If someone had embroidered their names on the breast pocket and given them a squeegee, they could have gone straight to work at a gas station. Boys wore khaki uniforms and clip-on bow times.
A mantilla or a Kleenex bobby-pinned to the tops of our heads for daily Mass completed the look. The girls wore plaid, pleated skirts, saddle shoes, and white blouses. One friend came from a family of 13, and another had 11, and her mom was pregnant when we left. A family of six kids was considered moderate to small at Holy Name. Our younger brother and sister stayed home. It was the first year the school was open, and my seventh-grade class and my big brother’s eighth-grade class were squashed together into one of the Quonset huts that served as classrooms. My Air Force family was stationed at Brooks Air Force Base from 1961-63, and I went to Holy Name Catholic School in what was then considered to be the farthest reaches of the Southside. My third novel, “Mommy Club ,” was a Valentine to San Antonio where I spent the happiest years of my childhood.
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