Acknowledgements
There are several people who have had a real positive influence in my life: My brother, Edward for his intuition; my brother, Norman, for being able to see the humor in everything; My brother, Wilfred, for being so clever and resourceful; Mr. Davis, at the Middlesex County Training School for his understanding; Mr. Russell, at the Trade School, for his ability to teach in a way that reached his students;
I especially want to thank my friend, an incredible mother and the love of my life, Lillian, who has been my wife for almost 63 years; who has supported me in everything from the time our relationship began. She has been my biggest piece of luck; John Spuria for being an all-around good man and for being a mentor to me in the plastering trade; and Roy Masters of the Foundation for Human Understanding for his spiritual guidance.
I give my heartfelt thanks to my niece, Donna Casey, Digital Artist, for her assistance in providing such a wonderful cover. If you are a reader and would like more information about Donna, you can contact her at donna_casey@verizon.net.
Finally, many thanks to my daughters, Susan and Joan, for the hours they spent editing and formatting this book. And for Joan’s husband, Ron, I want to recognize all the work he did in cropping and formatting the pictures used throughout this manuscript.
Copyright ©2010
Washington, DC
Triumph Over Truancy
….How Middlesex County Training School Changed My Life
Dear Readers,
My name is George Cormier. Like so many times before, I am remembering 1944 and the six months I spent as a teenager at the Middlesex County Training School in Chelmsford, Massachusetts. As you will see later in this book, I had never even heard of such a place, and to think that I would find myself there was to me incredible.
This is a true story, told by me at the age of 81. It is the journey of my life before and after being sent to a Reform School for Truancy. Sentenced to six months, this is the story of how it affected me, what I learned in the time I was there, what might have been, what really happened, and where I am today. I’ve included in this book a whole lot of pictures from my life as a young boy up to the present time. I hope you enjoy going back in time with me, and that you’ll take away from it the thought that, in some ways, we are all responsible for what we become.
I was born on February 22, 1929, the seventh child in a family of nine children, in the small town of Jay, Maine. I lived there until I was about eight years old. Then we moved to another small Maine town called N. Livermore Falls. My father had no education at all and never did learn to read or write. My mother had only three years of schooling, but she could read and write in both English and French.
We lived in low-cost housing in Jay, but in N. Livermore Falls we lived on a farm. We stayed there until I was 14. It was an abandoned apple farm, which had a seven-room house, attached sheds, horse stalls and a cow barn. There were also 175 acres of fields and standing timber. It was a family-run farm; we had chickens, cows, horses, hay, gardens, and lots of apple trees - and I was so happy there.
In those days, parents used the help of their children in order to survive. So, for my parents, having their children get an education was not a priority; we all helped out at home. But, eventually, World War II took my older brothers away from the farm, and my father was left with too much farm and not enough hands. My parents had no choice but to move to the city in order to find another way to make a living. So, we left Maine and moved to Waltham, Massachusetts.
Chapter 1
In the Beginning . . .
My family was very poor, but we enjoyed a quiet, simple life in North Livermore Falls, Maine. There was plenty of room to run. We had animals and trees and lots of fresh air. I wish my life could have continued that way because, if it had, I would never have to know of Middlesex County Training School.
When I went to school in Maine, all grades - one through ten - met in a one-room schoolhouse. Depending on what grade they were in, children sat in different rows. There were times when I was in the same classroom with my older brothers and sisters. Although one-room schoolhouses are almost unheard of today, that was the way it was done in country schools back then.
As I said, all of us children had our chores, but once my older brothers, Edward and Norman, were old enough, they each went into military service. My parents made the decision to move to Waltham, Massachusetts, because my sisters, Christine and Irene, were already living there. But, with that move, I knew my life would never again be the same.
When we first moved to Waltham in 1942, we lived at 10 Sun Street, which was a small back street in the downtown area. The house was a duplex and had four bedrooms. I moved into that house with my parents, my sisters, Alma, Rita and Eleanor, and my brother, Wilfred. It was while we lived on Sun Street that Wilfred also left to join the Army.
Once in Massachusetts, my parents went from farming to working in a factory on an assembly line. This had to be quite a challenge for them, especially since they had the burden of knowing three of their sons were serving our country at the same time.
Like I said, I was 14 years old when I first came to Waltham. I attended Robbins School, which is no longer in existence. Thankfully, I was able to make several friends after I settled into my new home. My 6th grade teacher was Ms. Lane; she was my favorite teacher throughout my school years. That’s me, the one on the far right in the front row.
My best friend, Lee Wong, is sitting right next to me. Carmella Gallitano, the girl I had a crush on at that time, is the second one from the right in the row behind me. I ended up being good friends with her brother, another George, before I was sent to the Training School and again later when I became a business owner. In a strange coincidence, Carmella’s older brother, Leo, who was in the service when I was in 6th grade, became my insurance agent when I went into business later in life.
Below is a picture of South Jr. High School, where I attended 7th grade. It reminds me of the real beginning of my life’s journey. It was while I was attending that school that my parents were served with my truancy papers.
Chapter 2
From a Farm Boy to a City Kid
As soon as I could after moving to Massachusetts, I got a part time job at a local drug store working at the lunch counter. Most days I worked until 10:00 p.m. and also worked some weekends. With that kind of schedule, along with other issues I’ll go into later, truancy was bound to happen.
Since I was only 14 years old, I probably shouldn’t have been working at Prospect Street Pharmacy, but I was. I worked there for about six months. The pharmacist wasn’t the owner, but he was a former Marine, who could be menacing if he wanted to be. How do I know that?
Well, there was a middle-aged mechanic, who worked across the street from the pharmacy. One day he was in the pharmacy and observed me selling a pack of cigarettes to another person about my age. I had just turned 15-years old. The mechanic said it was against the law to do that. I smarted off to him and the mechanic threw a punch at me. The pharmacist saw it and threw the mechanic out of the store.
The pharmacist called my father and asked him to come down to the pharmacy, and he did. Then the mechanic, my father and I sat down to talk in one of the booths. My father explained to the mechanic that I was just a kid and he shouldn’t be so hard on me.
The next day, the pharmacist didn’t show up for work, and we all wondered what had happened to him. Sure enough, later on we found out that he had been drinking and was looking for the mechanic to avenge the wrong done to me! The mechanic heard the pharmacist was looking for him and went into hiding to keep himself safe. Eventually, the pharmacist sobered up, and the mechanic was unhurt. Nothing was ever said again about that pack of cigarettes!
My mother worked for about a year in the assembly plant. Because my father was illiterate, he didn’t do that job very long but, instead, went to work in the paper mill. This was easier for him, since he had worked at a similar plant in Livermore Falls, Maine. From there he worked in a wool mill. My sisters, Christine and Irene, worked at some of the plants as well. It was during this time that my brother, Wilfred, went into the service.
My mother became somewhat of a hypochondriac; it seemed there was always something wrong her in one way or the other. Anytime she felt moody or something she would write a note to my teacher excusing me from school, saying she had a headache or something, and the teacher would excuse me. I really didn’t mind missing school because I would be tired from working nights at the drugstore. The thing I wasn’t aware of was the seriousness of missing so many days of school. In the country, staying home and taking care of my mother was the right thing to do, but in the city missing a lot of school days resulted in serious consequences that neither my mother nor I knew anything about.
Well, about six months after I started school in Waltham, I had stayed home with my mother because she had one of her headaches. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. I went to answer it and, lo and behold, there was a gentleman wearing a badge, who turned out to be the Truant Officer. He asked me if I was George Cormier, and I told him that I was. Then he told me who he was and that I was in trouble. I said, “I am?” and he said, “Yes, you are.” Then he asked me if my parents were home. I told him my mother was, that she didn’t feel good, and I was home looking after her. He handed me a piece of paper and told me to make sure I gave it to my parents.
Then the man left. As he walked away and I closed the door, I read the paper he’d given to me. It said that I was being summoned to court for truancy. I had no idea what truancy meant; it was a strange word to my parents and me, because we had never heard the word before that day.
Before long the court date arrived, and I really don’t recall how I even got to the courthouse. Most likely it was by bus, because we didn’t own a car or any other type of transportation. It was just my Dad and me that went that day. My mother made the excuse of having a headache or something and stayed at home. Dad and I waited our turn at the courthouse; soon they told us what room to go to, a room where other people also waited to see the judge. All of this didn’t mean anything to me because I had the mindset of a 15-year old kid from the country where you just go from one day to the next and do whatever is asked of you.
Someone called my name, and my father and I got up, moved to the front row and sat down. The judge read from a piece of paper that said I had missed a lot of school and other court terms I can’t recall. Then the judge looked at me and asked, “George, do you have anything to say for yourself?” What could I say? They already knew everything that happened so I said, “No.” Then the judge turned to my father and asked him the same question. Because my father was illiterate and had no idea why we were even in that courtroom, he simply stated, “No.” Well, as soon as my father said the word “no,” the gavel went down and the Judge said, “You are now sentenced to the Middlesex County Training School in Chelmsford, Massachusetts. You are to stay there for a period of six months or until you are 16 years of age.
Here I was in my new city for only a year and a half, and I was being carried off to the Middlesex County Training School for “truancy.” While I was trying to grasp what had just happened, I watched my father go one way while I went another. I was put inside of the officer’s car with no personal belongings - absolutely nothing. There was no saying goodbye to my family or anything. I can remember it just like it was yesterday sitting there in the officer’s car. I was so naïve, not even realizing that I’d left my job without notice and left my mother without saying goodbye.
Since I was ignorant about things such as truancy, it all seemed weird. I had no idea what was happening to me. If I’d been street-smart, like most kids were when they were taken to the Training School, I would have had my eyes peeled on everything that was happening around me. And maybe I would have understood it all a lot better. But I wasn’t that kind of kid. I was fresh off the farm, used to moving from one chore to the next, and never thought about what might happen to me if I wasn’t looking!
Anyhow, we took the 50-mile drive to Chelmsford, MA, which took approximately 90 minutes from the courthouse. There were no highways like there are now, so, it took much longer to get there than it would today. All the way there I just kept my head down and didn’t say much, except when the officer asked me a few questions about my family, my father, where I came from, etc. I didn’t volunteer anything. I just kept silent with my head hung down.
Chapter 3
My Introduction to Real Life
We soon arrived at Middlesex County Training School. It was a huge place that included several buildings. The driver dropped us off in front of the Administration building. I was introduced to the officials of the schools when we arrived. (I imagine they knew I was coming and were waiting for us). I met the receptionist and then the supervisor, Mr. McCoy. He was dressed in a dark suit and was very nice. He was gentleman-like to me, and I remember I was the only kid present at the time.
I looked at him, and he said hello to me, introducing me to his wife. Mr. McCoy explained how the place was set up with different cottages and that I’d be placed in one of these cottages with boys my age - no younger than fourteen and no older than sixteen. Mr. McCoy told me there were other cottages with kids younger than I was, twelve and thirteen year-olds, but during my time there I never saw them. We just lived in and around our own cottage, and that’s where our lives happened.
After he explained the set up, Mr. McCoy said, “I’ll take you over to your cottage as soon as you get through talking with Mr. Robinson.” He said this as he brought me into the superintendent’s office. Mr. Robinson was a stout, kind of husky guy, and he was sitting behind his desk as we came into the room. He got up and said with much authority, “Have a seat young man.”
I sat down without saying a word. This wasn’t a good idea, however, because if there was one thing I quickly learned, it was to speak when I was spoken to. But, what did I know? I hadn’t even begun to adjust to city life. I’m in trouble for missing school and taking care of my mother, and now this man was speaking very harshly to me (which has never happened to me before). I had committed no crimes and was still wondering why I was sent here to this strange place for six months.
Then Mr. Robinson said, “Let me explain something to you, George. You will be staying in a place with 30 to 35 other boys and you will have a headmaster who will be with you throughout your term here. We have rules, and you will follow them. You will wear a uniform like all the other boys and keep yourself clean.”
I can’t recall exactly what else he said except for this one thing; “I want to tell you that there are no fences around here as you can see. We don’t have them because you’re free to take off anytime you want. But remember, there will be a harsh penalty waiting here when you get back, and I’ll describe it to you. I would suggest that you think long and hard before you decide to run away. That’s what we call those who do run - ‘runaways.’” I didn’t say anything. I just looked up at him and listened to what he was saying to me. I had no intention of doing any such things, so the lecture meant very little to me.
Mr. Robinson continued, “Well, okay then, welcome to the Training School. Mr. McCoy will now take you over to your cottage.” Mr. McCoy and I left then and went over to the cottage where I was introduced to my headmaster, Mr. Davis, who I would see on a daily basis. Mr. Davis took me around and explained how things would be at the cottage.
“There’s your locker,” he said. The locker room was a large square-shaped area with steel lockers along the walls that were numbered one to thirty-four. “Any belongings you have, you keep in there,” he motioned. “You have no business in any of the other lockers,” he continued. “That will be your little home in there while you’re here.”
Outside the locker room there was a hallway that led into the shower room, and from there another hallway led into a large recreation room. Mr. McCoy said to me, “Here are your clothes. Put them on in that room there.” I can remember the uniform was a copper-colored shirt and tan pants. “And then you can come into that room which is the dining room,” he said. Mr. McCoy told me it was getting close to dinnertime and that I would be assigned a seat at one of the tables. I was shown where to sit and told that I would sit in that very same seat at that same table for every meal.
After I changed into my uniform, I went down to the dining room that contained the round tables. We finished having dinner then went into the recreation, or “rec” room, as we called it, for about an hour. Unlike the dining room where we weren’t allowed to talk to anyone, I was able to speak to the boy next to me – only the boy next to me. All I could hear was mumbled speech or whispered talking. It was really an odd thing, at least to me, because I’d never been in a situation like that before. From the “rec” room we went into the shower room to get cleaned up. Then we went to bed in the dormitory where everyone was assigned a certain bed. Just like the assignments in the dining room each boy slept in his assigned bed every night while at the School. This eliminated any squabbling and fighting about the sleeping arrangements.