One Leg of a Girdle

( Editor's note: Though the Rosies are from two different generations, they share very similar stories that both began by giving to others through volunteer work. This is Rosie W.'s story of her time in Washington state.)

One leg of a girdle, and parts from an old Army fighter plane were some of the “treasures?” one could dig up in the authentic, and often spooky, attic of the Mission Building at St. Mary’s Mission in Omak, Washington. The school, Paschal Sherman Indian School, was located on the Colville Reservation in eastern WA.

This is where I spent some time in the early ‘70’s as a volunteer for the Jesuit Volunteer Corps, and where my husband and I spent our first years of marriage in a tiny room off the back of the boy’s dormitory.

The attic became my haunt. Donations came in regularly, and it was fun to rummage through the odd assortment of boxes from individuals as well as government surplus items.

It was there I found the old cedar chest that I trekked back across the country. At one time it was used as a coffin for one of the nuns who died years ago….short German nuns they were! There is still an inscription in faint pencil script on the inside of the chest which notes that “Sister ?” died October 18, 1920 in the evening. There is a faint list of witnesses too.

The attic also manifested a source of refrigeration for friends who were living off the grid. This was Army surplus, and the only problem was it had “Human Blood” stamped all over the outside, and it became quite the conversation piece in their home.

Folks sent toys for the children as well, but sadly some donations were in such poor shape that we staff had to trash many an item. It still makes me smile to remember the day the smaller girls had a “rebellion” in the Army Quonset hut that served as the gym, and began tossing all the “white honkey” dolls off the balcony. They deserved better, but we all learned to “make do”.

I taught sixth grade in a converted garage with all furnishings being cast offs from the outside world. In the end, none of this mattered. We were a small happy bunch who lived with the children 24/7. There was a pet coyote, lots of singing, dancing, community meals, playing and love.

And one leg of a girdle remains my best example of a donation gone awry.