Growing up safe: Being orphaned at the age of six is not something one forgets…

Looking back over my life, I realize that I never gave up hope. This blog is the story of my orphanhood.

St Clara's Orphanage was opened in 1890 and closed 1968, it was located in Denver Colorado, and, it was a Catholic residential institution, operated by sisters of the Franciscan Order for the care and educating parentless  children. I became an orphan because there was no-one in my immediate family who was prepared or able to take care of a little boy born with two genetic defects: eye sight, rod monocromatism, central visual 20/2500, legally blind. peripheral vision okay. My hearing loss audio-gram tested to be moderately severe 85, both caused by recessive inheritance. It just so happened that my parents were first cousins, and although they showed no sign of having these defects, they passed them on to me.

I lived at St. Clara's as an orphan during the 40's. I often wonder how my life might have been had my parents been capable of raising me. As a little boy, I felt lonely, fearful and physically hurt. These emotions were the direct result of my hearing and visual impairments and the lack of parental care.

The early years of my life, until the age of six, were not so good, either. Living in an empty house, with no parents around, was horrible. Then, one day someone, and, I don’t recall who it was, brought me to St. Clara's. Suddenly, I didn't have to hide to be safe anymore. Life in the orphanage was in many ways a great improvement and one I appreciated. The sisters kept me safe, cared for me, fed and bathed me just as they did for all the little boys and girls who were brought to live there. The sisters provided good meals except for the mush we had to eat every morning. I had the habit of licking my plate, and when a sister saw me doing that, I was given what I called a hard arm pinch, but that didn't matter when there were still little bits of food left for me to lick.

The main building of the orphanage was four stories high and was divided into four sections. The west wing was for both the little and big boys, the middle wing contained the business offices and the sisters’ living quarters, and the east wing was for the little and big girls. A bridge separated  the chapel and class rooms, there was a two story building set apart from the main building, between east and west wings. Its fences enclosed 16 acres. There were also a few houses, an under-ground cellar, a midsize barn with a horse named Duke, a very beautiful grotto with a statue of the Virgin Mary, also there was a large statue of a guardian angle in front of the main entrance, and a midsize building  used  as a laundry, near by was a trash  burning furnace. When the buildings at St Clara's were demolished in mid 1960s, the one thing, left standing there was 20 yards of a wire fence, that was fastened between marble columns, it is still there as of today, a four car garage with built in apartments on top,  I'm guessing, there must  have been more than 80 persons who lived there, at any one time, including orphans, sisters, custodians and visitors.  

I remember that when I was eight years old, those of us boys who were eight years old or older, and who hadn’t been circumcised, had to go to the hospital to have it done. I can't recall how many of us there were, but that was one painful experience we little boys had to suffer through in silence. 

When I was transferred to the big boy’s west section at the age of 10, I asked Sister Evelyn if she would allow us boys to listen to the Notre Dame football games on a Saturday. She had an old Philco radio that she placed outside her office window for us, and my friends and I really enjoyed listening to how well our favorite players did during the game. My favorite player was number 32, Johnny Lujack, the quarterback. These football games were being played in the mid-forties. We didn't get much entertainment throughout the year, but when the football season started we had something to talk about and something to look forward to on Saturdays. Sister Evelyn once told me that she loved to listen on her radio to Bing Crosby singing Bells Of Saint Mary's, White Christmas. Mature Boy is my best song, recorded  by Nat King Cole 1950's,  some of the words in this song are, greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.  

The sisters held catechism classes for students between the ages of 8 and 11, during which we were taught to read the Catholic Church Catechism starting with the Seven Sacraments. I want to mention the names of a few of the many prayers we learned: Sign Of Cross, Our Father, Hail Mary, Glory Be, Act Of Contrition, Apostles Creed, Stations of The Cross, Rosary, and the Ten Commandments.  After many months of learning the prayers, we made our First Confession, First Holy Communion and were later Confirmed. As a little boy, I prayed with all my heart. During those years I spent at St Clara's, a chapel bell rang at certain times of the day, every day, to remind us to pray. Some of the older boys who had been there for a while became altar boys. Father Koca heard confessions on Saturday and conducted mass at 9.00 AM on Sunday morning. After the sermon, we would walk to the altar and receive Holy Communion. Sometimes, we would go to mass on Saturday evening and we would say the Rosary out loud. As a little boy, the sisters made a Catholic out of me. When I arrived at St. Clara's in 1941. One of the houses on the property, was used as a nursery for babies, and the little boys and girls were separated and placed in different sections of a large building according to our age. There was a graveyard  in back of the nursery.

During the 40's, I remember how, during the Second World War, a few orphans and sisters who spoke in German, came from overseas to live at St Clara's. Some kids’ parents never came back from fighting the war, and the ones with no other relatives to take care of them were placed in St. Clara's Orphanage and in other orphanages in Colorado. 

I remember Sister Gloria well. She was not only a gifted teacher, but she was my guiding light. She told me about God and encouraged me to pray. The sisters were overly strict. I certainly learned the meaning of “obedience”. I did what I was told to do and stayed away from what I was told not to do. If we disobeyed, the sisters would dish out scoldings or whippings. Because of my hearing and seeing problems in the class room, sister Gloria encouraged me to never give up trying and she helped me with my school lessons the most. As a little boy, I could not understand what was missing in my life, but praying gave me a feeling of being safe. My imagination stood still, all I ever wanted, was to pray for myself and others, everyday.

Little boys cry when they can't hug or be hugged by someone who loves them. Sister Gloria would hold my hand at these times and tell me that everything was going to be all right.   I had to use tinted magnified reading glasses, without which I couldn't see well enough to read. However, my Zenith Radionic hearing aid and a willingness to learn helped me keep up with my classmates, but, I had to study very hard to earn good grades, because, a few of my fellow orphans were straight A students and I wanted to be among them.The sisters’ method of teaching was by rote repetition, back then, we were taught to repeat  our lessons out loud, that started in the first grade and all the way to the eighth grade. Although monotonous, difficult, and devoid of any creativity, it worked. We started leaning cursive handwriting in the first grade, and by the eighth grade. some of my fellow orphans’ penmanship was excellent. Memorization  doesn't  help  when learning to spell, all  words had to be written and spoken dozens  time.

I received a decent education while living at St. Clara's that served me well in later years and schooling was continued throughout the year and no stops in-between.  Nine years of guidance from the sisters taught me to be a straightforward student. I learned how to ask the right questions. I also learned to be grateful and I prayed for the sisters for their selfless devotion to caring for us orphans. 

There was a volunteer coach, by the name of Rocky, who took us through calisthenics, taught us to run, play peewee football, boxing and self discipline. Because of my poor vision and my hearing deficiencies, I was only able to participate in sports that didn't require good eyesight, like running. I was also water bucket boy for the football team.

Our living quarters were separated according to age, but in the same building. The west wing was for little boys, aged four to nine, and big boys aged ten to fifteen. The back yard was wide and as long as two football fields. At Christmas 1948, an unknown organization donated a large St. Bernard dog named Prince. That was the first dog I ever saw. He was very friendly and liked us to pet him. Prince lived in the west wing. Life in the orphanage was what it was, no one to wish us good morning or good night, no toys, no holidays celebrations or birthday parties, no candy, not even a tootsie pop, no kisses or hugs and very few smiles. As a boy growing up in an orphanage, I learned not to blame anyone for the circumstances that made me feel so sad. I prayed to God to keep me, the sisters, and my fellow orphans safe. Later on in life, I learned that the sisters were poor and could only provide the bare necessities, and that they collected money and donations of food and clothing from the community for us orphans.

By the age of thirteen, I was a strong, healthy and helpful young boy. I volunteered to help the sisters do cleanup work in the dining room, in the kitchen and in the little boys’ playroom. I also shoveled snow. During the war years, I helped the sisters prepare care packages to send overseas. I felt sorry for some of the older sisters who had to work so hard for so many hours every day. In time, I came to view them as big orphans living among us, little orphans.

After nine years of living at St. Clara's, I prepared myself to face the outside world alone. I didn't want to continue living in a place where I no longer wanted to be. I'm guessing I was 15 years old at the time. I had planned to run away from St. Clara's, because I wanted to be free. I ended up becoming a, runaway homeless street kid, living on the run, and, my first night on the streets was the first time I ever saw a full  noon. My situation was the same as that before I entered St. Clara's. I remember walking into downtown Denver over the 16th street viaduct when I left St Clara's. I was on my own. I knew the sisters would be reporting me as a runaway, but lucky for me, I was able to  evade being captured by the authorities who would have transported me back to orphanage.The sisters made a great impact on my life. Life in the orphanage lives in my mind. I am what the sisters taught me to be.

I had to learn quickly how to earn money because I was soon very hungry. I happened to meet two boys selling Rocky Mountain morning newspapers who told me they were homeless too. They showed me how to buy and sell newspapers. I made a few dollars selling newspapers on the days when it was warm enough to do so, and there were generous people who gave me money. They could see I needed help. I had to adjust to being in the outside world where too many cars made too much noise, once in while, I would see people messed  up on booze asking me for money. Crossing streets was a problem for me because I couldn't see very well in the sunlight. I had to wear very dark sun glasses. I would wait for other people to cross and then walk with them. I would always ask my street buddies where we were and what was going on. I'd memorize street crossings, and on occasions, would ask people for directions.

The best way for me to earn money at that time was to do physical work, selling newspapers, shoveling snow, cleaning up dirty yards, washing cars or shining shoes. I also worked setting up duckpins by hand in a bowling alley. Begging was part of it all back then, and also collecting used coke bottles to sell back to some of the markets. We sometimes asked people for food or for money. One owner of a cheap movie theater would let us into see the movies for free. We bought stale old bread and some market owners would give us leftover lunch meat ends. In the summer time, we would hang out around lower downtown, near Cheery Creek, sometimes sleeping on a small storage building with a flat roof and a large triangular neon sign fastened to a three-foot sideboard. We would climb up the iron spikes on a telephone pole next to the building to reach the roof. We collected boards, blankets and cardboard boxes to use for shelter.

To get around town, we rode the street cars and electric buses. In winter, we would all pitch in and rent a cheap room at Denver's old Mayfair Hotel on 15th street, which was, across the street from the Denver Post. The hotel had steam radiators heated the rooms. We would use an old electric iron to heat some tinned goods. We turned it upside down and used the heavy cast-iron bottom as a hot plate. Later, in exchange for rent money, I did cleanup work at the hotel—sweeping and mopping stairways, emptying trashcans, cleaning bathrooms and the never-ending job of shoveling snow. In the thirties and forties, cheap hotels were built without bathrooms for each room. There were two bathrooms for ten rooms, and the men’s and women’s facilities were separate. Mike, the owner, allowed me to use a room in the back of the hotel facing the alley. I was able to let my street buddies in through the window, but that was for wintertime only. 

We also got help from the churches who gave food and clothes to the poor. Sometimes we would meet friendly kids from the housing projects who would get lard sandwiches for us.  My friends and I promised each other that we would not do anything that would get us into trouble. The three of us were skinny and we were called “shorties” because we were all about 5 ft. 3 in. tall, but with lots of energy. Sometimes, when we were hanging out in the neighborhood, the police would drive by and look at us, but they didn't stop. I can't recall who wrote this poem: “I cried because I had no shoes, until I met a man who had no feet”. I stopped crying while living in St. Clara's once I realized I was being saved by the sisters. After that, I became a brave little boy, willing and able to face the interior world of the orphanage. Now I was on the streets I adopted this same attitude and it helped me to be a survivor as a street-kid. When I was facing living on the streets I realized I needed water, food, shelter, faith, hope, prayers and some lucky breaks. I thought of that poem, and also of all the help the sister had given me.                                                                                                                                 I learned to keep myself safe while living as a homeless street kid by not talking to strangers, by not staying in one place very long, by hiding until after school was let out, and by keeping myself neat and clean. I didn't hang out on street corners or where I could be seen by people passing by. When I was a boy, I lived at the orphanage and later I lived at the blind school, with people I didn't know, but who took care of me. In my mid-teen years, I learned to be self-reliant.

There were times when the three of us would split up, go our own ways, and meet later at the Lawrence Street Recreational Center, an old school building used as a recreational center for the neighborhood kids. Some of the kids at the center would call me “blindy”, but when the volunteers heard about that, they quickly put a stop to it. I remember going to camp Santa Maria, located in Grant Co. Anna, a volunteer at the center, told me that if I wanted to go to the camp, I should go to the downtown YMCA and register. I was lucky, because I needed permission from my parents, but I told them that I was an orphan and living on my own, and they said “Okay, you’re accepted”. The thing I remember most about the camp was a very large statute of Christ the King on top of a nearby mountain. I met Father Ray Hamilton there, he was one of  a few volunteers who had also come to visit us kids at St Clara's; we would just sit around and talk about different ideas. I really enjoyed myself, there were plenty of activities: swimming, hiking and arts and crafts. I made a little heart out of clay. I spent one week at the camp and it was all free.

Sometimes, I would go to Sunday Mass at Saint Elizabeth church, which was one block from the Lawrence Street Recreational Center. I can't recall exactly how long I was a homeless street-kid. I was always afraid of being alone on the streets. There were times I had to run away from people who got too close. There were some scary people around in those days. We had offers to stay in strangers’ homes, but at that time in my life I was 100% homeless, and I wanted to stay that way. My friends felt the same. On a few occasions we would meet and make friends other boys who were walking around 15th street selling the afternoon Denver Post. Johnny, the blind man, had his newspaper stand on the corner of 15th Welton. He sold the Rocky Mountain News and the Denver Post. Charley, the midget, was his helper, and then there was Tony, the Mexican, who sold hot tamales from his tamale cart. 

There was a five-acre junk yard, with piles and piles of cast iron, near the railroad tracks, where Union Pacific junked its old passenger cars, box cars, cattle cars, cabooses and worn-out railroad tracks. We would get into the junkyard by crawling under a damaged fence near the worn-out tramways. Trailways buses, along with some old army trucks and rows of jalopies were parked next to an unlocked shed that had running water, a toilet, folding cots and a wood-burning stove. There was also a large brick building with a foundry with furnaces and a nearby smokestack. The yard was a great place to hide. We had to hide to be safe because we would occasionally see creepy looking people wandering around the area, but we were short and skinny and could fit into small spaces. It wasn’t all dark and scary though. We had fun inside the yard playing hide and seek, and there was one thing for sure, we were physically fit and healthy and constantly on the go, homeless but free. 

Living at St. Clara's required us to be confined behind iron fences. We could see the cars going by and see the grownups and their kids walking by. For us as orphans, we just couldn't understand why we were lock in behind iron  fences when the neighborhood kids were on the outside of it, and, we were also forbidden to talk to them and we were not allowed to use the word heck, which is a cuss word, meaning hell. There were times when I would go to bed at night, hide under my covers and cry myself to sleep. However, my strict upbringing at St. Clara's gave me the self-confidence to do the right thing, and this kept me safe and out of trouble. Living as a homeless street kid on the Denver streets in the 50's was an exciting challenge for me because everything was so new and so real for me, the street vocabulary, used by some of the street kids was awful , they dressed, acted and talked like they were all misfits. Living on the streets gave me freedom. I made my own decisions about where to go, what to do, what to eat, what to see and what to be. To be honest or crooked, it was all up to me. I made the choice to be honest. 

I was a very curious, homeless street kid. I knew little of the real world. I needed to ask a lot questions. It was easy for me to stop and talk to other kids on the street. I avoided adults. I didn’t know how their world worked. Being with kids was my world. Even now in my golden years, at age 76, I understand and identify with children the best. Every night, I thank God for keeping me safe both now and during the hardships I endured in the years of my childhood tribulation. 

I guess word got around town that we were homeless. Just when things were going really well and we were having fun at a city park, the social services people arrived and asked us why we weren't in school. We had no answer to give, so they invited me and my two street buddies to their office, which happened to be Juvenile Hall. I don't know what happened to my two friends, but social services decided my future. They decided, and I agreed, that going to the Colorado School for The Deaf and The Blind, which is a residential school located in Colorado Springs, would be the best thing for me. I would be safe living there. 

From Juvenile Hall, I was transported to the Blind School by a man named Mr. Harry. There, I stayed at Jones Hall. With only a few garments to wear, I ended up borrowing clothes from my roommate, named Louis. Ron Teubner, was our wrestling coach in the 1950s, he is the one who started the   wrestling program at CSDB. My roommate and I were both on the wrestling team, and, our team was very competitive. We competed against other blind schools located in other states, and against local public high schools. Four years of tough competition earned both Louis and me awards, wrestling letters, medals and trophies, coach Ron, drilled into us the belief that wrestling builds character that would later give us a better chance of making good choices during our boyhood and into manhood. 

I lived at the Colorado School for the Deaf and the Blind from 1953 to 1958. My studies were braille and American sign language, and the usual subjects needed to graduate. To earn pocket  money, I did yard work for some of the teachers.  The second part of my story blog will be about my time spent at CSDB as an orphaned student. In 1958, even though I was so far behind in my class lessons that I was unable to graduate, I had to leave. It was school policy that a student must leave after a certain age. CSDB helped me land a job at the Colorado Springs, five-star, Broadmoor Hotel as a golf course laborer. I worked there for a few months until winter arrived.

I then contacted my uncle Benny, who was a foreman, in charge of warehouse shipping. He lived in Sacramento, California, and with his help I was hired by Libby-McNeil-Libby, a vegetable and fruit cannery. I worked there as an unskilled laborer loading boxes of  canned foods onto a freight train heading to unload at a storage warehouse in Davies, California. After being laid off from Libby's, I attended night school at Sacramento Fremont School for Adults and earned my high school diploma. I also attended Sacramento City College and earned 12 credits. Because I am considered legally blind, at 20/2500, the State of California Department of Rehabilitation paid for all my educational and living expenses. 


I returned to Denver and enrolled in the Denver School of Health Technicians, received my diploma, and got my state license to work as a Massage Tech/Masseur. I was lucky to land a job with the Denver Athletic Club. I had barely made passing  grades, but it was my massage techniques that impressed the school instructor who just happened to be the manager of the DAC health club. Later, I was also employed at other health clubs, including the Denver Central YMCA and the Denver Jewish Community Center. I also worked at the Beth Israel Medical Center cafeteria, and after each day of work there, I would jog around Sloan's lake, which is 2.6 miles, and which was one block away from the medical center.  

The hardest thing I had to do as a homeless street kid was to overcome the shame of being hearing and vision impaired and of being an orphan. Nevertheless, I learned to be self-reliant, and this helped me overcome my personal issues. As a kid growing up in an orphanage, I had to learn to get along with the sisters, with the people working there and with my fellow orphans. Some sisters were pleasant, others I avoided. Some boys were brought there as babies,  others ranging in ages 4 to 15,  some boys were friendly, others were mean and always looking for a fight, I paid no attention to them, as I was more interested in friendships than in hurting the bullies. It was very uncomfortable living in a residential institution, not having any plans for the future was disheartening. As orphans, we taught to live with faith, hope, prayers and the bare necessities. Due to my lack of normal hearing and vision, I had to figure things out the hard way, by trial and error, in order to learn how much my defects were limiting my abilities.    

A few of my fellow orphans would get visitors regularly. Once in a while, I was invited to go out on a visit with them, which made me very happy. Happiness didn't come very often or last very long. As a young boy, I starting feeling displaced after visiting with my fellow orphan friends relatives. I hoped and prayed that, maybe, someday a happy family would adopt me, but, it never happen.

My heart goes out to orphans.To this day, I'm saddened when I hear or read about little boys and girls who have become orphans. I weep and say prayers for them, knowing the sadness and loneliness their little hearts are experiencing, and knowing it will last a long, long time.

In memory of Sister Gloria. I am eternally grateful and I write with gratitude. My lifelong deeds, thoughts and prayers are a memorial tribute to Sister Gloria who dispelled some of that sad loneliness for me with the gentle touch of her hand on mine.

For the thousands of readers from around world, who will read my orphanhood story blog, I wish you all, good mornings, good nights, happy birthdays and happy holidays.

Respectfully yours,

Ted Trujillo