The St. Joseph Home for Boys
The 7th Short Story
Who Needs Fangs?
"Who Needs Fangs?"
ANDY JUNIOR'S CHILDHOOD STORIES
The St. Joseph Home for Boys
My 7th Short Story
The St. Joseph Home for Boys stood on the northwest corner of Blackstone St. and Van Buren St. in Jackson, Michigan for more than 50 years. The Felician Sisters, out of Livonia, Michigan, purchased the mansion from a local banker in the early 1900s and cared for up to 50 boys in the orphanage, between the early 1910s and late 1960s.
This short story jumps ahead by about a year and gives you a chance to discover one of the more painful experiences I endured, during my stay in the orphanage. While most of the stories up to this point have been quite sad, you will begin to gain insights into some of Andy Junior's more humorous shenanigans, as his frustrations led to more troublemaking.
"Who Needs Fangs?"
After school one day, Mother Superior stopped me in the hallway by the chapel. “Andy, come with me. You won’t be saying the Rosary today.”
Warmth flashed across my face with a flood of mixed emotions. I was thrilled not to have to say all those prayers but wondered whether I had done something wrong. With my eyes searching back and forth, I tried to remember whether I had committed one of those venial sins in clear view of the nuns or not.
I don’t think so; she couldn’t possibly see us throwing snowballs a block away. Suddenly, my heart jumped. Could it be Mama? Is she here?
My soul told me not to be angry at my mom for taking off without us more than a year ago, but my brain warned me otherwise. Even though I hoped to see her again someday, each passing month made it more difficult to picture her face.
I struggled to breathe as tears filled my eyes. I miss her so much!
Mother Superior gently grabbed my wrist with her warm hand and turned me around. Without pausing, she led me down the steps of the rear exit.
Confused, I asked, “Where are we going?”
The determined nun continued to the bottom of the stairs. “You’ll know soon enough.” She led me toward a black station wagon.
Mr. Friendly Driver, a middle-aged man, sat behind the steering wheel of the parked car. Usually, he was the one who drove us to or from school if we were ever late or the weather was too bad for walking. Mother Superior opened the passenger door.
I looked at her. “Where is he going to take us?”
“You’re going to the dentist.”
“The dentist?”
A somewhat stern smile creased her lips. “Yes, the dentist. Now, do exactly what Mr. Driver tells you. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
After I slid into the seat, she shut the door. The car began to roll forward and out the driveway. The man with wavy, black hair glanced at me while continuing down the road. “How are you doing today?”
“I’m not sure. Why are you taking me to the dentist?”
He looked straight ahead. “Because Mother Superior told me to.”
“I mean, why do I need to go? I hate when they mess with my teeth!”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know why.”
I stared at him while his eyes remained fixed on the road. Huffing, I sat in silence. I feared going to the dentist worse than the doctor’s office.
Every time the man, with the shiny, pointy tool, jabbed it between my teeth, it hurt like the dickens. Worst of all, the twirly thing that spun with a high-pitched noise made me cringe every time he stuck it in my mouth.
He’d grind and grind until it smelled like my teeth were on fire and smoking. I’d rather sniff chicken poop than that thing.
For all the pain he had inflicted upon me, it didn’t seem like he was doing much good. I already lost a couple of front teeth.
After the driver pulled into the parking lot in front of the office door, he took me inside. He pointed at my boots, then tilted his head at the coat rack in the corner.
I kicked off my galoshes and left them next to the stand while I unzipped my tan coat and handed it to him. He hung it on one of the hooks and grabbed my blue and green stocking hat from my head and plopped it on top of my jacket.
As we walked over to the counter, I pressed my hair in place. Mr. Driver spoke to the lady behind a desk. “This is Andy....” He glanced at me. “How do you say your last name?”
I looked at the lady with really curly hair and orange earrings that looked like pumpkins. “Skrzynski.”
She smiled. “Great, Doctor Torture will be with you in a second. Take a seat over there.” She pointed at a row of wooden chairs.
Confused, I shook my head. “Doctor? I thought this was the dentist’s office.”
She nodded. “Yes, this is the dentist’s office, but the nice gentleman that will be helping you today is officially a doctor.”
“Oh.” I took a seat as my driver headed toward the door. The lady waved. “Have a nice Thanksgiving.”
He lifted his hand while exiting the building. “You, too.”
After a rather long wait, another lady opened a door and stepped into the waiting room. Like the slightly older woman behind the desk, she looked nicer and prettier than the nuns I dealt with every day. It was difficult to tell what the sisters truly looked like with all the strange head dressings they wore.
The younger lady in a light blue uniform looked at me. “You must be Andy.”
Shaking her head, she grinned. “I’m not even going to try your last name. How do you say that?”
I sighed. “Skrzynski.”
She attempted to repeat what I said, but it came out, “Scarginki.”
Shrugging, I smirked. “That’s close enough.”
The friendly lady with long, straight brown hair led me to a small room with lots of shiny gadgets and a huge cream-colored chair. She pointed at the monstrosity. “Why don’t you sit up there?”
“Okay.” While climbing into the cushiony half chair, part bed of a thing, I asked, “Maybe you can tell me why I’m here. Nobody else seems to know.”
“Sorry, I can’t help you with that, but the doctor will soon be here to explain things. In the meantime, how old are you?”
“I’m seven, going on eight in February.”
“Good, that’s what it says right here.” She tapped her notepad with a pen.
About that time, I was convinced there were way too many stupid grown-ups in the world. What does a kid have to do to get a simple answer to a simple question? It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to answer why I’m here! Then, she asks me something she already knows. How crazy is that?
After a few minutes, an older man with silvery hair and a white jacket stepped in front of me. “Hello, young man. Your last name sure is a tongue twister. How do you pronounce that?”
One of Tata’s often used replies came to mind. If only I had a penny for every time..., but I chose the safer route and just said, “Skrzynski.” I didn’t want to upset the guy who was about to explore my mouth with hurtful gadgets.
The ole coot stared at me. “Open up your mouth.”
While I spread my jaws as wide as possible, he leaned closer. “I see you’ve lost a couple of teeth since your last visit.”
I nodded and tried to respond, but my words were mumbled with his fingers blocking my tongue. He lowered a light that could have brightened downtown Jackson all by itself. Blinded, all I heard was, “Do you know why you’re here?”
Squinting, I rubbed my eyes as he removed his hand from my mouth. “How could I? Nobody will tell me!”
“Well, I’ll try to explain the best I can. You had rickets when you were born.”
“Huh? Did you say crickets?”
“No, I said rickets. It’s a bone disease from a lack of Vitamin D in your mother’s diet before you were born. The medicine they gave you to help the problem caused your baby teeth to decay.”
I didn’t understand but a handful of words he uttered, but on he went. “That’s why I need to pull your teeth.”
Whoa! I heard that perfectly! I shrugged. “Which tooth? None of them are loose.”
I felt around my mouth to make sure. “See, not a single one of them is loose!”
I opened my gap as wide as possible while I tried my best to talk. “Check for yourself!”
His friendly expression turned serious. “Unfortunately, I need to pull all of your remaining teeth, but I’ll only be removing four of them today. We’ll have to pull the rest over time, but don’t worry, we’ll put you to sleep, and you won’t feel....”
“Oh, no you won’t!” I yelled as my chest tightened.
Gasping for air, I tried to scramble out of the chair, but the nurse stood in my way. The fear of pain filled my soul while I hollered at the top of my lungs, “Let me go!”
She firmly grabbed my arm. “It’s okay, Andy, everything will be fine.”
Fine? She is crazy!
I struggled to free myself from the torture chamber, but the dentist clutched my other arm. “Calm down. Nurse Not-So-Nice-Anymore is going to put you to sleep.”
My heart pounded like the drum on a Viking ship as the lady placed a big mask over my face. “You’ll feel better once the ether takes effect. Count to 10.”
Worn to a frazzle from my escape attempts, I finally relented and pouted, “One, two, three....” As my vision faded, everything went dark.
Dizzy as ever and ready to puke, a swirl of ceiling tiles slowly came into focus as a female voice kept saying, “You’re waking up.”
Panic quickly overwhelmed me as I wiggled in the chair and gasped for every tiny bit of air.
The nauseating smell of the ether forced a disgusting glob of puke up my throat as the same voice kept saying, “Calm down, Andy. Everything will be okay.”
Struggling to breathe, I didn’t believe a word of it. Nothing’s okay about any of this!
I sucked in as much air as possible and yelled, “Get me outta here!”
********
That's it for now!
So you don't get the wrong impression, when I had the opportunity to reflect back on my childhood, years after I had "grown up," I was very thankful for the Felician Sisters' care and the time I spent in the orphanage.
I'll share more pictures and short stories to go with the history lessons ahead. I hope you enjoyed this little peek into my life back in the late 1950s and early 1960s. In my next post, I'll continue to give you a peek into my childhood at the orphanage in Jackson, Michigan that many people walked past, while wondering what went on behind those large doors.
Thank you so much for your support!
Andy Skrzynski
Note: The Felician Sisters provided the orphanage photographs and gave me permission to share them within "Andy and the St. Joseph Home for Boys" and social media outlets, including my website.
ANDY JUNIOR'S CHILDHOOD STORIES
The St. Joseph Home for Boys
My 7th Short Story
The St. Joseph Home for Boys stood on the northwest corner of Blackstone St. and Van Buren St. in Jackson, Michigan for more than 50 years. The Felician Sisters, out of Livonia, Michigan, purchased the mansion from a local banker in the early 1900s and cared for up to 50 boys in the orphanage, between the early 1910s and late 1960s.
This short story jumps ahead by about a year and gives you a chance to discover one of the more painful experiences I endured, during my stay in the orphanage. While most of the stories up to this point have been quite sad, you will begin to gain insights into some of Andy Junior's more humorous shenanigans, as his frustrations led to more troublemaking.
"Who Needs Fangs?"
After school one day, Mother Superior stopped me in the hallway by the chapel. “Andy, come with me. You won’t be saying the Rosary today.”
Warmth flashed across my face with a flood of mixed emotions. I was thrilled not to have to say all those prayers but wondered whether I had done something wrong. With my eyes searching back and forth, I tried to remember whether I had committed one of those venial sins in clear view of the nuns or not.
I don’t think so; she couldn’t possibly see us throwing snowballs a block away. Suddenly, my heart jumped. Could it be Mama? Is she here?
My soul told me not to be angry at my mom for taking off without us more than a year ago, but my brain warned me otherwise. Even though I hoped to see her again someday, each passing month made it more difficult to picture her face.
I struggled to breathe as tears filled my eyes. I miss her so much!
Mother Superior gently grabbed my wrist with her warm hand and turned me around. Without pausing, she led me down the steps of the rear exit.
Confused, I asked, “Where are we going?”
The determined nun continued to the bottom of the stairs. “You’ll know soon enough.” She led me toward a black station wagon.
Mr. Friendly Driver, a middle-aged man, sat behind the steering wheel of the parked car. Usually, he was the one who drove us to or from school if we were ever late or the weather was too bad for walking. Mother Superior opened the passenger door.
I looked at her. “Where is he going to take us?”
“You’re going to the dentist.”
“The dentist?”
A somewhat stern smile creased her lips. “Yes, the dentist. Now, do exactly what Mr. Driver tells you. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
After I slid into the seat, she shut the door. The car began to roll forward and out the driveway. The man with wavy, black hair glanced at me while continuing down the road. “How are you doing today?”
“I’m not sure. Why are you taking me to the dentist?”
He looked straight ahead. “Because Mother Superior told me to.”
“I mean, why do I need to go? I hate when they mess with my teeth!”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know why.”
I stared at him while his eyes remained fixed on the road. Huffing, I sat in silence. I feared going to the dentist worse than the doctor’s office.
Every time the man, with the shiny, pointy tool, jabbed it between my teeth, it hurt like the dickens. Worst of all, the twirly thing that spun with a high-pitched noise made me cringe every time he stuck it in my mouth.
He’d grind and grind until it smelled like my teeth were on fire and smoking. I’d rather sniff chicken poop than that thing.
For all the pain he had inflicted upon me, it didn’t seem like he was doing much good. I already lost a couple of front teeth.
After the driver pulled into the parking lot in front of the office door, he took me inside. He pointed at my boots, then tilted his head at the coat rack in the corner.
I kicked off my galoshes and left them next to the stand while I unzipped my tan coat and handed it to him. He hung it on one of the hooks and grabbed my blue and green stocking hat from my head and plopped it on top of my jacket.
As we walked over to the counter, I pressed my hair in place. Mr. Driver spoke to the lady behind a desk. “This is Andy....” He glanced at me. “How do you say your last name?”
I looked at the lady with really curly hair and orange earrings that looked like pumpkins. “Skrzynski.”
She smiled. “Great, Doctor Torture will be with you in a second. Take a seat over there.” She pointed at a row of wooden chairs.
Confused, I shook my head. “Doctor? I thought this was the dentist’s office.”
She nodded. “Yes, this is the dentist’s office, but the nice gentleman that will be helping you today is officially a doctor.”
“Oh.” I took a seat as my driver headed toward the door. The lady waved. “Have a nice Thanksgiving.”
He lifted his hand while exiting the building. “You, too.”
After a rather long wait, another lady opened a door and stepped into the waiting room. Like the slightly older woman behind the desk, she looked nicer and prettier than the nuns I dealt with every day. It was difficult to tell what the sisters truly looked like with all the strange head dressings they wore.
The younger lady in a light blue uniform looked at me. “You must be Andy.”
Shaking her head, she grinned. “I’m not even going to try your last name. How do you say that?”
I sighed. “Skrzynski.”
She attempted to repeat what I said, but it came out, “Scarginki.”
Shrugging, I smirked. “That’s close enough.”
The friendly lady with long, straight brown hair led me to a small room with lots of shiny gadgets and a huge cream-colored chair. She pointed at the monstrosity. “Why don’t you sit up there?”
“Okay.” While climbing into the cushiony half chair, part bed of a thing, I asked, “Maybe you can tell me why I’m here. Nobody else seems to know.”
“Sorry, I can’t help you with that, but the doctor will soon be here to explain things. In the meantime, how old are you?”
“I’m seven, going on eight in February.”
“Good, that’s what it says right here.” She tapped her notepad with a pen.
About that time, I was convinced there were way too many stupid grown-ups in the world. What does a kid have to do to get a simple answer to a simple question? It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to answer why I’m here! Then, she asks me something she already knows. How crazy is that?
After a few minutes, an older man with silvery hair and a white jacket stepped in front of me. “Hello, young man. Your last name sure is a tongue twister. How do you pronounce that?”
One of Tata’s often used replies came to mind. If only I had a penny for every time..., but I chose the safer route and just said, “Skrzynski.” I didn’t want to upset the guy who was about to explore my mouth with hurtful gadgets.
The ole coot stared at me. “Open up your mouth.”
While I spread my jaws as wide as possible, he leaned closer. “I see you’ve lost a couple of teeth since your last visit.”
I nodded and tried to respond, but my words were mumbled with his fingers blocking my tongue. He lowered a light that could have brightened downtown Jackson all by itself. Blinded, all I heard was, “Do you know why you’re here?”
Squinting, I rubbed my eyes as he removed his hand from my mouth. “How could I? Nobody will tell me!”
“Well, I’ll try to explain the best I can. You had rickets when you were born.”
“Huh? Did you say crickets?”
“No, I said rickets. It’s a bone disease from a lack of Vitamin D in your mother’s diet before you were born. The medicine they gave you to help the problem caused your baby teeth to decay.”
I didn’t understand but a handful of words he uttered, but on he went. “That’s why I need to pull your teeth.”
Whoa! I heard that perfectly! I shrugged. “Which tooth? None of them are loose.”
I felt around my mouth to make sure. “See, not a single one of them is loose!”
I opened my gap as wide as possible while I tried my best to talk. “Check for yourself!”
His friendly expression turned serious. “Unfortunately, I need to pull all of your remaining teeth, but I’ll only be removing four of them today. We’ll have to pull the rest over time, but don’t worry, we’ll put you to sleep, and you won’t feel....”
“Oh, no you won’t!” I yelled as my chest tightened.
Gasping for air, I tried to scramble out of the chair, but the nurse stood in my way. The fear of pain filled my soul while I hollered at the top of my lungs, “Let me go!”
She firmly grabbed my arm. “It’s okay, Andy, everything will be fine.”
Fine? She is crazy!
I struggled to free myself from the torture chamber, but the dentist clutched my other arm. “Calm down. Nurse Not-So-Nice-Anymore is going to put you to sleep.”
My heart pounded like the drum on a Viking ship as the lady placed a big mask over my face. “You’ll feel better once the ether takes effect. Count to 10.”
Worn to a frazzle from my escape attempts, I finally relented and pouted, “One, two, three....” As my vision faded, everything went dark.
Dizzy as ever and ready to puke, a swirl of ceiling tiles slowly came into focus as a female voice kept saying, “You’re waking up.”
Panic quickly overwhelmed me as I wiggled in the chair and gasped for every tiny bit of air.
The nauseating smell of the ether forced a disgusting glob of puke up my throat as the same voice kept saying, “Calm down, Andy. Everything will be okay.”
Struggling to breathe, I didn’t believe a word of it. Nothing’s okay about any of this!
I sucked in as much air as possible and yelled, “Get me outta here!”
********
That's it for now!
So you don't get the wrong impression, when I had the opportunity to reflect back on my childhood, years after I had "grown up," I was very thankful for the Felician Sisters' care and the time I spent in the orphanage.
I'll share more pictures and short stories to go with the history lessons ahead. I hope you enjoyed this little peek into my life back in the late 1950s and early 1960s. In my next post, I'll continue to give you a peek into my childhood at the orphanage in Jackson, Michigan that many people walked past, while wondering what went on behind those large doors.
Thank you so much for your support!
Andy Skrzynski
Note: The Felician Sisters provided the orphanage photographs and gave me permission to share them within "Andy and the St. Joseph Home for Boys" and social media outlets, including my website.
The St. Joseph Home for Boys orphanage stood on 11 acres at the northwest corner where Blackstone St. and Van Buren St. intersected in Jackson, Michigan. Our residence room, while going to St. John's, was behind the windows of the 2nd floor to the far right above the bay windows in this picture. The dormitories, where I had my terrible nightmares during much of my first year there, were located on the 3rd Floor where you can see the cross in the front of the building. The one good thing about getting my teeth pulled was that the Tooth Fairy would sneak into the dorm, after one of those terrifying episodes at the dentist, and swap my pulled teeth with some real live coins. I used the change whenever I snuck into a corner store on my way to St. John's to buy some of my favorite snacks: Cracker Jacks, bubble gum, and Milk Duds. After getting most of my teeth pulled, it was getting more and more difficult to enjoy my delicious sweets. It was really difficult to chew peanuts with my sore gums!!!
Andy Junior, when he was attending St. John's, while living in the orphanage in the early 1960s. It's easy to notice that I was missing a lot of teeth, after all those dentist visits!!!
Andy Junior, in the striped shirt, with Little Brother and Baby Sister in the kitchen of our grandmother's house. This was around the time my brother and I had been in the St. Joseph Home for Boys orphanage for a couple of years. If you look closely at me in the striped shirt, you can see the gap left from all those teeth being pulled. Unfortunately, since I didn't have any baby teeth left to help guide my adult teeth, they grew in crooked. I was NEVER going to have one of those Hollywood smiles!!!