Halloween Memories
St. Francis High School
October 31, 1968
The following essays were homework assignments for English classes I taught to seniors and freshmen at St. Francis High. I divided the initiation events into seven parts then assigned both a senior and a few freshmen to write about their experiences from their own perspectives. The essays were due on November 8, 1968, when the initiation memories were still fresh. In my teaching I had stressed the use of descriptive adjectives and action verbs. I think the students embellished abundantly, but the events described are basically true. Many years later they are a colorful retelling of the initiation traditions of the Salesian Junior Seminary in Richmond and Watsonville. I have treasured these essays for many years because they were written so well, and they bring back memories of fine high school seminary boys facing a rite of passage. I hope my former students and others who experienced these unique initiation ceremonies will enjoy them.
Jim Collins
THE RAID
“Scum, stand up! What do you think this is, a joke?”
I had waited patiently for three years to scream out this sentence of vengeance and now I finally got my chance after three backbreaking and nerve-racking weeks of preparations. We seniors were at last finished cussing at each other and were now ready to take out our differences on the unexpecting scum.
It was 7:45p.m. on the night of Oct.31—the time when all other good, little boys were out trick or treating already, but not our heartbroken freshmen. They must have had the butterflies by now as they nervously sat in study hall, while outside the seniors were madly running helter skelter making last minute “preparations”. 5:50 came and we, the seniors, now executed the first part of our plan. We blacked-out the study hall for a few seconds to build up a little more tension in the freshmen. I imagine it worked because after the lights came back on both Bob Sullivan and Mike Holson warily crawled out from underneath their desks. From the outside where I was, I heard a nervous laughter coming from the study hall, but that didn’t last too long, because a few minutes later the shrill warning cry of a whistle came from the far end of the quad and swiftly moved towards the ready-to-die scum. Just as the whistle reached the hallway to study hall and the freshmen hurriedly prayed for a few more minutes to live the whistle stopped, and the freshmen mopped the sweat from their eyes. Then before the freshmen knew what was happening the high-pitched scream of the air raid siren screeched out for blood. Then into the study hall rampaged seven freshmen-haters. Looks of disbelief and horror flashed across the I-want-my-mommy faces of the freshmen. Instantly, Tom Shively was miraculously cured of his tooth-ache and instead of giving his usual “Bowoooo” Vince Holson was running in place as he fruitlessly tried to get to the door. I also believe that this class set a new, all-time school record for getting out of study hall and up against the wall. The freshmen were then “prodded” on by the seniors to the next part of the night’s activities—the judgment. Brian Kendrick
********
Tension grew with every fleeting moment as we innocently sat in study hall pretending to be studiously working, but all the while waiting for the fateful sign. Then our perceptive ears heard it. A faint, high-pitched whistle growing louder by the second, at first scarcely audible gradually increased until it sounded as if it were right outside the study hall window. Then it stopped…DEAD SILENCE… All of a sudden the lights flashed off and a confusing chaos of sirens, with shrieks, howls, and whistles split the study hall air. The seniors came rushing in dressed in grey Ku Klux Klan outfits, wielding thick newspaper rolls and clubbing freshmen as fast as they could swing. The blood-thirsty seniors herded the witless scum into the hall where they stood, mocked and harassed by the entire student body while bright flashlights were beamed into their terrified eyes. “All scum turn right”, rang out the command from an almighty senior’s lips. We docily turned right, arms stretched high in the air, and stood on tip toes. We stumbled out the door into the dark night, taunted all the while by the upper-classmen, who were enjoying themselves immensely. We were shoved in a line along the front of the building then proceeded while everyone wildly chanted: “WE WANT BLOOD!!!
David Avilla & Tony Horst
CELLAR JUDGMENT
“Gilio, GET MOVING!”
That must have been the order heard round the world because I’ve never seen one person move so quickly. It was clear to me, then, that everything so far had been going along well. But, as I shoved Gilio down the ramp and into the cellar, I asked myself the same question I had asked McCarthy that afternoon: “Do you think the volleyball nets will work?” Well, it was now or never. The moment of truth had arrived. I proceeded along exactly as planned. I shoved Gilio past the door and held his face in position for Gonzales to flash his camera in Gilio’s eyes, I then pushed him down the corridor and into the nets. The nets worked perfectly. Momentarily blinded by the flash, Gilio didn’t know which way was up. Besides, with me prodding him forward, and Kendrick and Colembetti yelling their heads off, Gilio was scared stiff. All he could do was to frantically tear his way forward, ending up right in front of Brian. After I emerged from the hall of nets, we shoved Gilio into the judgment room and yelled at him. We hurled all sorts of accusations at him, especially his crime of trying to play keep-away with the upper-division’s volleyball.
“You’re going to pay for it, Gilio. We’re going to beat it out of you, you lousy scum!”
Not a sound of defense came from Gilio’s lips. I could tell very easily by his watery eyes that Gilio wasn’t looking forward to his punishment.
In our class meetings, we seniors had planned to take each freshman down one-by-one for the judgment. It looked fine on paper, but, as the actual procedure went on, it was apparent that it would take too long. So we ended up bringing only the top 5 or so frosh down. This seemed to be, at that time, quite a devastating blow to our plans of ultimate terror. Everything had been centered around these judgments. As it turned out, all the frosh were scared stiff even without the full judgment.
Fr. Don reminded me twice that the judgments were running a bit long. Then, because we cut it short, Lockhart ran off to tell the funeral procession to get started. This threw the juniors into confusion since we had promised them at least a half hour to get the procession organized.
To our relief, though, our pessimistic thoughts were proven wrong. It was very evident as we herded the frosh from the judgment area that they were all terrified and reluctantly waiting for their next “treatment”. Jeff Rupert
********
In the gloomy atmosphere of Halloween, fourteen frosh knelt before a cold plaster wall at the mercy of seven dark-robed, blood-thirsty seniors. While the sophomores cried for blood and tears, the upperclassmen howled in our ears merciless accusations of past crimes. The seniors now were beating our thighs and calves with three inches of rolled newspaper, which to us were three inches of rolled terror and revenge. They forced us to scream to the wall to save us and to disgrace ourselves by yelling, “Frosh are scum.” The seniors by this time addressed by the title “Almighty and Majestic Seniors” had us kneeling at their feet ready to obey their every command. Now breathing harder on the cold wall, we were in never-ever land because of a certain fear that if we turned our heads to see where we were our curiosity always would be met with a volley of newspapers and cries.
Then all of a sudden you would be thrust down a sloping sidewalk, and the light touch of spider webs would chill your body, and all your muscles would freeze. Then someone or something would slam you down on a wooden box so harshly you’d think that your soul would drop out of your body and become part of the fantasy that existed on that cold and dreary night. Then an echoing voice would howl in a guttural tone: “What are you?” At first you would hesitate, and then a shower of blows would meet your somewhat brave silence. You would reply without any more heroic hesitation, “I am scum.” Then you would be pushed out under a volley of cries and bone-mangling blows. When you finally reached the coolness of the October night above and were about to take a deep breath, a shattering blow would land on your posterior ending any fanciful dreams that the worst was over. Then jets of cold and frightful pain would run through your crushed and mangled body. Finally you would fall down on the frosty ground howling in pitiful winces of innocence, all for the enjoyment of sadistic upperclassmen: “Frosh are scum!” Dave Koltun & Michael Holson
BURNING AND FUNERAL PROCESSION
The melancholic sound of the drum forced the anguished frosh to face total dejection. The blazing torches approached the gloomy double-lined scum. Hardly a smile could be seen. Frustration was spelled out on their faces. Sweat oozed out and penetrated their clothes, as the blood-thirsty mob screamed for death. The coffin moving slowly caused greater tension. We singled out the Holsons to give us their well-known yell: “Bawooo…” Paul Gollis, out of pure fright, bowed humbly before the Almighty Seniors. The black coffin stopped. The torchbearers, in white shirts and dark slacks, holding the blazing torches, halted. There was dead silence.
Lockhart told the scum that a newcomer like them would be put in the coffin. We grabbed the yelling and screaming Angelo Savino and with much muscle lowered him into the coffin. Then we put the lid on the coffin and that’s the last the scum saw of him that night. The jubilant and delighted mob cheered their approval. The grim-faced powerless frosh were forced to give their reluctant approval.
The juniors lifted up the coffin, preceded by the torches and followed y nervous scum, and began the long-awaited death march. The mod, clenching their fists and completely surrounding the frosh, taunted them and make fun of them. As seconds went by, the scum became more terrified. We watched closely for any smiles and any attempts not to cooperate with us.
We ordered the scum to kneel down about fifty feet in front of the coffin. Both the seniors and the rest of the student body hurled charges at the frosh. As the frosh watched Lockhart throw diesel oil over the coffin, a cold chill must have crept up their spines as the coffin went up in flames. The gashed faces of the frosh looked stunned as we commanded them to get up and look at the burning funeral pyre for the last time.
Ignatius Schmidt
********
Around the corner came Passerella beating a big bass drum, followed by ten juniors carrying a menacing coffin and wielding dazzling torches. Suddenly they began shouting, “Savino, Savino!” He was brutally dragged to the ugly black coffin and dumped inside while he was screaming and fighting to get out. Then Rupert gets the devilish notion to put me in there and yelled, “Let’s put in Golis instead of Savino.” Terrified beyond control, I quickly said, “No” after he asked me what I wanted to do. Then McCarthy forced Vincent Holson to start howling, adding more to the already many sounds of grief.
After that, the procession was again started. We were forced to start jogging and abruptly stopped at the quad. The seniors put diesel oil on the coffin and proceeded to light it. With the burning started, the flames flared higher and higher, and there was silence. Then somebody said that the nuns were making “pizza” which was very sickening. We then started jogging again along the old road, and after a few pileups, the leaders got pounded on more. McCarthy then told us to look at the smoke coming from the coffin. Following that, Lockhardt said that the reason the smoke from the coffin wasn’t rising was because Savino, even though a junior, was scum. We were then at the steps of the gym. Vincent Holson and Paul Golis
GYM PROCESSION & BACK ROOM
The glowing embers of the burning coffin reflected in the eyes of the confused and apprehensive freshmen as they knelt in terror before their merciless tormentors, the “Almighty Seniors”. In a completely unresisting stupor they found it very easy to cooperate with the foolish commands snapped at them by their persecutors. As the cry arose, fourteen quivering freshmen shot to their feet in a futile attempt to avoid the persuasive blows of the fraying paper rolls. The order was given to turn to the right and to start running around the back of the dormitories to the gym, and they proceeded with surprising vigor. It wasn’t so much a run for the gym but more of a mad scramble from the voracious paper rolls cracking at their heels. After about the fastest 50 yards this school has ever recorded, they were asked to stop where they were. This resulted in slight disorder. Inertia seemed to dominate the scene, and what should have been diffusion turned out to be just a squirming mass of scrambled freshmen. The rest of the journey to the gym continued as before with occasional disturbances along the way.
We had planned to give a demonstration to our gullible friends when they entered the gym of the various tortures greedily awaiting their annual “feed”. The demonstration went on almost flawlessly. Notice I said “almost” flawlessly. There was one thing missing, the FRESHMEN! The next thing we knew, the doors flung open and the terrorized mass of social rejects stumbled into the gym. A brief moment of pandemonium followed while people were tripping their way back to their places in the pitch black gym which was strewn with very uncooperative pumpkins and cornstalks so that we could repeat the show for our newly-arrived guests. When they were will convinced of their doom, the helpless peons were brought to the dreaded “Back Room” to await their fate. In the back the condemned scum were told to stretch out on the floor and were then blind-folded. The rest of their term in the supposed “Death Row” came down to what you might call an ultra-extensive P.E. period, or would you believe, brain-washing. It’s really surprising to see some of the school’s worst physical catastrophes (The Holsons, Jim Gilio, Ed Tobin, Horse, Bob Sullivan, etc.) do as many as 50 perfect push-ups, or run in place for about 20 minutes (brings back fond memories, Shively). Then we gave each kid a chance to cool off for a few minutes (on the ice chair). After that each confused, harassed, frost-bitten, and very, very worried freshman was then peeled off the chair and shoved through the screaming, grueling mob, into that “House of Horrors” to suffer for all his innocent crimes. Gary Lockhart
********
The smoke from the burning coffin was smothering me as I marched to the gym at a stop-and-go pace. In the brief stop before we entered the gym, one of the freshmen was made to stand and kneel as an act of humility. As the brief moment ended, I joined in the screaming confusion. After we ran through a type of maize, we entered the house of terror. The zap of the electric chair rang out in my ears. I noticed how the victim actually became a live wire. The next instant another unlucky fellow was hung. In a great moment of pandemonium I found myself in the torture chamber which had a damp and smelly air about it. Then our blindfolds were roughly tied on.
My terror doubled every time there was another freshman taken out into who knows what. When one leg was down in a leg-lift, there was an immediate crack of a paper roll—the victim received his punishment. Gradually the number of victims dwindled down to four or five. The cracks of the paper rolls were heard more often. The remaining few were tiring. My push-ups were done with what seemed like days of endless moving. The running in place was giving me a very painful side ache. The time came for me, the final freshman, to leave. The ice I had just risen from showed an indentation of where I had sat. As I walked out of the chamber and down the hall the blood thirsty cry rose for me. Tom Shively & Ed Tobin
THE GALLOWS
The death of a freshman or two:
A chronicle of the worst night in a boy’s life
The platform and the crosspiece we had. Now to find a suitable platform for the gallows itself. We ended up using two old dining room tables. After trial and error we found we also had to add some 4x6s to raise it a little more. By Wednesday night the gallows still didn’t work as we wanted it to. Rupert and I spent the whole night working on it. After almost ripping apart due to the sheer weight of the crosspiece, we decided it needed more bracing. So we braced the crosspiece and the platform as best we could—or so we thought. We placed the mattresses under it and were ready to test its ability to do the job. Gary stepped on the trap doors and they didn’t give way. We knocked out the brace with a hammer. It worked! Everyone wanted to try it. Then it happened. The bottom part of the brace split when we hit it with the hammer. Moral: don’t hit the brace with a hammer. We also found out the entire structure needed more bracing. The next day, Thursday afternoon, we added even more bracing and put the new piece of bracing underneath the trap door. This time the trap door brace had been installed with an eye loop of a rope to cause the doors to open and the victim to fall through. After we completed the structure, we painted it, covered its sides, and added the steps.
The big night came at last. The freshmen were in the shower room waiting to die. Sullivan was the first one to be brought out because the seniors didn’t think he could last in the shower room. Amidst the shouts and jeers of all on the gym floor he was brought out blindfolded along the mat to his execution. He was guided up the steps to the platform, placed on the trap doors, and then for last respects, his blindfold was removed. He was shown the noose and felt its strength. The blindfold was then replaced, a dummy noose placed around his neck and pulled tight. The last words were said. The doors opened with a crash. The rope broke... “Aw…”
The hanging that was even better than Sullivan’s was Leen’s. Rupert told John Leen that there were five steps up to the gallows when there were really only four. Leen, desiring to please the seniors, walked all over the platform probing with one foot for the fifth step until told the sad fact that there was none. It must have been as disheartening for Johnny as when he found out there was no Santa Claus. Oops, Johnny might not know yet. Sorry John. Joe McCarthy
********
Terror reigned through our hearts as the somber light shone upon the mystifying gallows. As we marched cautiously toward the tortures, the mocking crowd wildly pounded the monosyllabic word into our heads: “Scum!” As we reached the gallows so feared, we were brought crashing and stumbling up the creaky stairs. Our blindfolds were removed to fix our eyes upon the swaying noose and the bloodthirsty executioners. Our blurry eyes were once more blackened to the world, and the noose was fit snugly around our feeble necks. “Five, four, three, two, one, zero…” the springboard beneath us opened its mighty jaws and we flung helplessly to the floor below. This action was seconded by our bodies being pulled out of the pit and let down to the gym floor. Thereafter, we were moved on through the laughing crowd and placed upon a wooden plank. The executioner’s voice sounded and we ascended about five feet in the air. We began to shake and sway as we rose up. Then came the sway which no one could stop, the jolt which compelled you to throw your body out and fall to the floor. But we were stunned to find ourselves lying weirdly on a pile of hay stuffed material. Finally, we were brought to a board with glass coming out of its bottom. Proceeding slowly, we walked ever so carefully, just enough to make us feel like we were walking on real glass. When the whip, the most awesome torture ever made. You were told to strip to the waist then turn your back. Then you would feel the mighty sting of its snap hugging against the flesh of your body. D.L. Freitas and John L. Leen
THE ELECTRIC CHAIR
Initiations. Fright! Horror! Blood! Shock! Frosh shaking in their boots! What a blast! (For the seniors at least)
For me it was the most comical thing to see the scum turn white at the sight of the electric chair with its Tesla coil flashing a blue arch to the light above it. Thinking that they would really get a shock, the frosh would struggle to keep their arms from being tied down. This made me roll with laughter. Once the scum were tied in the chair, I’d turn on the coil and then the red light and buzzer. At this point the scum would be bracing themselves as tight as they could with their eyes closed, fists squeezing tight, and their little tiny muscles popping out of their arms to overcome the shock that was to come. I think that the biggest shock was that there was no shock, except the shock of ice cold water being poured down their shirtless backs. After the dirty scum had survived this terrible crisis, they felt a little relieved. I noticed this especially in Mike and Vince Holson who seemed to be the most frightened by the chair. But there was still more to come.
The exciting little apparatus that, I felt, was pretty sharp was the glass board. The scum didn’t know that after showing them the board with broken glass and blood on it, I was going to turn it over while they were being blindfolded. Can you imagine scum believing that they would be forced to walk on broken glass with their bare feet?
One thing I didn’t enjoy very much was the whipping board. I don’t think it scared the frosh enough. There were only a few scum that thought they were really going to be hit with the whip. And these were quite relieved when they were brutally struck with a soft cloth or cold water.
On the other hand, the thing that I did enjoy was the stock. I got a kick out of smearing the scum’s faces, backs, and stomachs with an icky, sticky, gooey, sweet mixture of tomatoes, flour, sugar, and water.
I also enjoyed relieving the scum of all their fears at the end with a hearty “Congratulations, you made it! Scum!”
Jack Reyes
********
I didn’t know what to do, whether to hold my breath or gasp for air. The thought of getting zapped shocked my imagination to its limit and terrified me to no end.
A red blur shined relentlessly through my blindfold, a blur that I knew meant the chair. One of the goblins pulled my blindfold off, and the red blur became a light above the chair. The horrifying bundle of cushions supposedly capable of 30,000 volts waited for its victim, and I knew that victim was me. The executioner, with a quick twist, had me strapped in the chair. The headgear went down and it was like night, only the blackest of all nights. A frantic cry resounded for blood. Then the count down: “Five four, three, two, one, ZERO!” The vibration started, and my heart jumped to my throat, and I felt a cold shock run down my spine! I waited for it to go to the muscles in my arms and legs, but it didn’t. I looked at my shoulders, and it was then that I realized that the shock that scared the daylights out of me was just a cold sheet of water trickling down my back.
Bob Sullivan and Tom Ozanich
CROWNING, STOCKS, SHOWERS
I was working in the art room preparing innumerable details that had to be taken care of (graves, etc.). I could barely breathe thanks to the strong stench of one of the pumpkins which had, in the couple of days that it had been laying there, developed a bad case of rot. Rupert was dropping a knife into the gushy mess. Big Bro. John walked in. He started telling us about the days when he was initiated. Then he saw the pumpkin and gave us the great idea of “crowning” somebody. Of course we couldn’t use the maggot filled, “stenchy”, soft pumpkin already turning into liquid rot and spreading along the art room floor, so we decided to use a healthy pumpkin filled with delightful pig delicacies.
The day came. After all the action of the procession to and from the cellar, the burning of the coffin, and the entrance into the gym, we sent the condemned scums to their torture in the shower room. Our royal highnesses, Gilio and Shively, patiently waited till the end. There they finally learned how to do pushups and leg lifts by the thousands. Before their execution, they had a chance to sit on the refreshing “ice chair”. After they had gone through all the horrifying pains, they sat on their thrones in front of everybody. One of the seniors put a chain of linked garbage around their throats, and another of the good guys couldn’t resist the tempting fun of throwing a hand full of goop at the king’s face. Each one was given a corn stalk to symbolize their authority in getting scared, and they were crowned. Gilio became king of the ex-scums and Shively became queen. Forever horror-stricken be the queen!
Bill Colombetti
********
Pushed savagely towards the torture stocks, I wondered what the seniors had cooked up for us freshmen, the scum of the school. I didn’t have a chance to think about it as my head and hands were shoved into the stocks and locked in place. As I lowered my head, I saw it. Yes, there it was in the pan. Some fiend had concocted a slimy, gritty, putrid mixture that would make anybody barf. There were chunks of tomato and lumps of old bread and a hint of sugar. The other ingredients were beyond human imagination. I almost vomited as they raised the slimy gook to my face and smeared it in my hair. They proceeded to spread it all over my back and stomach. What a mess! When they were quite through with plastering the repulsive mixture on me, the Almighty Seniors anxiously congratulated me.
Bruce Avilla
After the shocking experience of the electric chair, the seniors (or executioners) brought out the thrones for the king and queen before the watching crowd. The executioners shoved me out of the electric chair and down to the thrones on the left while the attentive crowd looked upon me. I was given the royal treatment. First of all, rope soaked in gook was wrapped around my shirt. As the crowd was in hysterical laughter the executioners piled more gook on me. I could see before me, laughing, the crowd that was taking snapshots. Then one of the seniors slopped a handful of gook in my face. Another handful of gook went through my hair and down my back. Then the executioners brought an old dried up piece of corn stalk which they laid in my hand and pronounced me “King of the Freshman”. My crown was a pumpkin cut in half and filled brimming full with gook. This was thrust on my head and turned round and round until the gook came down my face. My queen was brought down before me and received the same punishment as I had received. Before initiations were over we turned out to be a sticky, stinky, gooey mess.
Jim Gilio
EPILOGUE
These 1968 essays revive initiation memories in all of us who participated in one way or another. In 1958 I was initiated at the Richmond Junior Seminary. I recall keeping a low profile before the initiation and letting the loud mouths put their necks out. Our freshman class was over 50 in number. The seniors were only a handful. So our initiation was a number and logistics challenge. I trusted the seniors and their superiors, the Salesian brothers and priests to keep the initiation rites in control. Still, the sophomores spooked us with stories of the 1957 initiation. I think they wanted us to have, at the very least, an equivalent or worse initiation experience than they had. Plenty of hazing was allowed before the initiation, so I knew that the initiation would be challenging. The loud mouths were targeted on initiation night. I recall a fellow freshman (Blume?) trembling and in tears as he was juiced on the electric chair. I was worried mostly about how the hanging could take place without actually killing someone. I think I peaked and figured it out before my hanging. The worst experience for me was being put in the stocks and made into a “sticky, stinky, gooey mess”.
In 1961, I was in the senior class at the junior seminary in Watsonville. We had 17 seniors that year. The freshman class wasn’t much larger than 30, so we weren’t challenged with numbers. We modeled the initiation from the previous year, the first year the seminary had been moved to Watsonville. All went well. I recollect, though, that the electric chair was actually connected to the dimmer on the stage and that the victims were truly mildly zapped. As in 1958, the freshmen were warmly accepted into the seminary family after the initiation. It was truly a rite of passage. Everyone in the seminary, including most of the superiors, had been initiated this way, so anyone wishing to be welcomed into the fold had to undergo the same. For the most part it was harmless. I guess potential injuries and possible litigation eventually brought its demise.
In 1968, I was a teaching brother at St. Francis High. I was supervising the study hall when the lights went out and the initiation began. From that moment until the last freshman was initiated, the entire faculty and I turned things over to the seniors. This was their moment they had planned with us. This was the moment they had waited for since their own initiation. I hoped that no one would be hurt but I also hoped that some freshmen would be brought down a notch or two in attitude. Most of all, I looked forward to and end to the hazing from all classes and an inclusion of the new freshmen into the Salesian family. Jim Collins