Life in the Ville by Jimmy Del Ponte

St Clement’s: Part two

This article first appeared in the August 20, 2008, edition of the paper.

Because of all the positive feedback I received on my first St. Clements Elementary School column, I pray that you enjoy this sequel of sorts – especially Frank Sharpe and Gary Murphy. Now remember, we are talking many, many years ago and things have changed a lot over there on Warner Street – St. Clements School is a fine institution of parochial learning.

Back then things were different, and we had some very memorable and colorful (actually, black and white) nuns. Their influences, memories and stories have stayed with us throughout our lives. One of those nuns was Sister Helene. I would also like to say right up front, that Sister Helene had to have loved the hundreds of students who passed in and out of her classroom because she taught for a long, long time. At that time, however, we mistook her dedication for terror tactics. She had a very odd way of showing her dedication to the fine art of learning. Some of her favorite things to call students were: “lazy lump”, “sneaky piece” and “sawed-off runt”. When I would stand next to tall guys like Mike Bonanno and Teddy Bates, she would say something charming, like: “look at the pint of peanuts between the two elephants!” Sister Helene’s nickname for Teddy was “Animalistic Bates.” She got confused at times and called Phil Bradley “Bradshaw.” She once called me Gerald La Point and got mad when I didn’t answer her.

Everyone that had her as a teacher has many choice Sister Helene stories. Most of these former students can also do a decent impression of her. Her facial expressions and manner of speech were unique, to say the least.

Sister Helene was good at imitation too – I’ll never forget the time she mimicked Lenny Provenzano’s unique style of walking. She bounced up and down the aisle and it was a riot. She would also embarrass the girls by nonchalantly (albeit quite loudly) recommending deodorants and soaps: “Jean Nate and Tussy are very good products,” she would say. Yes another “Helene-ism” – she would call you up after a test, look at the paper, smile and say: “Very good (then the dreaded pause…) – THIRD GRADE WORK!” We would cowl and limp back to our desk. One of the Sister’s favorite maneuvers was looking at a student and sternly saying “STAND UP!” and the minute you stood, she would say: “SIT DOWN.” She would drag this cat and mouse torture out for at least half a minute. I’m not sure, but I think she was a drill sergeant in a former life. A classic Sister Helene adage was “It’s a poor workman who blames his tools.” I still use that one on my kids.

1967 was the year that I was in Sister Helene’s 8th grade class. For an assignment, she told us to watch “The Music Man” on TV over the weekend. She told us to write a parody of the song “76 Trombones” using our class as the subject matter. Dave Porzio and I came up with: “We are the seniors of the grammar school, and we will do our work faithfully. We will be proud and loud when we tell it to the crowd, we have won St. Clements pride again!” We had to perform it if front of the class, but had to stand in the back because we couldn’t stop laughing. Thanks to Sister Helene, I wrote my first parody song, and went on to make a living doing exactly that on the radio for over 23 years.

She may have had a unique style of teaching, which involved a bit of intimidation and get in your face discipline, but we know she cared about us (I think). One of my classmates in “8A” was Gayle Fee, one of the Herald’s “Inside Track Girls.” Sister Helene used to call her “Miss Fee.” Gayle has some great Sister Helene recollections I’m sure.

After 8 years in St. Clements, I jumped ship and went to the 9th grade at Western Junior High School. My brother was three years behind me and my sister was one year in front of me. Sister Helene used to say: “Thank God your parents have the ‘little one’” (because Christine and I were such disappointments, naturally).

I was being my usual “sneaky little sawed-off runt” one day when Sister Helene went out of the classroom for a minute. For some reason, I put my school bag over Dave Porzio’s head, three rows over. Just as I did it, Sister Helene darted back into the room and went into frenzy – she danced around me singing: “I caught Del Ponte, I caught Del Ponte.”

The one time I actually talked back to her, I defended myself by saying that I was sticking up for my rights – and she promptly reminded me “you have no rights in 8A.” No rights, but lots of great memories. She used to tell me “butter would melt in your mouth.” I still don’t know what that meant.

One day Sister Helene judged a contest to determine who did the best imitation of her. It was between Mike Bonanno and Teddy Bates – it was an official “Helene-off” and she was judging. The Sister picked Mike as the winner. It was then that I finally saw the genuine caring she had for her students, but you had to dig deep. We all had a good laugh, and it was a highlight of the year.

When she bagged me jokingly giving “slippery Charlie” the bird, she exclaimed: “you can ‘snap’ your fingers at The Western (Junior High School).” I did, and I took some laughs with me.

22 years after being in 8A, I got a clipping from a newspaper article about me that she had cut out and mailed to me. With it was a note saying, “I am very proud of you, James, and I’m sure your family is also. God Bless you.” and it was signed by Sister Helene. It totally blew me away. She terrified us then, but she also provided us with the most memorable year of school ever.

Sister Helene is up there watching her former students going about their lives, and is probably very proud of us all. We all might just be a little stronger thanks to her. Everyone who ever had Sister Helene can sure tell some very funny stories. Thank you, Sister Helene, from your favorite sawed off runt.