The making of an Alpha girl - My tribute to Sister Mary Bernadette Little

Marcia Franklin-Robinson, Guest Columnist

I didn't want to be an Alpha girl. Coming from Norman Gardens Primary, my first choice was not the Convent of Mercy (Alpha) Academy for high school. My plan was to attend Excelsior, like my neighbours, or St Hugh's, like my sister. When results came out and I was assigned to Alpha, I was pretty down.

I remember complaining to my sister-in-law, Hyacinth, herself an Alpha woman, "Have you seen the length of those skirts? Who wears a jippy-jappa hat or a beret?" Her response to me was to wait and see.

That first day inside McAuley Hall, I remember the hush that fell over the group when Sister Mary Bernadette Little entered the room. For most of this group of anxious first-formers, it was our first introduction to that stalwart principal who would guide our journey for the next several years. Upright, serious and stern were my first thoughts. If you didn't know it before, you knew it then - Sister B (or 'Berns', as some of us quietly called her in later years, and, of course, out of earshot) was a distinguished, no-nonsense educator who was not only going to hold her Alpha ladies in high esteem, she was also going to set some really high standards for them.

I pretty much avoided one-on-ones with Sister Bernadette until that fateful morning in 401 when I decided to use the reggae song Ballistic Affair as part of morning prayers. It was 1976 and I remember my group being summoned back to the office to discuss why, instead of using a quieter, more reverent song, we had chosen to start the day with pop music about guns and violence. The only memory of that meeting that survived my paralysis from fear was Sister Bernadette's insistence on maintaining the Alpha lady's standard. I recall muttering some juvenile rationale for choosing the song because of the larger context of the politics of the time. We left the office with the assignment of thinking about what it means to be an Alpha girl when making future choices.

Months later, I was in her office again, this time to ask why it was that Alpha girls couldn't wear black socks and black shoes if that's what their families could afford. The argument was that brown shoes and brown socks were not typical of other high schools. Why, in tough economic times, couldn't girls wear what they had? Again, Sister Bernadette spoke to me about the importance of standards and that the Alpha girl wasn't 'typical'.

When some of us agitated for Alpha girls in sixth form to take science classes at St George's, while sixth-form boys from St George's could take arts and humanities classes at Alpha, Sister Bernadette again reminded me of standards.

Life lessons

On close reflection and in conversations with friends over the years, I'd have to say that I learned as an Alpha girl that standards matter (Lesson #1). I recall those few meetings with Sister Bernadette as her guiding my thoughts about standards. She never told me what to think, but instead urged me to think critically and establish my own standards within the existing framework of the Alpha tradition. That, I believe, is a trademark of an excellent educator.

Of my few one-on-one interactions with Sister Bernadette, the one that is most meaningful involves her appointment of me to be house captain for Vatican. One of the first exciting things we did as first-formers at Alpha was to get our house assignments. A rite of passage for sure. I was assigned to the House of Orleans. I very proudly sported my white button and was happy to be in such a champion house with awesome girls. However, by the time I reached fifth form, Orleans had taken a sad turn and was running second to last place. I secretly remember thinking, "Man, if I became captain of Orleans, I would work to restore our house to its former glory of always, at least, coming second to Gorretti, again."

Well, the day came in lower sixth form when Sister Bernadette announced new house captains. I think I almost passed out in the library when she declared that she was moving me from Orleans to become house captain in Vatican. What? Vatican? I said nothing. The rest of that meeting was a daze. I remember going home and complaining to anyone who would listen. Talk about 15-year-old stress? I was having it.

I decided I had to speak to Sister Bernadette to show her the error of her ways. I told her that I couldn't manage Vatican for all kinds of reasons. Then I told her I had written my big plan to save Orleans. She asked to see it. I handed her my folder paper with my ideas. She looked at it and handed it back to me, saying, "I think this is an excellent plan for Vatican. You can do it." I wasn't thrilled.

Bringing out the best

Over time, I felt myself being slightly reassured by Sister's confidence in me that I could actually do it. With the help and support of an amazing team of fellow sixth-formers, Vatican did win that year again. I remember her smiling at me when I got the big sports day shield on behalf of Vatican.

That, to me, crystallised her role as an educator. She knew her girls better than we knew ourselves and she saw in us more than we could see in ourselves. Lesson #2 - Encourage the best in others.

It was fitting that the last time I saw Sister Bernadette was three years ago at the thanksgiving service for the life of my sister-in-law, Hyacinth 'Claire' James-Franklin (Class of '64), who had encouraged me to wait and see. I had read the remembrance and was in the yard at Stella Maris after the service when I heard someone say, "Well done, Ms Franklin." I turned around to see it was Sister Bernadette. I was so glad to see Sister there that, in my excitement, I hugged her. After a few seconds, I remembered my fear and awe of her and stepped back quickly thinking to myself, you don't hug Sister Bernadette. I had reverted to the 15-year-old Alpha girl, instead of being the 50-year-old Alpha woman.

That day, Sister Bernadette was standing with a young nun, who said to me, "I don't know how she (referring to Sister B) remembers so many people. I know I couldn't do it." Sister Bernadette, in her inimitable calm style of the consummate educator, who never missed a chance to teach, turned to the young nun and said, "Stop complaining." Lesson #3.

Our memories

In retrospect, I guess maybe that's how many of us will remember her - in those few personal interactions that dressed us down and built us up at the same time. Or those times when she'd catch you strolling across campus and remind us to walk with purpose. Or we'll remember those larger group interactions designed to get us thinking and moving with purpose and pushing for excellence with discipline. From her lectures in McCauley Hall, to the punishments such as delaying graduation from June to September for my group, or the serious admonitions for lip-synching to Donna Summer's She Works Hard for the Money onstage, Sister Bernadette always showed her ever strong, unwavering commitment to us to become women of standards, women of excellence. She pushed us to be leaders.

You can call me an Alpha girl anytime, because she made sure that label meant something. Today, they call it branding.

Marcia Franklin-Robinson, a member of the Class of '78, is an HR professional with Cheyney University of Pennsylvania and owner of The Historically Black Colleges and Universities Career Center. Email feedback to columns@gleanerjm.com and thehbcucareercenter@yahoo.com.