Queen of Peace and Privilege
A fictional tale of girlhood friendship and quiet becoming in 1936 working-class Northeast Kansas City
The Sisters at Loretto Academy, where I was attending high school, were simply beside themselves when they received word that four of their young ladies had been invited to attend a speech by President Franklin D. Roosevelt at Municipal Auditorium in October of 1936. They were instructed to select a diverse group—girls who might benefit from the New Deal programs, those who had been a bit overlooked or marginalized—but also young women who were soft-spoken and well-mannered. After all, they would be representing the Academy, and there was talk they might even be photographed for the local paper.
I was in my sophomore year. Every morning, I woke up early and walked to Independence Avenue to catch the streetcar. It took two transfers to get to school. There were two other girls that rode the streetcar in with me who attended the Academy.
One was a beautiful Mexican girl named Sophia. She spoke very good English but was lacking in self-confidence, so she rarely spoke. She kept to herself on the way to and from school, and I understood she worked in her family's restaurant when she got home. That was about all I knew about her.
The other was a Polish girl named Samantha Barchak. Samantha, who went by Sam, lived in the Lykins neighborhood with her father and two older brothers. Her mother had died when Sam was ten, from causes she had never been told. But the sickness—and the long, painful decline she had to witness—left Sam with no real desire to know the details. She, her father, and her brothers attended St. Stanislaus Parish. Her father brought home a meager paycheck, just enough to scrape by. Her brothers had both dropped out of school after the eighth grade and had been looking for steady work ever since.
When the nuns at St. Stan’s spoke to Sam’s father about her mannerisms, about how she wasn’t quite ladylike, they recommended sending her to Loretto Academy for high school, an all-girls school, where she might learn a thing or two about becoming a woman. They arranged for her to attend on charity.
Sam’s father jumped at the opportunity. He’d been concerned about Sam for years but had no idea how to fix her, and he didn’t know what to do with different. She looked uncomfortable and out of place in her school uniform. The skirt and blouse never hung on her the way they did on the other girls. As soon as she got home from school, the first thing she did was change into a pair of her brothers’ old trousers. And truth be told, she did look a lot better in them. More relaxed and confident.
I was attending Loretto Academy on charity, too. The Sisters at St. Joseph’s Orphan Home had made arrangements for me years earlier.
At the time, I was living in the Pendleton Heights neighborhood, in a home with my older sister, Marie; my uncle Charlie; and my cousin Charlie, who was only a year younger than me.
After school, I worked in a small newspaper shop called The Northeast News, located at 102 S. Brighton. Its windows were always smudged with fingerprints, and the smell of ink hung in the air. I spent most afternoons folding papers, my fingers stained gray by the time I left. Sometimes I’d help stuff them into canvas sacks for the delivery boys, or sort through copy that came in late by typewriter. The shop was always humming. It wasn’t glamorous. It barely paid enough to cover my street fair each week. But I took my work very seriously.
I was getting a front-row seat to the day’s news, after all. That seemed like a serious responsibility to me.
The Northeast News wasn’t The Kansas City Star or anything like that, but it spotlighted civic announcements, neighborhood events, school news, church bulletins, local business ads, and classified notices. It served a mostly immigrant population, which made the stories feel a little more personal and unique.
Sam and I connected on the streetcar at the start of this year’s studies. I’d seen her all of last year, but she never made any attempt to talk. I figured she must be shy. Still, I was getting antsy living in a house with two men and my sister, and I needed someone to chat with. I hadn’t found a group I fit in with at school yet, so I decided Sam was going to be my friend this year—whether she liked it or not. Even if she just sat there and listened to me yap, that’d be enough for me. Back at the orphanage, I always had someone to talk to. But out in the real world, I was starting to realize that making friends was more complicated than I’d expected.
So when I received an invitation from the Sisters to attend President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s speech at Municipal Auditorium, I was stunned. Honestly, I hadn’t thought anyone at the school even knew who I was. I came and went quietly, kept my head down, and completed my studies the way I was expected to, without drawing attention. Most of my free time was spent in the print shop, where I felt more useful than visible.
“Nadine, this is the chance of a lifetime!” Sam had said, her eyes wide. “Did you know Eleanor’s going to be there too? The First Lady. Can you believe that? Wow.”
“I don’t know,” I said, biting my lower lip. “It’ll be a busy day in the newsroom.”
“You know Mr. Orr would laugh right in your face if you told him you were thinking about skipping a presidential speech just to get ink all over your hands folding papers.”
She wasn’t wrong.
Over the last few months, Sam and I had become best friends. Not just because I hadn’t given her much of a choice, but because we actually had good conversations. I’d also learned she was an extremely talented poet, though Sam would never admit it.
“Okay, fine. But I’ll have to report to Mother Superior after school,” I said. It didn’t take much to convince me, but it felt right to feel a little guilty about it. “Come with me so we can ride the same streetcar home?”
“Of course!” Sam replied—more cheerfully than I’d ever heard her sound. She must have caught it, too, because she immediately clammed up and turned to stare out the window, like something very serious had just crossed her mind.
After lessons that day, Sam and I headed to Mother Superior’s study to get my instructions for the following day. I understood there were three of us chosen, but I had no idea who the other girls would be.
Sam and I walked down the marble hallway. I clicked. Sam always wore those smart rubber-soled shoes that didn’t make a sound.
As we approached Mother Superior’s office, I saw two other girls coming from the opposite direction.
Chloe Smart—a senior officer, born and raised on the West Side of the city, blonde, light hazel eyes, fair skin, and a well-accomplished pianist.
Walking right in step with Chloe was Deborah White. “Debbie” was short and stout, with a round, cherub face—and a mean spirit. Her eyes were beady and darting. She carried herself with an air of superiority that wasn’t earned, only insisted upon. She was the only girl at the Academy I actively avoided. I got a bad feeling just being around her. I’d never heard a kind word said about her, only stories of trickery and brownnosing.
As we all approached the study door, Debbie turned to Sam.
“I’m pretty sure this is only for the girls who were chosen,” she said, looking Sam up and down. “Girls who can—”
“Young ladies, come in,” Mother Superior’s voice cut through from behind the door.
“I’ll just wait in the hallway,” Sam said quickly. She hadn’t planned on going in anyway, but the way Debbie had drawn attention to it made her cheeks flush. Debbie was one of those girls who could sweet-talk you and double-cross you in the same breath.
The three of us, myself, Chloe, and Debbie, stepped into the study.
Mother Superior was seated behind her desk, hands folded neatly over a single sheet of paper. She didn’t look up right away, only motioned for us to sit. We did, Chloe with her ankles crossed politely, Debbie flopping into her chair like she owned the place.
“I trust you all understand what a privilege this opportunity is,” Mother Superior said, finally lifting her eyes. “You are to represent the values and dignity of Loretto Academy at tomorrow’s speech. That means proper uniform, proper behavior, and a proper attitude.”
Chloe smiled wide and sat still as stone like she was posing for a photograph. Debbie twisted her mouth into a half-smile and gave a quick nod.
“You’ll meet at the school's front steps at seven forty-five sharp. You’ll be escorted by a school-appointed driver and remain together at all times. You are not there to give opinions or make a show of yourselves. You are there to listen. To observe.”
“I just hope he doesn’t go on about handouts,” Debbie muttered, not quite quietly enough. “My father says the New Deal is just a way to keep poor folks from working harder.”
Mother Superior paused mid-sentence. “I beg your pardon, young lady?”
Debbie sat a little straighter, like she was proud to be asked to repeat herself. “I just think it’s important that we teach girls how to carry themselves. Not depend on government programs to fix their households.”
A flush crept up the side of my neck.
“Young lady,” Mother Superior said, each word clipped and cold, “you were not selected for this privilege to offer political commentary. You were selected to be quiet, respectful, and dignified. That is the expectation. Are we clear?”
Debbie gave a tiny shrug and the slightest eyeroll. “Yes.”
Mother Superior’s eyes narrowed slightly. She sat back in her chair and looked at Debbie, then at Chloe, and finally back to me. The silence stretched long enough to make my palms sweat.
“Miss White,” she said at last, “you may be excused.”
Debbie’s mouth opened, then closed. She stood up stiffly, face pink and eyes burning. She didn’t say a word as she crossed the room.
A long silence fell across the room. I stared down at my skirt, heart thudding. And then, before I could think twice, the words came out of me like they’d been waiting there all along.
“With respect, Mother Superior… maybe Samantha Barchak should go in Debbie’s place.”
The air changed.
Chloe’s head turned so fast I heard the rustle of her collar. Debbie gasped just as she was reaching for the door handle to leave. She spun around fast. Mother Superior’s gaze slid over to me, sharp and unreadable.
“Samantha Barchak?” she repeated.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “She’s quiet. She listens. She actually wants to be there. I think that counts for something. She's waiting in the hallway right now for me so she could just slide into Deborah's place.”
Mother Superior looked at Debbie, still standing with her hand on the door knob. Then she turned back to me. "You tell Miss Barchak to report here at seven forty-five sharp. You all should wear your school uniforms and be on your best behavior.”
Debbie stormed out in a flurry.
“Yes, ma’am,” Chloe and I said in unison.
We were dismissed. As soon as I stepped into the hall, I saw Sam still waiting by the window, one hand pressed lightly to the wall like she was thinking hard about something she couldn’t quite say.
“You’re going,” I told her.
She blinked. “What?”
“You’re going to hear the President speak tomorrow.” I nudged her with my elbow.
“Wear your good blouse.”
Sam grinned. She had seen Debbie rush out only a few seconds earlier but was unaware of what was happening. Now she understood.
Sam didn’t say anything as we stepped back into the hallway, but the way her shoulders squared told me everything. Tomorrow, we weren’t just going to see the President. We were going to be seen.
It was a feeling I don’t think either one of us had ever really experienced before.
Pride.
Class of 1939 — Loretto Academy
From The Laurel, 19391
CLASS POEM
Peerless Lady, Queen of Peace,
As we enter into life,
Smile upon your loving daughters,
Give us courage in the strife.
Ever be our sweet Companion;
Walk with us along the way;
Rule us with your wise persuasion
Never let us stray astray.
All the world is madly yearning,
Heedless of Thy Son’s behest;
Selfish good is ever wooing,
In your guidance we are blest.
Come, O Mother, with thy counsel,
Be our Comfort, Refuge, Love.
Aiding us to do such high will,
Let us not content with low.
Every step along the journey,
Every struggle small or sore
Have one thought in the memory—
With the help of one who bore.
Mary Clare Huddleston, ’39
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“Loretto Academy High School Yearbook – The Laurel, 1939,” KC History (Missouri Valley Special Collections, Kansas City Public Library), accessed June 17, 2025, https://kchistory.org/document/loretto-academy-high-school-yearbook-laurel-1.