When my wife was in the eighth grade in Brooklyn, NY, she attended a Catholic school. That year, she was in the classroom of “Sister Bertrand,” who was a math wiz with a sharp mind, a hidden sense of humor, and a reputation for being strict. To an eighth grader, Sister Bertrand would have seemed old. However, when thinking back, my wife realized that the nun must have been in her late 20s or early 30s.
Sister Bertrand brooked no nonsense from her students. She taught not just mathematics but other subjects as well. One homework assignment involved writing something original. At the time, my wife and her siblings were heavily into Dark Shadows, the vampire soap opera that was very popular. They would recreate scenes from the television show for their own and their parents’ amusement, music and make-shift costumes included.
In that vein (sorry-not sorry for the pun), she submitted an original Dark Shadows scene as her writing assignment. Sister Bertrand apparently liked it enough that she had students take on the various roles in the scene and perform it for the class.
Fridays were special days in the nun’s class. That is when she would set up a record player on a small corner table and allow her students to bring in and play their favorite 45 rpm records. The only stipulation was that one song had to be played at least once: “Reach Out, I’ll be There” by the Four Tops.
Sister Bertrand’s love of that song has intrigued my wife all these years. What was it about “Reach Out, I’ll be There” that spoke to the nun? Was she feeling constricted by her life? Was she going through a difficult time? As a member of a religious order, did Sister Bertrand hear the song as an assurance from God? Or could it be that she was longing for something or someone?
That is the power of music, isn’t it? It has the ability to express our inner longings and insecurities. Music also can spur us into action. We have certainly all heard of songs that have rallied people into revolting against oppressive regimes or employers, or into supporting national involvement in world wars. On a more personal scale, music can also motivate us to better ourselves.
We have a friend who has latched on to a particular song to help her through life. She says that Tom Petty’s “Running Down a Dream” provides her with the drive to push past her hesitations and to seriously go after her goals. The song reminds her that being wishful is passive and achieves nothing.
One result of running down her dreams is that our friend has self-published a couple of volumes of poetry, and she is preparing another one for publication later this year. She took the self-publishing route after sending her material out to literary agents and publishing houses and waiting for months for a reply. Some never responded, and the ones that did claimed that, although they liked her work, it was not something they handled.
Our friend took stock of her age (late sixties) and decided that she did not want to waste any more time to get her work out to the public. “The whole purpose of writing poetry, novels, and stories is to communicate with other people,” she told us. “It’s the same for painting, sculpture, music and other arts. Why should we let self-appointed gatekeepers block our attempts to connect with others?”
I have been attached to various songs throughout my life. They are all Italian as that is my native language. “Il Tempo di Morire” (Time to Die) by Lucio Battisti and Mogol spoke to me when it came out in 1970 and still speaks to me all these years later. Yes, the title seems morbid. However, the song is also known as “Motocicletta” (Motorcycle). The lyrics are about a guy with a beloved motorcycle who desperately wants a girl who loves someone else.
To me, “Il Tempo di Morire/Motocicletta” has always reminded me of my older cousin Rico, who owned a motorcycle. (See post #14, Role Models). He passed away relatively young, around sixty-five. Although late in his life he became something of a layabout, when Rico was young, he would often ride up on his bike to see me at a special institute for the handicapped where I was stuck for four years. I will always remember him fondly for brightening my days there with his raucous visits.
When she was on a college-organized trip, my wife ran into a former student from the same Catholic school she had attended (see post #11, When the Past Finds You). He recounted a rumor that Sister Bertrand had run away with a priest from the parish. There was no way to confirm or dispel this rumor.
Maybe Sister Bertrand did reach out to find someone was there after all.
Let me know if you like this post and if you have a comment. Has anything similar happened to you? Do you like stories about curses, steamy settings, and alluring people with mysterious powers? Are you interested in the early days of rock and roll and the hard road to fame? E.E. Mazier’s new novel, Johnny Moon and the Black Dog Queen, offers all that and more. Now available as a paperback and on Kindle at Amazon. Note: In Jan. 2026 price of the paperback will increase to meet requirements for Expanded Distribution. Buy before Jan. 1 to beat the price increase!
courtesy of “Anton”
ANTON CIRCLES HIS WORLD 