Good Girl: You're going to make it after all: Chapter 8

My wonderful life at Louvain with friends

I continue my stories about life in Louvain, two of the best years of my life. I had great friends. My life was full—learning a lot and having a wonderful time with friends. This section could use more dialogue. I will probably rewrite it.

Making Friends

At the dining hall on the rue de Bériot, I became friends with two other new students: Frank and Joe, both Americans. Frank was doing his junior year abroad and was studying modern languages. Joe was studying for a licentiate in psychology. He was my age. They introduced me to Bert, a Flemish Belgian, a year older than me who was studying for two licentiates, one in economics and the other in social sciences.

Somehow Ed, too, became part of our group, maybe through eating together at the dining hall. Ed was a professor at DePaul University in Chicago, several years older than us. He was on a Fulbright scholarship to get his PhD. at the Institute of Philosophy. Ed in turn introduced us to John, also a Fulbright scholar at the Institute studying for his PhD. While there were thousands of international students from 200 countries at Louvain, the numbers of people from the U.S. who were not priests and nuns were relatively small.

There were few women at Louvain. I spent most of my time with men friends.

Our group was together every night for dinner at rue de Bério. The food was good, and some of it new to, like raw hamburger called steak tartare, horse meat that looked like steak but had a sharper taste, rabbit that tasted like chicken but not shaped like chicken, and cow’s tongue. I ate the rabbit and the horse meat, feeling like a traitor, but I was hungry and young. Today, I would not eat horse meat. Horses are an important part of my life, and eating them now is unthinkable. I didn’t eat the raw meat and the tongue.

There were other great dishes I had never heard of but ate with delight, like coq au vin, croque madame, cassoulet (a rich stew), and vol au vent (chicken with mushrooms in a cheese sauce. I ate escagot, steak frites, and moules and frites (mussels and French fries) in restaurants. These dishes were not on offer at the cafeteria. The pastries were unbelieveably beautiful and delicious. I ate all of them except cookies called Madelines. I couldn’t eat them because they reminded me of who I suspected was the other woman and Ed.

One evening, the gang and I were standing in the cafeteria line. I looked at a huge bin of what looked like giant tongues. They were pale and bumpy. I asked the woman serving them, “Qu'est-ce que c'est ca?” (What is that?). She said “l langue de boeuf” (cow’s tongue). She plopped one on my plate along with carrots and potatoes.

Sitting on the table, the four of us looked at each other and then at the huge tongues on our plates.

“Here goes,” I said. I cut a piece of the tongue,put it in my mouth, and chewed. It was spongy and flavorless.

“Yuck, it feels just like tongue.” I spit it into my hand. I ate potatoes and carrots for dinner that night and skipped the Madelines, too.

“I’m hungry,” Frank said, and he chowed down. He was a big guy as was Ed. Joe was smaller, but like the other two, he ate every bit.

We hung out afterward at the park and and the International Student Center. We enjoyed the coffee from the huge hissing copper urn that had multiple spouts for steam, hot water, and mysterious elements I knew nothing about. I had cappuccino for the first time there and have loved it since. We often played the card game hearts as well as bridge and chess.

We mostly talked to each other and other students and drank coffee and Stella Artois beer. I learned about how people from other countries viewed the U.S. Most were angry at the destructiveness of military intervention and the propping up of dictators in their countries. A friend from Morocco said, “I can’t believe you’re an American. You are so nice.”

Later, we’d gather at the bistros and sidewalk cafes in the Grand Place for more Stella beer or wine. We also went to the discos that were on side streets off the Grand Place. We didn’t do much studying during the school year and with so much free time, I took a nap in the afternoon and read a lot. I remember especially reading the Marcel Pagnol trilogy of Marius, Cesar, and Fanny, a romantic story that takes place in Marseille, France. I had a crush on Marius, whom I imagined had curly hair and big warm eyes. I also read a lot of philosophy, such as de Beauvoir, Sartre, Ricoeur, Camus, and Baraille.

We studied in May and June to prepare for exams in July on courses from both the first and second semesters. We didn’t have to attend class, and there was one I didn’t. When I showed up for the exam, other students were waiting in the anteroom. I peeked in the room, and there were three professors sitting at desks. I didn’t know which one had taught the course for the exam I was about to take.

I asked, “Which one is Professor Aubert.” Another student pointed him out, and I marched in. He asked me three questions, and I answered each other them. The exam lasted five minutes. The profs reasoned that if students answered the first questions well, they would continue to do so. There was no need to continue.

After studying in the evening, we’d go to the bars at about 11 pm, and it was light out, and leave at about 2 am, and it was light out once again. That’s how far north Belgium is. That’s also why I took afternoon naps. The friendship of these men helped make my first year at Louvain unforgettable.

Bert

Bert and I spent time alone, taking walks, going to movies, eating out, spending time in the sidewalk cafes on the Grand Place, and playing tennis, a sport I was not good at, but we had fun. Flemish was his native language, but he also spoke perfect English, French, and, I think, German. We spoke in English. He introduced me to the country soul music of African Americans, which I came to love. Mississippi John Hurt was his favorite and mine. Like me, he read a lot. and we talked about books.

One weekend that first year, we took the train to Antwerp to meet his parents. He was their only child. I remember their warmth. I wonder now if they were concerned that Bert would marry me and move to the US. If so, they didn’t show it. They kindly spoke French with me, when Flemish was their native language and a language they preferred.

Almost all Flemish people spoke French, but few Walloons (French-descent Belgians) spoke Flemish. Resentment toward Walloons was building to new heights while I was at Louvain. I remember several demonstrations that ended with water cannons firing at students. I didn’t attend the demonstrations, but I waited on the cafes of the Grand Place to get first hand reports.

Bert had a shooting range in his backyard and showed me how to shoot with his 22-caliber rifle. I enjoyed target shooting with him, although even then the use of firearms for killing people and animals bothered me a lot.

Bert wanted to move to the United States once he finished his studies. One day, he said,

“I love you.”

“I like you a lot, but I’m in love with someone else.”

“Who is he?”

“He’s a priest who has left the priesthood and is teaching philosophy in Michigan. His name is Ed Burke.'“

“A priest?”

“He left the priesthood, and he asked to be laicized.” Laicization means that the pope declares that a priest is no longer a priest, but is once again a lay person.”

“Do you hear from him?”

“No. He said we would talk in a year.”

“That’s weird. If Ed loved you, he would write to you. You wouldn’t even be apart.”

Bert and I had several conversations about my love for Ed. He was kind about it and remained unconvinced that Ed loved me.

I heard his words well enough to remember them verbatim, but I continued to hope that what I had with Ed would come to fruition within a year. What happened between Ed and me was so powerful and profound I couldn’t believe it would end with silence. Bert and I continued to be close that year, but he also spent time with Louise, a study abroad college junior from upstate New York. Louise hung out with us sometime, but she and I didn’t hit it off the way I did with the men.

Louise had long black hair, big eyes, and clear skin, a bit chunky, but athletic and animated. She smiled and talked a lot.

I thought of what it would be like to marry Bert. I didn’t have the desperate passion for him that I had for Ed. Bert was kind, steady, calm, reliable, consistent, and predictable, qualities I might have cherished had I not met Ed who was charismatic, exuded eroticism, erratic, emotional, paternalistic, and sometimes harsh.

At the time, I thought that if I married Bert and we stayed in Belgium, I would always be the cute little woman with an American accent. I didn’t want that, and I didn’t like the thought of being so far from my family. I also didn’t want to be responsible for snatching Bert away to the US, leaving his parents bereft of their only child and alone in their old age.

I wanted Bert to move to the US without a commitment from me. If did that, I would not feel guilty about having a part in his leaving his parents. Once in the U.S., we could spend time together, and then we could see if marriage was what we both wanted. I didn’t tell him this.

Looking back, I wonder what would have happened if I had had the emotional intelligence to tell Bert what I was thinking. I also wonder if Bert was shopping for a wife from the US so he could live there. At the time, our relationship felt genuine. I was naive about Ed. Was I naive about Bert?

He visited me for about a week a year after I returned to the States. We had a wonderful time. He couldn’t believe I didn’t have a stereo set.

“Don’t you listen to music? I thought you liked music.”

“I do. I don’t have the money. I don’t make much working for the health centers.”

“Let’s go to a stero store.”

Bert bought me a Pioneer stereo system that we installed on a cabinet in my living room and several Mississippi John Hurt 78 rp records. I still have the records, but when I moved to RI, I gave the stereo equipment to a friend who was into vintage equipment. I enjoyed that stereo and its radio for at least 50 years.

I have memories of the fun we had swimming in the Atlantic Ocean. I realized then that I could love him. Too late. He was on his way to visit Louise, a women he was then in love with.

He wrote to me later to say things didn’t work out with Louise. I didn’t tell Bert how much I enjoyed my time with him. I don’t know why. A few years later, he married and sent me pictures of the wedding. I showed the pictures to a close friend, and she said, “She looks like you.” I thought so, too, but what does that mean? How important is it?

Bert probably would have made a good husband. I felt no passion for him.

Betsy McMillan

I also was friendly with Sister Betsy McMillan from Pennsylvania and two priests, Father David Inman and Father Donal Keogh from Rhode Island, my home state. I thought a little at first about whether they had known Father Byrne and whether he had told them about me, but it soon didn’t matter because I enjoyed being with all three.

Betsy had red hair and freckles, the map of Ireland on her face, adorable, and a good friend. We saw the movie Doctor Zhivago together. We had to sit in the front row because the theater was crowded. The screen was so close that we had to lie down with our necks on the back of the seats to see. We also took walks and ate ice cream cones.

What I remember is a series of lovely times together, full of good cheer and interesting conversations. She graduated with a PhD in theology at the end of my first year to become a professor at her order’s college, a place whose name I don’t remember. I want to say Sacred Heart, but there are lots of colleges with that name. She looked forward to the next stages of her life.

I missed Betsy when she left. We stayed in touch for a long time. She was a nun for 67 years and died at age 85 in December 2021 in a Sisters of Mercy convent in Pennsylvania.

As I was writing this, I found her obituary on-line. It described her just as I knew her: “Her brilliant mind was matched by her generous heart.” Her first assignment after Louvain was not listed in her obit. She taught at Carlow University, a Catholic institution in Pittsburgh, beginning in 1969, which was two years after she left Louvain. She taught for fifteen years in South America. She could speak French and Spanish. What a woman!

Fathers Inman & Keogh

Father Inman was handsome with a broad forehead and square jaw, not too much older than me. Father Keogh was nice-looking, too, several years older than me, and a bit detached compared to Inman. They were PhD students in theology. The two priests took me and one or two other students out to dinner a few times a year. We went to elegant places with food that was exotic to me, like venison, wild boar, and frog legs.

We had different kinds of wine at the various courses. I remember the delight of tasting Mosel wine for the first time. I remember a cool, tangy sweetness. I was delighted with the elegance of the restaurants. Such places were out of reach for me with my budget.

I enjoyed their company, and we talked about interesting things, but I don’t remember what. I never spilled my guts about Ed with them or with Sister Betsy. What was the difference between my relationship with the two priests and with Ed? With them, we experienced calm presence and trust. With Ed, it was sexualized freneticism. With calm and peaceful persons, I was calm and peaceful. With the sexual frenzied, so was I, at least with Ed.

I was in touch with both priests for a long time. Within a few months of returning to RI, Father Inman invited me to speak at the Newman Center at the University of Rhode Island where he was chaplain. My topic at the Newman Center was human sexuality. There were hundreds of students there and a few faculty. I was surprised that I spoke so easily to such a large crowd. I had never done this before.

I had one heckling questioner, whom I didn’t handle well. Father Inman, I, and a few others had wine and cheese in the rectory afterward. He said, “Why didn’t you shut that guy down?” He then gave me some language, such as “Interesting question. Let’s talk afterwards about it” and “Thank you. Now let’s hear what others have to say.” when I could turn to someone else.

I used those lines for my entire academic career. One time at the rectory, the phone rang. Inman said, “I have to answer the fucking phone.” Everyone laughed.

I remember seeing him on and off for a couple of years, friendly and cordial. He eventually became an administrator at Brown University in Providence after deciding the priesthood was no longer his calling. He married a woman I never met. Other people said she was lovely. Maybe they had children. By then I had not seen David for a long time.

I was engrossed in my own life as a child welfare social worker and with friends and boyfriends. David and I had a clear and respectful relationship. He never degraded me by saying things like, I hope you find out who you are and what you really want and then cut me off.

Friends helped me to re-connect once again with Father Keogh with whom I had lost touch. Several years after I returned to Rhode Island, I was friendly with Sue and Don, a married couple with a young son.

Don was a founder of Genesis II, an experimental Roman Catholic Church with lay people in charge, and he invited me to be a founding member. I had stopped going to church the first year I was in Louvain, but the idea of a lay-run church appealed to me. We met in the auditorium of LaSalle Academy in Providence, RI. LaSalle is a Catholic boys school that Christian Brothers ran.

Christian Brothers are an order of monks devoted to living a holy, celibate life in community Father Keogh became the pastor. I was open to joining a church because I was attending Al-Anon, which created in me a spiritual awakening and a desire to be part of a spiritual community, as I had been as a child, teenager, and student at Catholic University.

Father Keogh and I were on good terms. I remember a conversation we had after about humility, a topic Al-Anon addressed. I learned it meant to be clear-eyed and clear-headed about what was happening in our lives. Father Keogh talked about humility in his sermon the following Sunday!

As I write this, I realize my relationships with friends at Louvain were not only wonderful, but they were clear, in contrast to what I experienced with Father Byrne.