The days and weeks to follow were filled with so much sadness. Our neighborhood would never ever be the same. We lived at 631 N. Avers which was 3 blocks south of the school. Everyone knew everyone and relatives lived either next door, across the street or even in the same building. On any summer evening you would see families sitting outside on their porches waiting for the peanut man with his cart or the man with horse and carriage giving the kids a ride around the block for ten cents a ride. You could walk down Chicago Ave. and get an Italian lemonade or cookies from Ancona's bakery...all of that was gone. The sights and sounds were replaced with an eerie quiet and family and friends eventually moved away. On our street alone, the Sarno and Mele families lost children. We were never allowed to talk about what had happened. We could not watch anything on TV that had to do with the fire. Radios were turned off. Newspapers were thrown away. It was almost as if people thought if we didn't talk about it anymore, it would go away. It did not and never will.

I was bussed to John Hay and then eventually to Our Lady Help of Christians. None of us wanted to sit near the windows and really got pretty shook up when we had fire drills. We eventually went to the new OLA. I was in the 4th grade. By the 5th grade our family had moved and I finished my grade school days at HOC with my brother Michael.

I followed on my own in the newspaper when the fire was mentioned over the years. I remember when I was 16 working in the Jewel, Irene and her husband Gerry came to my check out counter and I was so excited. It was like seeing celebrities. I had cut out their wedding picture from the newspaper and was so happy for them. (They probably don't remember that). Irene's sister, Monica was one of my playmates and we were in the same grade.

Every December 1st was difficult for me. The news media would have a story every year. I would see it and cry and wonder when they would just let it go and let us heal. Even going to Queen of Heaven Cemetary to visit family gravesites it seemed the car would just steer itself to the OLA section. Over the years I bought Michelle McBride's book, The Fire that will not die and I just could not bring myself to read it and never have.

I am now married with 2 grown children and 3 granddaughters. Two of them are 7, the same age I was at the time of the fire. I look at them and see myself at that age and having gone through this horrible thing. We had no councelling, no one to talk to or anyone (even a relative) that would even listen. I now find comfort in knowing that if anything ever happened, (God forbid) my grandchildren would have professionals that would be sent to the schools immediately that they could talk to. My brother, Michael became a fireman and is now the Deputy Fire Chief in Elmwood Park. I am very proud of his accomplishemnts and he has gone to all the schools in his area to tell of that fateful day and why fire safety is so extremely important. He had asked me a few years ago if I would like to go to the Our Lady of the Angels Anniversary Mass and I did and I was so overwhelmed when I went back to the neighborhood and to the church. The Mass for me was the funeral I was never allowed to attend. I cried as each name was read and each candle was lit. We were invited to take a candle home and I took home the candle that said "survivors" on it and I cherish it and light it every year for both those lost and those of us that survived. I have since read "To Sleep with the Angels" and could not put it down. It was very well written. We went to every Mass after that until the statue was dedicated. That was the year my mother asked why Michael and I never invited her to go. I don't think either of us thought she would want to. We did take her and I walked with her around the church before the Mass and I know a million memories must have flooded back to her. She was married there, we were all baptized there and made our First Holy Communion there. This parish meant so much to so many people that for the longest time tried to forget everything about it. After the Mass, the Memorial was dedicated in the school vestibule. We went inside, walked around and we even bought a few more copies of the book "To Sleep with the Angels". The next morning my mother suffered a paralyzing stroke. She told me she was very upset and stayed up late looking at the book. From that moment on December 1 took on a new meaning and I had wondered if she would have had the stroke even if she didn't go to the Mass. I guess it was God's way of giving me something else to be concerned about and to try and put the fire back in the past.

I watched the Channel 11 story twice. I thought it was a well told story. I was taken by Charlene's story (I don't think I could have been that brave) and by the gal (I am sorry I have forgotten her name)that said she was told that "we were not good enough to go to heaven that day" and a lot of kids lived with that feeling of "not being good enough..." all these years. I believe things happen for a reason. Our school was named Our Lady of the Angels. Angels are exactly what went to heaven that day. I wish it hadn't been in such a horrific way but that is how it happened. God needed those "angels". WE on the other hand WERE good enough to go...it was just not our time to go. He had other plans for us. Maybe some of us became doctors and saved a life. Maybe some of us fought for our country, maybe some of us are still doing whatever it is we were put on this earth to do. I wish all that perished would have had those same opportunities but it was God's will and we will never know until we are all together someday in Heaven. I am not extremely religious but that is just what I believe. I think the special awakened a lot of memories for a lot of people. It gave my children a better understanding of what happened that day and why my heart breaks every December 1. No matter how old we were that day...we will never forget. I am so sorry to those who lost children.

I had always hoped Father Joe would be at the Masses or even say the Mass. It would have been a comfort to me to see him. I have met so many people over the years that were in the fire and some of them are very close friends. It is a bond, no matter how young or old we were at the time, will hold us together forever.

Thank you Channel 11 for telling our story and allowing me this time to tell mine.

Betti Marino Wasek

As the fire alarm sounded my 2nd grade classroom was on the 1st floor very near the front door of the school. We exited with no trouble. We lined up in front of the convent facing the school. I don't recall even seeing smoke. Before long a panicked nun ran up to us telling us to go home. After that I'm told a friend of my Aunt saw me a block from school and wrapped me in a blanket and took me in. I can vaguely recall sitting and looking out her window. I ended up well into the night at my Aunt Carrie's house. Everyone had been found except my brother George who was in 5th grade and Mary Ellen who was in 4th. My Parents and Aunt and Uncle were franticly searching the hospitals. Sometime in the middle of the night they found George. He had jumped from his classroom window. They never found Mary Ellen. The next day my father accepted responsibility to search the morgue. He identified Mary Ellen's body. My beautiful cousin was gone.

My brother George broke the femur bone in his leg and was in the hospital in traction for 6 weeks. He came home in a body cast and spent about another two months in bed in that cast. He never spoke of the horror he must have experienced that day and I never told him how brave I thought he was and how grateful I was that he did what he had to do to save himself that day.

Five children on our block never came home from school that day. Mary Ellen Pettenon, Eileen Pawlik, James Ragona, Valerie Thoma and a little girl named Maria (I didn't know her. Her family had just moved here from Italy). I will never forget them or their families.

It's funny. I can't recall anyone holding my hand on the way to school after that. Somehow after that it didn't matter.

Chicago parents alerted me to it here in san francisco. I almost feel

like a amnesiac remembering so little. I do think there's been somewhat of a mental block to the pain at the time. Names ? all i remember as friends are the names Russo, Guzaldo, and jim Sansone. Does anyone remember me ? Strange. Lost in a crowd and a sea of blurred memories. Thank you all for sharing your intimate thoughts and pain. It gives one a sense of history to know where we came from. I do remember jumping at the chance to get away from the whole scene when two reporters asked me and someone else to go to the TV station to tell our story. It got us out of the cold and away from the horror. They told us they would call our parets to let them know where we were. But my parents were out searching in panic till late that nite. Then i felt responsible having to tell them that i lost my right shoe escaping down the main staircase in the dark stampede to get out.

Then feeling happy that we didn't have to attend school and going to

either Ore or Hayes. Can't even remember. I guess it wasn't something i really ever wanted to remember. Until now. At 56 years old.

John Montedore

Four2namio@aol.com.

Can't remember the tv station but after i escaped slowly down the main staircase from the second floor we all ran to the rectory next door to drink water and sooth our coughing. As i had struggled down the very narrow staircase i remember stepping on people who had fallen on the steps. The smoke was so black and thick you couldn't even see the large globe lights on the ceiling, let alone what was in front of you. I was scared to say the least. But the struggle to get down those steps was far from easy. It was sheer panic in total darkness. To make matters worse, about a third of the way down, i lost my right shoe and i struggled to hold back the pushing crowd to feel on the steps for my lost shoe. I remember thinking my parents would be angry if i lost a shoe. But i was quickly pushed along down the stairs by the stampede of

panicked kids. I remember the screeming. i remember the fear and the darkness. After getting water at the rectory we emerged to stand across the street and watch as the building burned and children jumped up to two stories down. Around 3:30 or so two reporters approached a friend and i (i can't remember his name) and asked if we would go to the television station with them to tell our story. We kind of jumped at the chance being the opportunist that i've always been but i do remember sitting in the back seat of their car hopping the reporters weren't two kidnappers. We did one or two interviews then they took my friend and me out to dinner at Tad's Steak House. Then back to the station for a couple of more on air interviews. Meantime my poor parents were scouring the neighborhood, like everyone else, looking for their child. Unfortunately, the television people kept trying to call them on the phone but my parents were out doing door to door until quite late. When they finally returned home late that nite thinking i was was one of the lost souls they received their first phone call from an aunt in San Diego, california who had seen me on the news and told them i was ok. Well eventually i got home that nite to very relieved parents.

To this day i've always considered my self a very lucky guy. Even through the usual stumblin blocks of life. At 56 years old i still count my blessings. My parents now live in Des Plaines and in 1979 i moved just north of the Golden Gate Bridge, San Francisco. The fire did

set up a survival kind of dynamic in my life. I think having that angel on my shoulder that day of the fire kept me believing he'd always be there. So far, so good.

Hello to all my fellow paticipants in our shared tragedy !

John Montedore

e-mail: four2namio@aol.com

I have read "To Sleep With The Angels" I obtained a copy of it not long after my son turned 9.

Since then I have searched for any information on Mary Ellen Pettenon that I can find. If anyone has information on her I would greatly appreceat it. I would like to know where she was laid to reat so I may bring flowers for her grave. I would like to see a picture of her, so that I may know finally what she looks like. Maybe even contact her family and let them know that my mother made good on her promiss. Let them meet my son, and share him with them as Mary Ellen would have shared her children.

And most selfishly for me, lay to rest the ghost who's shadow I have lived in all my life. I dont think that my mother even realized that all of my life she compaired me to her, and sadly I did not fill the bill.

Thank-you for letting me bring this out in the open.

Rev. Mary E. Garrett

Lylymaiden@netscape.net

11, and from there I found this website. The really strange part is, I dont live in Chicago anymore, but I flew in the day before the program aired to be with my mother as she was having surgery, and I saw an article in the newspaper about the program. I guess I was suppose to see it.

The night before the fire, I layed in bed and kept having a sense of fear... I told my mother something bad is going to happen at school, I had no vision of fire, just a sense of fear, but it was strong, she just told be to go to sleep and stop being silly. The next morning I still had the feeling, so strong in fact that I refused to go to school, I cried and carried on, my mother was convinced that I didnt do my homework and was afraid to go to class, but I was afraid, and kept on saying something bad is going to happen, as it turned out, she let me stay home that morning because it got late from all the carrying on , but at lunchtime she said YOU WILL GO TO SCHOOL....and I did!

I can honestly say I dont think about it much... I dont want to...but this week I cant seem to stop thinking about it.

We were at our desks in room 212 and I can still see the page in the book... It was Geography.. and there was a picture of children sitting on a beach somewhere, I can still see the seashells in that picture. I remember hearing what sounded like a choir, Sister even said " maybe they are practicing in the church " but later it was said there was no one singing in the church... to this day Im convinced it was the Angels coming to escort the children to heaven. I can still hear little Robert Anglim (he sat in the first row, right by the door) say... Sister... smoke!!!! it was seeping in trough the door... but he couldnt open it...It was rattling, and then Sister tried, but there was really nothing she could do either,we couldnt get out of the room, so she told us to stay at our desks and pray. We did that for awhile, but soon it was all out of control...from here my memory is out of focus... The room filled with smoke so fast... you couldnt see... somehow I was blessed and sat in the row next to the windows, but I didnt know what to do.. The boys started throwing books and things to break the widows and soon everyone in the room was pushing against me to reach the windows for air or escape. I was holding a girl named Maria's hand.. Maria was a bit older than the rest of us.. she was from Italy and didnt speak English well, I use to take her to my Grandmothers house for lunch sometimes. My grandmother lived on Iowa and Lawndale.. and she use to speak to Maria in Italian... anyway Maria started to laugh and I remember telling her this isnt funny Maria... I didnt realize then that it was hysterical laughter. Maria and I were seperated there at the windows and somehow I lived and she didnt.

I crawled up on the window ledge and stratled the ledge with one leg outside and one over the radiator.. one hand on that handle on the window and the other one trying to wave smoke away but it was so thick... I remember telling my mother later that it was like mashed potatoes. There was a boy hanging from the sill... I couldnt breathe anymore.. and the children behind me were pushing so hard that I felt that soon I would have to jump.. I couldnt see out the window and honestly thought the firemen werent going to come.. but the boy hanging from the sill ( and I never did see who it was, although I think it was a boy named Frank M. ) He said dont jump they are coming now.. and then I saw a fireman help the boy down.. and reach up for me... I climbed out into his arms, but the latter was short, he got me and led me down and when I hit the air I must of passed out I never remembered getting to the ground, I just remember coming to.. and seeing total chaos. bodies on the ground, flames in room 210 and kids sitting lined up along the wall across the alley.. and thats where I figured I should be.. but somehow I heard my mothers voice in that crowd.. and I crawled up to here and pulled on her coat and said Here I am Mommy... she scooped me up and carried me into the convent... but then I guess she decided she would try to go to my Grandmothers house.. as she walked out carrying me a fireman took over he carried me to an ambulance and we ended up in Franklin Pk hospital... and things were crazy there too.. so much terror going on, parents looking for their children, Hospital staff trying to keep up. I was bandaged on my arms and sent home. My dad was driving home from work and met us at the house... it seemed the whole neighborhood was standing there in front of the house. I was home for about an hour... and throwing up soot... and my ears were burnt badly, no one seemed to notice that at first... I went back to another hospital I was put into an oxygen tent and my burns were tended to there, but that night I was left there alone, most likely in shock, I still dont know why my parents werent allowed to stay. I do remember a firefighter coming in to see me the next morning, he was also a patient, but no one really talked to me. I saw a newspaper, but no one would let me look through it. I was so lucky or blessed, my burns were mostly 2nd degree except for a few 3rd on my arms. my hair was scorched... it was long and in a pony tail.. I remember having it cut off a few weeks later. I smelled smoke on my body for the longest time, as though it had permiated my skin. for awhile,I was so araid of the dark, that I had to have lights on at night. I was afraid of buses or elevators, anything where the doors closed. I still dont like elevators, and flying is so hard for me to do. Im sorry to ramble on... Im not sure there is any real reason to write any of this... but no one ever let me talk not my parents....NO ONE! Whenever I am in a theater,or hotel, or any public assembly, I still search out the exits. I cant light a barbeque, To this day... I always minimize my own pain and just move on...I accept things I probably shouldnt. Yet I tend to everyone elses needs, maybe too much, but I never want anyone to feel the way I feel inside..(overlooked) My husband passed away 5yrs ago and his family was all buried at Queen Of Heaven... so now I have visited the graves of all the victims buried there.

MY children are the only ones who have ever really heard this story... to this day my parents dont want to talk about it. And Im sad to say.. I dont feel real close to them. I respect them but I think Im healthier away from Chicago. The city or the Church.. should offer counceling..Yes, even now, 45yrs later...since there was none available then... And I will freely say that anyone involved..had their lives profoundly affected... weather they realize it or not.

I now live in Florida... and all I can say is... We survived for a reason...and whenever I question Gods presence.. I still remind myself that I truely think I heard the Angels sing that day!

God bless you all...And to the families that lost a child.. I finally have the chance to say... I'm so very sorry!