I hope many of you read The Star’s story this morning about the Rockhurst High School alumnus, Kelly Gerling, who says that back in the 1967-68 school year, a vice principal — a man apparently affiliated with a religious order — forced him and another student to fight each other in the school’s basement.
This was a gladiator-style battle that the vice principal — a person who should have been promoting nonviolence — ordered up to satisfy his own perverted predilections.
The Star quoted Gerling as saying…
“I can still vividly recall the pain when my fellow student stuck his fingers into the indentations under my ears; the extreme fatigue; the anger at the situation; the humiliating helplessness; the fear of severe injury — neither of us having any choice under the circumstances but to do as Brother Windmueller ordered.”
The story doesn’t say what order of “brothers” Ron Windmueller was affiliated with, but Rockhurst, of course, is a Catholic school founded by the Jesuit order of priests. As Gerling said in the story, the ’60s were an era when corporal punishment, at least in Catholic schools, was openly accepted.
Gerling’s story reminded me of my own experience at St. Xavier High School in Louisville, Ky., which, like Rockhurst, was highly regarded for its rigorous academics and its leaders’ push for students to excel in all areas. But when it came to discipline, schools like Rockhurst and St. X took rigor to a demented extreme.
St. X was founded and operated by Xaverian Brothers, a religious order with headquarters in Baltimore. Like the Jesuits, the Xaverian brothers had taken a vow of chastity, which, as we all know, is still accounting for a lot of underlying frustration and tension in the ranks of priests and other Catholic religious orders.
Actually, I was pretty lucky as far as being a recipient of corporal punishment. I only recall being on the receiving end two times. But another incident, which I’ll get to in a bit, left an immutable, searing memory.
**
First, my own experiences…
One day in French class I was shooting or throwing spitballs across the room at a fellow student, and the teacher, Brother Wilfrid, rightly suspected me, although he didn’t actually catch me in the act. As the brothers went, Brother Wilfred was mild mannered and even tempered. But that day, he’d had enough. Suspecting that I was the disruptive culprit, he told me to come out in the hall with him. As we stood in the otherwise empty hallway, I had a smile on my face, not thinking I was in any serious jeopardy. He said, “Were you shooting spitballs?”
“Yes,” I answered, still smiling.
Next thing I knew his right arm came around like a windmill and he delivered a solid, resounding smack to my left cheek.
I stood there stunned, the smile having been replaced by an open mouth. Brother Wilfrid just slapped me? Head down, I went back classroom, and I never messed with Brother Wilfred again. All was well between us thereafter. He came to my father’s wake in 2007, and we had a nice chat. He died in Louisville three years ago.
The other time I was on the receiving end of corporal punishment was when an English teacher, Brother Cassian, caught me doing one thing or another and had me backed up against a concrete block wall. With my head just an inch or so from the wall, he put his hand on my head and gave it a quick shove into the wall. It wasn’t a hard hit, but it snapped me to attention.
Brother Cassian was another teacher I liked, despite the disciplinary action. One time, when I was a sophomore, I believe, he put a note of praise on a single-page essay I had written. It was the first time any teacher had made me think I had better-than-average writing skills. (I lost track of Brother Cassian and don’t know if he’s still alive.)
There was one particular teacher we all feared. His name was Brother Alexius Joseph. He taught religion and, I believe, Latin, and he suffered from arthritis. We knew when the arthritis was bothering him by the contorted look on his face and the meanness in his eyes. One day, when the arthritis was active, he walked up and down the aisles of the classroom, randomly smacking students with the textbook he was holding. I remember everyone sitting straight up, not saying a word, looking straight ahead and hoping they didn’t incur his arbitrary wrath. By the grace of God, I wasn’t hit.
Brother Alexius Joseph was not on anyone’s “favorite teacher” list. He died in 1974 at age 66 and was buried in a small cemetery on the St. X grounds.
**
Now to the most appalling incident of corporal punishment I ever witnessed.
The football coach was a short, muscular guy named Johnny Meihaus, who had been a running back at the University of Kentucky. He was a good coach but also a first-class asshole.
He had a son, Bobby, who was a classmate of mine and who, naturally, played on the football team. (Another of Johnny Meihaus’ players at the time was Maurice “Mo” Moorman, who later played for the Chiefs and threw a block that cleared the way for a pivotal touchdown in Super Bowl IV, when the Chiefs beat the Minnesota Vikings.)
Unfortunately, the football players weren’t the only students who had to put up with Johnny Meihaus. He was also the phys ed teacher, and every student came through his classes. In the role of teacher, he carried a wooden paddle — a paddle that looked more like a small oar than a ping-pong paddle.
Classes were held in an ancient gym that had an elevated, banked track. The track consisted of distinctive linear, parquet flooring and was situated above the basketball court.
One day, Johnny Meihaus singled out for punishment a boy I had gone to grade school with — a boy whose mother would sometimes take a group of us to school in a VW bus that had short curtains you could pull across the windows. The boy’s name was — is — David Williams. David was a brilliant kid, but different. He was very quiet and kept to himself. He was very thin and not the least bit athletic.
This particular day, Johnny Meihaus assumed the role of David Williams’ personal bully. He called David to the center of the gym for some trivial reason, probably not doing something fast enough or up to expectations, and whacked him numerous times on the buttocks with that paddle. I don’t remember if David was standing up or kneeling when he took the blows. What I remember is the loud “thwack” that resonated through the gym with each strike.
The most disturbing part came at the conclusion of class, when we were in the locker room changing from our gym shorts to our regular clothes. When David’s shorts came off, there for all of us to see were a series of horizontal black, blue and purple lines that looked like they could have been left by a whip.
It was ghastly and horrifying. I don’t recall anyone saying a word; we looked quickly and averted our gazes…And there wasn’t a thing we could do about it. It wasn’t the kind of thing you reported back then. If you did, you might have gotten into more trouble…I wonder to this day if David even told his parents.
I lost track of David, but my best friend in Louisville, Bill Russell — whom I see every time I go back — keeps track of everyone. He told me about 15 years ago that David, who became an artist, had declared himself “dead” as far as St. X was concerned. He even called the school and announced that David Williams, class of ’64, had died.
When we returned for a school reunion — maybe the 45th, in 2009 — one of the functions was a memorial ceremony for 1964 classmates who had died. The ceremony was near the entrance of Calvary Cemetery, Louisville’s “Catholic cemetery.” The classmate who presided at the service somberly announced the names of the departed. When he uttered the name David Williams, Bill and I glanced at each other, knowing full well that at that very moment David Williams was alive and well somewhere in Louisville.
**
I’ve never reconnected with David, but as a birthday present when I turned 65, I believe, my friend Bill commissioned him to do a painting of my boyhood home on Ruth Avenue, a few miles from St. X. I keep the painting on top of a credenza in my office, along with a photo of Barack Obama and a small painting of the Meyer Circle Sea Horse Fountain.
And Johnny Meihaus?
I recall him being in a nursing home in the late 2000s, at the same time my father was in a nursing home in Louisville. I also knew Johnny Meihaus had died a few years ago, and today, for this post, I looked up his obituary. It appeared in the Louisville Courier-Journal on April 22, 2009.
Johnny Meihaus was 87 when he died. The obit said he had been inducted into the Kentucky Athletic Hall of Fame and the St. Xavier Hall of Fame. The final line of the obit read, “Memorial contributions may be made to Coach Meihaus Endowment fund at St. Xavier.”
At St. Xavier, the Johnny Meihaus name lives on, when it clearly shouldn’t.
Absolute power corrupts absolutely. So sad.
You girls at Sacred Heart Academy didn’t know everything that was going on over at St. X, did you, Marcie?
I swear this is a scene out of the Spencer Tracy/Mickey Rooney movie “Boys Town.”
I should go back and look at that movie again, Tom. Thanks for the comment.
I remember two incidents of corporal punishment. One was in grade (middle) school when the shop teacher made you sign the paddle if you got swatted 3 times. Needless to say, boys being boys we took that as a challenge and before the year was out there was no place else to write on the paddle.
But the most meaningful one for me was in elementary school when the entire school had lined up on the playground to return to class after recess. My teacher pulled me out of line in front of the entire school, teachers and all, and accused me of spitting on another student. Since I hadn’t I told her so, I was struck in the face repeatedly until I confessed to the misdeed. Not one other teacher tried to stop her. I look back on that with fondness now because she taught me the best lesson of all: always question authority.
Ouch! And that sounds (from “middle school”) like it was a public school district.
Love the lesson…
Two Rockhurst grads have sent emails saying Windmueller was a Jesuit brother in 1967-68. On a Google search, however, I found that he apparently went on to become a priest in 1976, so he was later “Father Windmueller.”
Windmueller died several years ago. I don’t know exactly when, but a 2012 obituary I found for a brother of his said Father Windmueller had preceded his brother in death.
So, he was brother, father and asshole.
It’s so painful to read stories like this. When I hear of authorities being called out these days, it makes me feel a bit better about us as a society. (Not that we are doing near enough, of course.) But it is also a little bittersweet: Where were any “protectors” when I needed them (back in the 50s and 60s). Yeah, got a couple of stories of my own. I’ll bet most of us do.
As someone who attended Rockhurst from 1978 to 1982, I can tell you that a few sadistic Jesuits remained past the 60’s. One, in particular, dished out so much emotional and verbal abuse that getting up in the morning to go to school at that place was a major struggle. People will contend that they did that simply to make their students stronger. It only made me angrier. And when it came time to send my own son to high school, he went to Bishop Miege.
Our son Charlie went to Rockhurst and graduated in 2008. As far as I know, he experienced no problems — or individuals — like those you did, Mike.
I used to wonder, however, why quite a few people were dead set against sending their boys to Rockhurst. I thought it was because of the elitist label some people associated with it. Now, I see, there was probably more to it in some cases.
Jim, thanks so much for this thoughtful post prompted by the article about my whistleblowing story in the Star today. My friend of decades Rev. Vern Barnet sent it to me.
My memory suggests that Ron Windmueller was a Christian Brother. At the time, as children, we addressed him as “Brother Windmueller.”
I’m so grateful to the comments here by Marcie, Tom, Altevogt, Bob, Mike and you. I’ve sent this blog post over to the superb journalists who worked on the story around my original letter to Rockhurst HS and the responses and non-responses to it.
I may make the six-page letter public at some point, and the thoughtful, private apologies made to me by Father Terence Baum from Rockhurst HS and Bishop James Johnston from the KC/St. Joseph Diocese.
My desire was to prompt support from Catholic institutions towards protecting present and future children from physical abuse. Tens of thousands of children in our country still are subjected to assault, assault and battery and torture under the protection of law in 19 states.
This is all the tip of a very, very deep iceberg of horrific abuses. The 22,000 word, utterly shocking exposé by reporter Christine Kenneally hints at the extent of the practices, focused on a single orphanage:
We Saw Nuns Kill Children: The Ghosts of St. Joseph’s Catholic Orphanage
https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/christinekenneally/orphanage-death-catholic-abuse-nuns-st-josephs
I am so glad Vern told you about my post, Kelly. And thank you for your comment.
Your story obviously struck home with me and other men who weathered Catholic prep education in the ’60s — as well as before, I presume, and some after.
Yours is not a singular story but one that, like the “Me Too” stories that keep unfolding, was buried too long. And, in a way, yours is every bit as shocking as that of empowered men taking advantage of women to extract sexual favors.
In your case (and to a lesser extent mine and that of David Williams at St. X), it’s a story of empowered men taking advantage of boys in the name of preparing them for the rigors of adulthood.
Well, bull shit! It’s just what you said it is: ABUSE.
Yes, it strikes home, seemingly in two ways: Some relate to it as exposing abuses similar to what they experienced or witnessed. On the other hand, some project their unhealed rage onto me and anyone else who dares question the practices they still favor. It’s a kind of lingering Stockholm Syndrome of identifying with one’s torturers or captors — for survival in the case of still being vulnerable. But if kept under wraps once one is safe, it ends up prompting or causing misplaced vengeance, anger and rage — like the messages and calls I get of attempted ridicule, prompted by the story today.
Yes it is ABUSE. And like all assault-and-battery and torture, it should be criminalized by law.
Oh Jim I do remember those Phys Ed classes well. I was not in that particular class but I was in the class with Harry Olin a large young man that chose not to play football despite having the ideal physique. It seemed that he was paddled almost daily and asked why he was not a football player. HARRY NEVER SAID A WORD AND HE ALSO NEVER PLAYED FOOTBALL. Bill Russell
I think it’s unfair to single out Catholic schools. My experiences were in public school and those abusive mentalities continue to today.
In Chanute, a 9-year-old forgot to take an empty shell casing out of his pocket after an evening with the family at the range. When it was discovered the public school principal terrorized the child to tears, made up a punishment that was nowhere to be found in their regs and then praised himself for not behaving even more harshly. Thankfully, he has since retired, but of course, was treated as a saint like the goons you folks describe.
In Olathe public schools, a fourth-grade teacher made disparaging remarks about toxic white male masculinity and when it was reported to the school board only one member responded and that was to insult the people who had reported the teacher.
So, the problem is universal and the problem is now. Good article, Kelly, my only complaint is that its focus is too parochial.
A story in today’s Washington Post says a high school football coach and teacher abused players and students in a variety of ways, including plugging up a nostril of one student and forcing mucus to be released from his other nostril onto a 15-year-old male student…This stuff is still happening.
https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/morning-mix/wp/2018/09/12/high-school-football-coach-head-butted-student-told-another-to-commit-suicide-report-says/?utm_term=.7350763a61e0