December 1, 1958... "The Day Santa Cried." That was the caption under the newspaper's picture of a drawing of Santa's face posted on a display board in one of the classrooms in Our Lady of the Angels School. What was once a child's vision of Santa was now, after the fire, a reflection of the horror of the day. The picture of the otherwise intact drawing showed long, black streaks under Santa's eyes that ran down the length of his face. They were tears as real as I and so many others shed with the unimaginable loss of lives and injuries due to the fire. I was 15 years old and a sophomore at Mother McAuley High School located on the far South Side of Chicago. I don't remember hearing of the fire before I left school that day. I do remember walking into my home and finding my mother and grandmother crying in disbelief as they sat in front of the television. I couldn't begin to comprehend what they were watching. I hugged my three siblings who were safely home from "grammar" school and cried for the children (having no idea how many) who would never make it home. My youngest sibling turned four that day. How bittersweet singing "Happy Birthday" knowing there were families (having no idea how many) who would never again celebrate their children's birthdays. To learn 92 children and three nuns died as a result of the fire is but another senseless tragedy only made bearable by faith. A few years ago I read the book, To Sleep with the Angels, given to me by my best friend who graduated from St. Anne's School of Nursing in 1964. She had heard stories of what it was like at the hospital the day of the fire and the credit it received for the handling of a disaster of such proportion. My heart broke for the victims, their families, and all who were involved in this catastrophic, life-changing event. The Our Lady of the Angels School fire occurred 51 years ago today... my little brother turns 55. Last week, during a discussion about the book, I went online and was amazed to find this site. I stayed up for hours reading many of the personal recollections and all of those who had been enrolled in the school at the time of the fire. Please know that you are in my prayers and I am so sorry that you have lived in a generation that was not to discuss the fire and all its pain and grief. And to be told, "God takes the good ones," though unintentional, was but another injustice to you and your classmates who survived the fire. For those of you who struggle with the toll it has taken on you, it's not too late to seek help. You were meant to live... it's time to do just that.
Flo Stanton
Texas
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