We Did Not Know Any Different

By now, we were starting year #4 as followers of francis schuckardt.  The school year was 1972-1973.

During the summer of 1972, my sister, Agnes, had attended a retreat for the religious followers of francis, the nuns & brothers.  I am sure this was highly encouraged so as to generate more vocations to these groups.  When my sister came back to Montana after the retreat, she did not give me any indication that she was going to become a nun.  I was relieved.

Agnes and I were about as different as night and day. While I enjoyed being outside all day, riding my bike, climbing trees, playing with the dog, she preferred to stay inside and read.   In the environment to which we had been subjected, she appeared more docile, much more compliant than I.  But, looks can be deceiving.  Maybe she was just wiser and chose to keep her cards close to her chest.  I don't remember ever having lengthy talks as sisters do about the insanity of it all.  We were both scared, scared to death of losing our immortal souls to the fires of hell if we rebelled in the slightest way. 

On a warm spring evening at the Villa Maria in early summer of 1972, the 22 boarders and staff ate outside on the sloped lawn.  It was an enjoyable time.  When my sister, Agnes, had finished her dinner, she tossed the remaining water from her glass onto the hillside.  Patty Klotz, who lost her temper very easily, scolded her for throwing her water at another boarder.  The house mother, our mom, told Patty, "You punish her as you see fit."  Patty told Agnes that she would do the dishes that evening all by herself.  THERE WERE 22 GIRLS PLUS the nuns, mom, and Patty.  I was furious.  I stood up, and I said, "No she won't.  I will help her."  Jaws dropped, and again, my mother spoke up.  "Miss Klotz, you punish Francie as you see fit."  And so, I was given the punishment of scrubbing the main floor bathroom from floor to ceiling.  I don't know what got into me, but I went and found the largest bath towel there was.  I put water in the tub, dipped the towel, squeezed the excess water out of it, and washed those stupid walls.  Within 10 minutes, I was done.  I was so angry.  Then, as I recall, I headed out to the kitchen to help my sister with the mountains of dishes, in silence.  We were not allowed to talk. 

We headed home for a brief summer break after that.  schuckardt liked to maintain as much control as possible over his flock, and so he scheduled summer school classes that were mandatory.  Maybe because of my mom's position in running the boarding school, he graciously gave us an exemption.  It was such a breath of fresh air to get out of there, and yet . . . .

I missed my friends at the Villa.  I had been gone from Montana for a few years by now, and am sure most of my friends from grade school had forgotten about me. Even if they hadn't, I sure did not want them to see me.  Even in Montana, away from the cult, we wore the required garb. We had formed friendships in Idaho that would withstand the test of time and insanity.  Some girls came and left the Villa shortly.  Their parents have obviously discovered what our little cult was all about, and chose the wiser.  Then they became the "enemy".  If we were ever to see them again, we were forbidden to speak to them.  Most had come from various parts of the country, so this wasn't an issue.  But, it was sad.

School began for the new year after the dreadful Espiritu Seminar.  Agnes, Mom, and I still shared a tiny little bedroom at the Villa Maria.  We did not have to sleep in the big bedroom with all the other boarders.  Sometimes, I wonder if they resented us for that.  It didn't offer any really special privileges, except that we weren't awakened by Patty beating on a fireplace shovel with a kitchen knife.  Mom woke us up a little more gently.  And, I looked forward to Tuesday evenings, because Mom would take just the 2 of us away from the Villa for a few hours of family time.  We often would go to Undy's drive in and get their tacos, and go sit by the lake and eat them.  Other times, she would go to the store and buy Kippered snacks and crackers, and various other simple foods we shared in our car looking out at the lake.  As I type this, I am becoming extremely saddened.  My mother, at that time, was younger than I am now.  It is not even conceivable to me to take my children to live in these conditions.  I don't remember what we talked about on those evenings away.  I was always in the backseat, mom and Agnes in the front.  I know that I really, really missed my Dad. 

In late November of that year, 1972, my sister told me that she was going to enter the Convent.  I remember that I was numb.  I cried and cried.  While we had fought like cats and dogs as youngsters there was a bond there now.  She was my sister, and she was going to leave me.  Christmas that year was difficult.  I knew that when we returned to Coeur d'Alene, her departure was going to be imminent.  And so, on January 7, 1973, Agnes entered the Convent.  And, then, it was me....and my mom.  It wasn't the same.  Tuesday evenings became fewer, and they weren't as enjoyable with just the 2 of us.  You might not understand what all this meant.  Usually, when a girl leaves her family and enters the convent, she goes away somewhere.  Agnes lived just a few blocks away from the Villa now.  But, she was forbidden to look at her family, much less speak to us.  It was as if she had died.  I was so sad.

Time wore on that year.  The school year wrapped up, and Mom & I headed back to Montana for a break with Dad.  A bright spot in my life over those months was that my sister, Pauline, lived nearby.  She had 4 kids whom I absolutely adored.  I enjoyed spending time with them.  There was no judgment.  They didn't question why I wore the strange clothes I wore.  But, best of all, they were expecting a little brother or sister at the end of the summer, and I was beside myself with excitement.  I couldn't wait.

You might wonder when you watch documentaries on various cults, why the people come across as being so happy.  I know why.  They have given their hearts and souls to the group.  They believe so firmly in the message that THEY have been chosen, out of all the world, to receive.  They are special.  They do not know any different.

1973.  I was fifteen years old.

2017 Francie writes a letter to little Francie

I wrote this letter to the young Francie last summer:

Dear F, little Francie,
Wow!  Where to begin?  I knew you so, so many years ago.  What was it, like 1962?  I remember that that was a very hard time for you, because your big sister, who had been more like your mommy, left you and went way far away to college in Pennsylvania.  You didn't even know where that was - except that it was way, way far away.  You really missed her, didn't you?  That's probably when you felt kind of abandoned, right?  Now, it was just you and your Mom at home while your Daddy went to work and everyone else went to school.  That wasn't a fun time for you, I know.  You tried to survive on your own, to stay out of your Mom's way, because she was so harsh with you.  Do you remember any fun things you did with her when everyone else was gone?  You were her last baby, and she told everyone that she was sad she couldn't  have more babies.  I kind of thought she'd make the best of those times, since you were the end of the line.  But, you know, maybe she was one very frustrated woman.  Your family was pretty poor.  So, maybe she worried about how she was going to feed all of you.  And, then there were her own demons she had never exorcised, and I think maybe she just didn't want to have to deal with them.  I get that a bit.  It is hard for me to have to deal with things from my past.  I'd rather sit and drink a bottle of wine than sit and try to make sense of things that happened to me..IF sense can be made of them EVER.  Frustration with things that happened in one's past is no excuse to take it out on a small child.  It is sad to me that you suffered because your Mom didn't know what to do with such a lively, energetic, happy go lucky little girl.  I'm sorry for the abuse.  The face dunking in water... the whippings with a stick.... the soap in your mouth... she couldn't handle you being so happy.  It wasn't your fault.  You couldn't help yourself!  You were born happy.  How could you not be?  Daddy finally had his "dark haired baby", and there you were.  And the love you always had for your Dad was born then, too.

When you were 4 and Sue left for college, could you ever have imagined how your life would change in just 5 years?  Wow!  I can hardly believe it.  Who could have guessed that your whole world would capsize when francis schuckardt was introduced in your young little, carefree, happy go lucky life?  Suddenly, your life changed dramatically.  I'm sorry.  Suddenly, you didn't just have to fear your mother.  You had to fear God.  You had to fear the devil.  You had to fear displeasing Jesus' mother.
You had to fear the world, because they were all a bunch of evil doers hell-bent on grabbing your very soul and dragging you into hell.  You were scared, weren't you?  I'm sorry.  I am so glad you got to find out later - how much later - how much your heavenly Father loves and loves and loves and loves you.

So, this new life - it was hard, wasn't it?  Probably the hardest thing for you was how it tore you from your Daddy, right?  I'm sorry.  It makes me sad just thinking of how much you must have missed him.  Guess what, Francie?  He missed YOU, too.  His life was gutted - his "sis", as he called you, was gone.  Your mom took Daddy's little girl and did her damnedest to break your spirit.  She had lots of help, too.  Can you even imagine what life would have been like if Janet had never joined francis?  No, you probably can't.  I'm sorry.  When Janet left in the summer of 1967, it was just the beginning.  Your spirit was about to be crushed - well, they sure tried, anyway.  I don't believe they succeeded, Francie.  I believe it always stayed alive - though hidden, and that makes me happy, because you were born with a beautiful spirit.  You had so much love and joy to share with the world.  I'm sorry that you were made to squelch that for so many, many years.  It was all so, so wrong.  I know that when it all began, you really hated it.  You had to dress so strangely - I know you were so embarrassed and didn't want anyone to see you.  That must have been hard for you.  And, as if that wasn't enough, you had to fear the eternal fires of hell IF you were actually ashamed to be seen in that crazy garb.  Geez!  You couldn't catch a break, could you?  I'm sorry.  It is no wonder that, as you grew up, you became so concerned - maybe a little too much - with what people thought of you.  It's ok.  I think that's how most people would have reacted, too.

I won't bring up all the things you went through in all those years in the schuckardt cult.

I want to tell you to hang in there, little girl.  It might look so hopeless right now.   It might look hopeless for many, many, many, many years.  I won't even tell you how many, because I don't want you to lose hope.  I don't want your amazing spirit to die.  I want you to keep it alive deep inside, ok?

Someday, you are going to enjoy a wonderful life, Francie.  It will all begin while you are still a victim of the cult - BUT - again, your spirit will persist and you will come out on top.  You always do.  I am so proud of you.  I'm proud that you never gave up your beautiful self.  For years, you had to hide it, but, because you are so strong, and yes, so stubborn, you will be a survivor.  I want to say that you'll be better because of it, but I really, really wish you had never had to experience the nastiness you did.

Just hang in there, you little doll!  An amazing life awaits you.

I have always loved you.  I am proud of you.  You are a gift.

                                                  Your older self,
(& Bernie, Matt, Kevin, Nate, Kara, Sully, Cassidy, Teresa, & so many, many friends - who all love you

1972: It Just Gets Worse

francis schuckardt did his best to convince us that 99.9% of us were meant for the religious life.  Very seldom would God direct any of us to marry.  So, considering that, my sister, Aggie, attended a retreat over the summer of 1972 that was for nuns and brothers and those thinking about entering the convent or seminary.  Lots of teenage boys and girls attended.  Why wouldn't they?  They  were in fear of eternal hell fire if they didn't answer the call of the Lord.  I missed my sister while she was gone for that long week of isolation, prayers, and endless talks by schuckardt.  She filled me in on all the details after she got home.  She didn't say anything about becoming a nun.  I was relieved.  Knowing that I would soon be leaving for a mandatory week long seminar of my own, she gave me this advice:  "Francie, if you want to get ready for the Seminar, this is what you do.  You get some sand, and you sprinkle it all over the floor.  Then, you practice kneeling on that for hours a day."  I knew she wasn't kidding.

The Espiritu Seminar, as it was called, was mandatory for any teenager planning on attending "school" in Coeur d'Alene during the upcoming year.  The irony was that, in advance of the seminar, we were all made to write an essay entitled, "Why I Want to Attend the Espiritu Seminar".  These had to be submitted to the Grand Poobah himself, well in advance of the end of August event.  I know that I wrote what was expected:  "I want to attend this seminar, because I am a wretched sinner.  I need to do penance for my sins."  I was 14 years old. 

The last week of August, my mom drove me to Coeur d'Alene .  We got all the items I'd need for the week, which wasn't much, shampoo, toothpaste, soap.  The seminar was held at a place in Twin Lakes, Idaho, called TwinLo Camp.  It was a beautiful spot on the shore of one of the lakes.  There were quite a few cabins, where we would sleep.  There was a cafeteria where we would have our meals.  And, then, there was the chapel/meeting hall, where we would spend most of our time.  Mom dropped me off on a Sunday afternoon, and I was pretty excited.  I wasn't sure what to expect, except for a lot of sand on the chapel floor!  I am glad now for that one time lack of knowing what the week would be like.  I wouldn't have that luxury in the years that followed.

They say ignorance is bliss.  In this case, that is true.  After my mom left, I stood with the rest of the girls in their long dresses and veils covering nearly all their hair.  The boys also waited - way far away, across the camp.  The nuns & brothers were careful to keep a lot of distance between the sexes.  Now, we waited to be told which cabin we'd been assigned to for the week.  There were about 8 cabins for the girls, and I have NO idea how many for the boys.  Most of the nuns were pretty cool to have as a cabin counselor.  But, you were REALLY lucky if you were assigned to the cabin where Mrs. Brazill was in charge.  She was a spunky little thing, and lots of fun.  She appeared to believe in the things schuckardt taught, but she was upbeat and always, always happy.  I wanted to be in HER cabin.  But, as fate would have it, I was put in the cabin that was the most dreaded of all:  Sr Mary Anne's cabin.  Sr. Mary Anne was hell on wheels.  She was mean.  I figured that I would just play it cool, follow the rules, basically keep my nose clean and all would be fine.  Right. 

The Espiritu Seminar ran Sunday - Sunday.  The day went something like this:  Rise.  Get dressed.  Go to chapel for morning prayers and Mass.  This would take probably 90 minutes or so.  All the while, you could smell the breakfast that the wonderful camp cook was preparing across the way.  After we were let out of chapel, we were made to line up in lines, 2 by 2, and walk with our eyes on the ground, and in total silence to the cafeteria.  When we got there, we would stand by our place in silence, not glancing around, until schuckardt or one of his cronies would lead us in grace.  Then, again in total silence, we would sit quietly and eat while someone read aloud from a previously chosen book on the spiritual life.  More times than not, the book from which they read was one called:  Preparation for Death.  It was written by some holy author and went into great detail his interpretation of what happens after a body dies.  Decay.  Maggots.  Just the kind of thing a teenager wants to think about at anytime, let alone when eating breakfast.  After breakfast, we cleaned up and headed to the lecture hall.  One after another speaker would get up and preach to us about the horrors of the world in which we lived.  We heard all about how our country would be divided into 8 different sections, each section assigned to a different culture from ours, with the intention of inflicting the  utmost pain upon us, hoping to cause us to give up our Faith.  Of course, when that happened, Satan would swoop in and take our souls to the eternal fires of hell.  He also made a point of instilling even more fear into us by telling us that the Pacific Northwest had been given to the Manchurians, the cruelest of all ethnicities.  Once a day, we'd have a quiz on the lectures of the day.  If you got 100%, your name would be written up on a giant chalk board.  (Bernie's name was always up there, smarty pants.)   Once a day, we were allowed to 'recreate'.  For the girls, that meant we could visit, or we could play volleyball.  I sat on the sidelines, all by myself.  I really felt lost.  One day, 2 girls walked over to talk to me, and to this day, one of my dearest friends is that girl, Lucy. 

We prayed and we prayed and we prayed.  And we listened, and listened, and listened.  In the evening, we would again go to chapel for more long prayers.  If any transgressions had occurred that day, schuckardt would rant and rave about it.  Transgressions?  Well, one day it was raining and we had to meet in the cabins for our recreation.  In Mrs. Brazill's cabin, they were playing charades.  Some of the girls got it into their heads to do a charade of Mary Magdalene.  So, while Mary laid on the bed, various girls acted out lots of people getting into and out of bed with the sinner, Mary Magdalene.  I remember thinking it was a pretty clever act.   Apparently, somebody had a qualm of conscience and reported it to schuckardt, and boy!  did we hear about it that night.  Anyone involved got a special punishment.  I don't remember what it was.

After prayers in the evening, we'd file back to our cabins 2 by 2 in complete silence, heads down.  We'd wait in line to use the bathroom, and then go back to our cabins to wait for more prayers before bed.  I remember one night kneeling beside my bed, eyes closed tightly, hands folded to my chest, praying along with everyone else, when out of the blue a hand slapped me hard across the face.  My eyes flew open, then immediately shut for fear of getting slapped again.  It was my cabin counselor, the dreaded, MEAN Sr. Mary Anne.  She never said a word.  After the slap, she just walked away.  To this day, I have no idea what provoked her. 

The Seminar concluded after a week.  I had survived.  My mom was there to pick me up, and I remember just hugging & hugging her so hard and crying and telling her I loved her.  I was so glad to be done with that week.  I think it is the most precious moment that I EVER shared with my mother in my entire life.  If only.....

It Never Goes Away

Never.  Ever.  It's always there, somewhere.  Anything triggers it.

In 2014, I was working at my dream job at Total Wine and More.  All the hours on my feet on the concrete floors took their toll, and after only 6 months, I had to quit.  The pain in my feet and my right hip were becoming intolerable.  I have since undergone 3 surgeries on my feet and 2 on my hip.  I have been in Physical Therapy for a couple of years.  I would not say that it has been a piece of cake.  It has been challenging, to say the least.   I have experienced periods of deep, deep depression.  I had been a very active person all my life, and the limitations were frustrating.  So, as I was out walking my 2 miles this morning, I had to catch myself and focus on my form and my balance.  "Suck it in.  Walk erect.  No limping.  Steady gait."  And, I thought to myself:  "I am basically having to learn how to walk all over again."  And, there it was.  The comparison.  The reminder.

I became a victim of a destructive cult in 1967, when I was 9 years old.  As I have talked about in previous posts, for everything we did, there was a guideline provided by francis schuckardt.  It is fair to say that all decisions were made for those of us in the cult.  If we were uncertain, we consulted the "Grand Poobah" himself, and he would direct us as to what was the "will of God".  Even after he fled from Spokane in 1984, that mindset continued in those he left behind.  It then became Mt. St. Michael, CMRI.  They tried valiantly to distance themselves from their roots.  But, still there was that mentality, to some extent, of controlling the way their parishoners lived and believed.  So, from francis schuckardt in 1967 to 2005 at Mt. St. Michael, the way that I was to live was, in some degree, heavily influenced by whomever was in charge.  And, that was NOT me. 

You are probably wondering:  Where is she going with THIS?  From my physical injuries and surgeries, I am having to learn how to walk right again.  From 38 years of having others guide me, or even make decisions they determined to be in my best interest, for the past 12 years, I have had to learn to trust myself to make choices for myself.  If you grew up in a family where you were given choices, you might not grasp what I am saying.  There were probably times when you didn't make the best decision, but you learned from that.  That is how it is supposed to be.  Imagine then, trusting yourself at 45 years old to start making the right choices, things that are good for you and your family.  It is a challenge.  Imagine having your spirit beaten down for all those years, and then you discover that you're actually a pretty smart person, and you can choose for yourself......  but, that subject is for another post.

See?  It.  Never.  Goes.  Away.
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