and realized that to them I appeared perfectly normal.

A bell pealed loudly outside, and at the first sound everyone ceased talking. Mother Aloyese said, Praise to Jesus and Mary, and the group answered in unison. We have recourse to Your holy protection. They stood up, and without a sound replaced all of the chairs. Then they silently walked out of the room, and only Mother Aloyese and I remained. I began to feel self-conscious in the vast, shining chamber, but Mother took me into her office, seated herself behind a big rolltop desk, and motioned me to a straight chair beside it. Speaking ever so gently, she said, The life you have entered is new and strange, but day by day as each new thing comes along, just remember that God is holding your hand, and He will show you the way. Obedience is your guiding star.

She wrote those last five words on a small piece of paper, told me to keep it in my pocket, and added with a smile, Those are pretty big pockets, aren’t they, for such a little sister? She asked how I had left my mother and sister, and when I told her that I hoped Mama was not crying, she said, Put this great suffering that you feel for your mother and little sister into God’s hands, and ask God to make them happy in spite of their sorrow. I offered it thus, right then, in my heart.

The big bell rang again, and Mother said, That is for supper, so let us go and have something to eat. She led the way through the dark hall with the brown linoleum floors, down the dark stairway, through a second hall, and down a circular staircase. At each font along the way she took holy water on her fingers and blessed herself, but I was so busily engaged with trying to keep my long dress from catching on the brass stair bindings that I could not manage anything else. I was making a terrible clatter with my slippers, too, but Mother walked with such total absence of sound that I nearly lost her once, when some other sisters happened to enter the hall.

At last we stopped, and I realized that we had reached the refectory. The sisters were entering two-by-two, and bowing low before a large crucifix in the rectory. Mother Aloyese took me by the hand and led me to a place beside her own. I discovered to my immense relief that Margaret was seated directly opposite me. Last of all, Mother Provincial entered the room. She too bowed at the crucifix, and when she reached her place she began saying the Psalm Benedicite. All the sisters answered. Finally everyone sat down, and one of them began to read aloud about the saint for that day.

When that was finished, Mother Provincial said, Sisters, we will speak in the refectory this evening in honor of our new postulant, Miss McCarran.

Ordinarily supper was a time of silence, but now everyone began to talk. Many of my former teachers came over to tell me how happy they were that I had come. Everything was so exciting that I could scarcely eat a bite of the food on my plate. We somehow came to the end of the meal, and then to my surprise a sister brought a white enamel pan of hot, sudsy water and a small hand mop. With a smile, Margaret told me she would wash the dishes and I could wipe them. It seemed almost as if we were at home again—Margaret and I doing the dishes—except that we remained seated, and washed and dried only for the four at our immediate section of the long table.

We should have thought of this at home, Mercy, Margaret smiled, and I agreed. It seemed incredible that one hundred and eight sisters could wash and dry dishes in that enormous hall with scarcely a sound except the low-pitched murmur of their voices. Our white linen napkins were huge, measuring two feet in length and nine inches across when folded. Another sister showed me how to fold mine once lengthwise, then into three sections, and slip the knife, fork and spoon into the folds. We then rolled the whole thing and slipped it into a black napkin ring. The sisters had thought of everything, and even the napkin ring at my plate already bore the name Miss McCarran.

I was surprised to see how animated the usually quiet sisters could be when they were laughing and talking together. I felt at ease with Mother Aloyese, too, because she had been in charge of the boarding students when I was in high school, and this evening she seemed particularly jolly. She told me not to be alarmed by the abrupt change from boarding school days, but to make my adjustments gradually, and relax.

As soon as supper was over, the Mother Mistress told Margaret and me to go over and see Mama and Patricia. Both of us were frankly worried as we hastened across the grounds. How would poor Mama look, we kept wondering, and what would she say? On the way to the sisters’ convent earlier that afternoon I had met Mother Redempta, a counselor to the Provincial Superior, whom everyone loved. I asked if she would be so kind as to go and comfort my mother, and she replied that she was on her way there now, having just heard the news about my entry. What had happened to Mama in the ensuing hours? Was she sobbing her heart out at my abrupt departure?

Our fretting was in vain. When we arrived at my old college room Mother Redempta was just leaving, and I had never seen Mama look more placid and beautiful. As soon as Margaret and I were alone with her, Mama turned to me and said with a half-smile, You look quite nice in that little outfit, Mary. I have no idea what Mother Redempta said to her to achieve such a transformation, because from that day to this, Mama has never again referred to my entrance into the convent against her wishes.

After a pleasant little visit Margaret and I returned to the novitiate, and went up another flight of dark brown stairs to the dormitory. In whispers she told me that the dormitory was a place of grand silence, and when I asked what was so grand about silence, she answered sotto voce, That is the expression for extra great silence. No one ever, ever speaks in a religious dormitory unless with special permission.

I asked if she now had special permission, and she nodded. She then showed me the commode which had been scrupulously prepared for me, with crisp white nightgown, towels, soap, toothbrush, paste, and even a comb and brush. The little white bed was exquisitely made, and Margaret turned back the spread for me. Last of all she showed me a white pitcher with matching bowl and said, This you will not like, Mercy, but just remember, dear, you didn’t come here to please yourself.

What do I do with this pitcher and bowl? I asked in bewilderment.

You get hot water in the pitcher, and you wash yourself all over in the bowl. She grinned.

Now, come on! I giggled nervously. At that we both sat on the bed and laughed until our sides ached. The tension at last had snapped, and we were fortunately alone in the big dormitory, since the sisters had not yet returned from evening prayers.

We finally smothered our hysterics, and Margaret went with me to fill the pitcher from a sink in the hall. We closed the curtains around my bed, and after she had helped hang up my dress and remove the black net from my hair, she said, Now I must leave you, but you must take a sponge bath and then go and get fresh water for morning. There will be no warm water then.

She left me puzzling over how to begin a sponge bath, but I eventually figured out how the pioneers probably did it, and then slipped on the all-enveloping gown.