Growing up as a kid, I loved Christmas at Maryville Academy. What’s Maryville you ask? To me, the best way to describe Maryville is that it was like Hogwarts. Harry Potter was the first book I read in college decades ago. Of course, I didn’t really read for pleasure at the time, so I watched the movies after reading the first book. I loved watching every film, and somehow it never clicked until right now that Maryville was Hogwarts.
At Maryville, we had a campus filled with ponds to fish in, soccer and softball fields, basketball and tennis courts to play in, and a church to pray in. We had two gyms, a lap pool, an indoor golf facility, a commissary, a thrift shop, a school, and a doctor’s office. For special occasions, we would gather in the small gym, which also acted as our roller rink. Instead of houses Gryffindor or Slytherin, we had the Slack, White, Gaerlyn, or Collier homes. Instead of Professor Dumbledore we had Father Smyth. Father Smyth was like Dumbledore and Hagrid combined. During the 50’s Father Smyth played basketball for Norte Dame, was an All-American, and first round draft pick. He gave up a career in the NBA to teach us kids how to be awesome. When Father Smyth came into the room, his presence commanded everyone’s attention. He had the deepest voice that bellowed through the gymnasium. When he walked, the earth shook. And when he shook your hand, he looked you square in the eyes as he crushed your little hand with his Goliath bear claw. At first, we squirmed in agony, but over time, as we grew older and stronger, we squeezed back and he would squeeze even harder. Father Smyth was teaching us how to have a firm hand shake, but he was also teaching us life is tough, and we have to fight through it. He was teaching us to be bigger than life.
So I have tried. I have tried to be bigger than life. I tried college. I failed. I became a Marine. I failed my relationships. I finished college. I failed at life. I did more college. I failed more at life. And now, I write. I am trying to be the best damn writer and human being that I can be, so that one day I can give back my time, my words, and hopefully my success to my family.
Maryville really was like Hogwarts. Coming into the main entrance, on the left hand side there was a massive building the length of a football field, the gym. The main entrance road continued to a roundabout with a statue of our Dumbledore, Father Smyth tossing a child into the air. To the right was a colossal building constructed for the Chicago’s World’s Fair and moved to Des Plaines, Illinois. That old mammoth mansion was where Father Ryan and Father Smyth slept. It housed the doctor’s office and old chapel. When you drove around Father Smyth’s roundabout, there was the new chapel, administration buildings, and a water fountain we threw pennies in like a wishing well.
As you progressed along Father Smyth’s roundabout, Maryville turned into a community of two story homes spread over acres and acres, with one family living upstairs and one family living downstairs. Some were for boys, and some were for girls. Some were for kids with behavioral problems, and some were for well-behaved kids. Everyone in the staff was like a character in Harry Potter. Going to the commissary was like going into a shop to pick up stuff for spells from some creepy old guy who smiled and laughed, but I could tell he was a simpleton. He probably was a Maryville kid sixty years earlier. Going into the thrift shop was like picking out a magic wand from a nun. I can remember their faces, but I was too terrified of the world to even talk to them. I wish I knew their names, so that I could thank them.
I wish I spent more time studying and reading, but it was too much fun to have two gyms in our backyard. The gymnasium had an amazing south gym with professional grade wood floors painted blue and gold with Maryville written on the main court. We had bleachers. We had a weight room. We had locker rooms, and a lap pool. When I say Maryville was like Hogwarts, it really was, but instead of playing cribbage, we played basketball. When we had home games, we packed our gym and showed our esprit de corps just like during cribbage matches at Hogwarts.
We lived in Chicago during Michael Jordan’s reign over the NBA. Every Maryville kid wanted to be the next Scottie Pippen, Michael Jordan, or John Paxton, which was ironic, because Father Smyth turned down the NBA to play with us kids or at least that’s how the legend goes. Nevertheless, basketball was important to us, and they gave us the “big gym”. It was gorgeous. In fact, Michael Jordan did a photo shoot in our gym. Of course, we all had posters of Jordan in our gym. I can remember the sounds the lights made when they were turned on. I can remember how they took forever to power up. I can remember how they shone down on the wooden floor. I can remember the sounds of sneakers squeaking, boards creaking, and basketballs bouncing off the floor, backboards, and rims.
Like in Hogwarts, we travelled to different parts of Illinois and competed against other kids, just like us. Unfortunate for the other kids, we were always the juggernaut. We were state champions at everything: basketball, football, softball, and soccer. We felt pride, a sense of belonging, but most importantly, we felt loved. During Christmas time, the Chicago Blackhawks came to our gym for a Charity event. Through out the year, various people donated tickets to Cubs, White Sox, Bears, Bulls, and Blackhawks games. All eleven of us would pile into a thirteen-passenger van and travel downtown. Sometimes three, four, or five homes would be going at once. I remember brining my mitt to Cubs and White Sox games in hope of catching a fly ball, but I never did. One time, after the Bulls repeated as champions, we went downtown to watch the filming of a television show. And we got to meet players and were on television.
During Maryville’s big fundraiser, Chuckwagon, they sent us kids to ride the roller coasters at Six Flags Great America. I saved up money all year to buy funnel cakes to eat, soda to drink, and arcade games to play. I loved every minute of it. Also during the summer, our houses took turns traveling up to camp St. Mary and camp St. George near Eagle River, Wisconsin. We rode horseback, waterskied, and fished. We competed against one another in softball, volleyball, and tennis. We hiked, played capture the flag, and even had a talent show. We bought soda and candy with the money we earned doing chores. Traditionally, the nun served fish on Friday because pork, chicken, and fish weren’t kosher. So, we went into Eagle River, and ate pizza on fish Fridays. Then we played arcade games and rode go-karts. I am going to write an entire book about the fun I had at Clearwater Lake, and it breaks my heart the camps are no longer there. Until this very moment, I didn’t realize how blessed I was to have the Church, Maryville, and that amazing nun to cook our delicious meals at camp. She worked hard, and I never remember if I ever thanked her. The food was good, and she did it out of the kindness of her heart. I don’t even know her name to thank her, but I hope she knows in heaven, because I am sure she has passed by now, that we appreciated every minute of it.
Everyone at Maryville did everything out of kindness. The fundraisers at Maryville were the best, but they only chose you to come as a kid if you behaved. My brother John and I worked hard at behaving. We really did. We behaved as well as we could, and then we would be so happy to see each other. We didn’t hug. We just wanted to play. We just wanted to see each other. We were so thankful just for that, just to see our sibling, someone like me. I am so thankful for the Catholic Church and Maryville Academy for making that happen.
Thank you Father Ryan.
Thank you Father Smyth. May you Rest In Peace.
The Catholic Church has its flaws, but is full of amazing wonderful people who do so much for kids that nobody wanted. Sadly, there would be times when I misbehaved, and my punishment was that I couldn’t play. Well, not being able to play meant not being able to see my brother. There would be times, I would be waiting to see my brother in the gym and he couldn’t make it because he misbehaved. We tried so hard to see each other. Maryville threw parties for good grades. During which, we ate Little Villa pizza and drank pop. And it saddened me when I didn’t see my brother at the good grades party. But his issues were different than mine, and we dealt with our issues differently. Yet, Maryville did so much to keep my brother and me together. They did so much work to allow me the privilege to play with my brother. It means the world to me. Every single person I met was amazing: the family educators, the administration staff, the nuns, Father Ryan, and Father Smith. Everyone. I am just now realizing how much work these people did for my brother and me. We were just two kids; now imagine three hundred.
Do you want to know how you were selected to be a privileged Maryville kid? You had to be underprivileged. In other words, you had to be burned from head to toe by your mother. You had to be hospitalized by your father’s whippings. You had to be fondled, molested, and raped. You had to be a crack baby, a heroin baby, or an alcohol baby. You had to be left in a dumpster. You had to be emotionally abused, called stupid, a piece of sh*t, worthless, and you had to be told I wish you had never been born. You had to be worthless trash, because that’s what you were. Or at least that’s how I felt. And yet, Maryville took away the pain and agony and gave us happiness and joy. Maryville made us feel loved when no one else loved us.
Over the years, I have been blinded by life and forgotten about my family. I have been blinded with trying to being normal, a normal human being, that I have forgotten how awesome it was to be a Maryville kid. It was awesome not be normal. Who cares if my family wasn’t normal? Who cares if my brothers and sisters were white or black or Hispanic or Indian or whatever? I have been so rapped up in life, I have forgotten about my family. I don’t want a normal family; I want an extraordinary family. And there is no better time for family than at an extraordinary Christmas.
Nothing was better than being with my Maryville family during Christmas. We had a whole month of Christmas. One day we would ride in our thirteen passenger vans downtown to Harry Carey’s where I would get to see my brother John and all my Maryville brothers and sisters. They stuffed our bellies with whatever we wanted and gave us gifts. Another day, we would travel to a banquet hall where Marines would hand us toys. The first time meeting Marines was like being touched by an angel; I wanted to be a Marine right there and then, because I felt the love of the Corps. And I did. Another day, we would travel to Arlington Race Track for a benefit where we competed scholastically via spelling bees and essay competitions just like Hogwarts. One year, I won ninety-eight dollars and bought a ten-gallon fish tank with all the filters, food, hoses, rocks, and all. Having a couple gold fish was my Biblical version of Harry Potter’s owl Hedwig. Anyway, they fed us and gave us gifts. But of all the places we went for Christmas, nothing was better than our Maryville Christmas party.
Like always, we piled into our thirteen-passenger vans and traveled to the south gym where we ate food, mingled among our brothers and sisters, and exchanged gifts. It wasn’t much. But we gave one another whatever we had. We gave up something of ours, because we couldn’t afford something new. We gave up our toys to other kids to show our love for one another. Christmas at Maryville really did make me forget about all the horrible shit I went through, and focus on love.
But on Christmas Day, when all the other kids were off with their real families, some of us were alone. My brother and I were just like Harry Potter, alone on Christmas with no family. But we weren’t’ alone. We had people who gave up time with their families to be with us for the holidays to surround us with love. Maryville did her best to make it a Merry Christmas. I felt love. I feel loved. Christmas isn’t about presents. It isn’t about Santa. It’s a celebration of love. Jesus taught us how to love. Here we are, over two thousand years later, and I am still feeling his love. It doesn’t matter if you believe Jesus was God, and it doesn’t matter if you don’t believe in God at all. Jesus’ love has kept me alive for forty years because angels have been soaring over me this whole time, and that’s why our mascot was the Eagles, phoenixes of love.
As a kid, Maryville really was like Hogwarts to me. I remember sitting in the pews during mass, not paying attention, daydreaming about fighting the devil and demons besides angels and God. I daydreamed about helping people and spreading love. That’s why I became a Marine, and that’s why I am a writer. I hope that my words have opened your heart, so please donate to Maryville Academy, Catholic Charities, and the Marines’ Toys For Tots. These great organizations take care of all children from every race and religion. The Catholic Church is phenomenal with abandoned children, and Maryville Academy is the best at raising those of us who were physically, sexually, and emotionally abused and neglected children. Please donate so that we can help make Christmas and every day memorable for kids who have nothing, not their parents, not their siblings, just each other, and a bunch of angels spreading love beneath their wings. Thanks for reading. Merry Christmas!
Please click here to visit Maryville’s website to make a donation:
https://maryvilleacademy.org/donatevolunteer/ways-to-give/
Or please click here to visit Toys for Tots to make a donation:
https://www.toysfortots.org/request_toys/donate-toy.aspx
Hey Matthew! I'm not sure if you remember me. It's John Maurer. I lived in the MacArthur home and the Schoenwald home at Maryville. I was there from the mid to late 1990s. I think I was right behind you. And you're so right. Maryville Academy was a truly magical place. Many of us went from horrible childhoods to having wonderful educations, and in your case, finding himself an amazing author. It's so truly wonderful to read something from somebody who has memories like I do. The organization is so different now. So much has been lost. Father Smyth and Father Ryan truly were giants. I too will forever give them praise and gratitude. If you ever want to get in touch, please email me at johndmaurer@outlook.com. This piece is so refreshing to read. Thanks for writing it. ❤️
Mathew
It’s Mary Vitulli I hope you remember me a bunch of family educators who worked at Maryville in its day read Growing up at Hogwarts and were truly amazed touched with some even crying. So thank you so much for that memory your amazing. I would love to chat with you if you have the time.
My email is standingtallmmv@aol.com we are still helping kids through Fr Smyths foundation which is called The Rev John P Smyth Standing Tall Charitable Foundation.