We Called Her George
By: Sister Anita Wolf
No one remembers how she came to be called 'George,' but it may have had something to do with her readiness to be helpful to others. "Let George do it" is a familiar slogan when a job needs to get done.
In her file in the convent records she began her short autobiography with the words, "Once upon a time a little girl was born in Ochsenhausen, a little city not far from Stuttgart, Germany." Her name was Anna Marie Rieger (Sister Adelaide Rieger in religious life). Born in Germany in 1903, her childhood was lived in the typical life of a loving German family.
The years between her birth and death in 1994 were an interesting saga of a life lived to the full. She often spoke of her father, Stefan Rieger, who was a railroad conductor on a small train serving the surrounding area by delivering milk and butter to the towns of the Black Forest region. As a child, her father would send her and her younger brother to fetch a small bucket of beer from the brewery down the street. She never told us how often they spilled the foaming liquid on the way home. She had a happy family life, but it was also touched by tragedy when her mother died at an early age. Anna Marie was only 13 at the time.
Her beloved father died when she was 20, and shortly thereafter, she left the happy home and decided to enter the convent of the Holy Cross Sisters in Ingenbohl, Switzerland. Even though she knew of several convents she could have entered in her native Germany, she was attracted to the Holy Cross Sisters in Switzerland because she said, "They had such a good reputation." Their influence guided her to her long-for-destination.
On the train to Ingenbohl she struck up a conversation with another young woman, and to her delight, she learned that she also was on her way to enter the same convent. By the time they reached their destination, the two of them had formed a budding friendship, and they decided that they would never get another taste of beer once they were behind those convent walls. So they made a stop at a local eatery for a good glass of beer before climbing up the hill to the convent. At the entrance of the convent, they received a warm welcome from one of the sisters who mentioned they knew that they expected them earlier because they knew when the train had arrived, and the Swiss trains were never late. Fortunately, their hostess did not press the matter further.
Convent training was a transforming experience for the happy-go-lucky young woman. In short order she enrolled in a nurse training course and began her professional formation with her convent classmates. Their education took place in some of the finest medical centers in all of Europe, and their training opened up new realms of life for their growth and development.
Then came a call to the motherhouse that sisters were needed to serve in the United States. The Holy Cross Sisters had opened a health care mission in Dickinson, North Dakota, in 1912 and had established a new administrative center in Merrill, Wisconsin, in 1923.
They were looking for new recruits for the fledgling organization to give it a more firm footing and to provide greater support for those who were already serving there. Even though she had not yet made her religious profession, Ann Marie volunteered immediately for the new mission. She was eager for a new adventure in her young life.
Anna Marie and her companion arrived in New York in June 1926. Of course, they had traveled by boat, and all were sea sick when they arrived. After a brief recuperation in New York they boarded the train to their new home in Merrill, Wisconsin. It was a long trip which remained vividly in her mind for years to come.
In Merrill she received her novitiate training, was given her new name, as was customary in those days, and made her profession of vows in 1928. At the new Holy Cross Hospital in Merrill, Sister Adelaide received x-ray and laboratory training, and in 1930 earned her diploma as an x-ray technician. She became a US citizen in 1931. As a transplant to her new country, she was happy with her adopted home and her new Holy Cross Family.
This began Sister Adelaide's service in the health care field stretching for more than 50 years: six years at Holy Cross Hospital in Merrill and 46 years at St. Joseph's Hospital in Dickinson, North Dakota. She worked diligently to bring herself and her staff to the highest level of competence in their work, but she also knew frustration and tough times in the process. Her personal philosophy was always: "When times are bad, only one thing can happen...they have to get better."
Occasionally some out-of-the ordinary happening would disrupt her daily work routine. One day one of the doctors brought a young horse to town from his horse ranch. He wanted an x-ray of the horse's ankle which had developed a serious limp. Under the capable supervision of Sister Adelaide, they took the portable x-ray machine outside of the hospital entrance, and with Sister's skilled technique got the successful x-ray film of the horse's sore ankle. The doctor was pleased with the result, and Sister Adelaide had fun with her "Show and Tell" of an unusual piece of technological expertise.
Sister Adelaide's life, so thoroughly dedicated to laboring in the Master's vineyard, held few pleasures for her, but she did admit to a simple craving which she occasionally indulged. She loved a meal of French toast which rarely appeared on the hospital menu. In a private niche in the x-ray department she used her initiative to rig up a hotplate, gather a few ingredients and become a clandestine chef of an occasional feast with a few intimate friends.
One day she slipped two eggs into her pocket as she passed through the hospital kitchen in anticipation of a little party with her friends. When she arrived at the department, one of the technicians was putting a patient on the x-ray table. Sister Adelaide's instinctive helpfulness made sure the patient was positioned in just the right angle for the procedure. Suddenly, a strange liquid oozed out of her pocket and down her leg. Oops! No French toast that day!
It came as no surprise that Sister Adelaide would at some point be asked to become the superior of the sisters' community. She did not relish the job and called herself the sisters "co-agitator" instead of coordinator. In many ways she was ideal for the job, always mildly disorganized, yet always approachable with a ready sense of humor. The sisters' recreation room which had traditionally been a very private conclave became a welcoming gathering place for students, seminarians and friends. Sometimes it was the scene of some lively debates and pillow fights.
Eventually the day dawned when retirement became a necessary reality. Sister Adelaide bade a sad farewell to her many friends in Dickinson and made her home at Holy Cross Convent in Merrill. Even then she found opportunities to be of service to others. She managed to assemble a kit of tools and cheerfully provided a foot care service to the sisters who lived with her on the retirement unit.
Sister Adelaide's last days were marked with physical pain and discomfort, but even in her pain she never forgot to express her gratitude to those who cared for her. She died peacefully on March 26, 1994.
One of the seminarians from earlier days had become loyal priest-friend in her last years. He deemed it a special privilege to conduct her funeral on March 28, 1994. In his reflections in the funeral homily his remarks touched on the ways her personality expressed her rich life. "She saw God in the love of her sisters, and in the faces of the thousands of patients she had cared for over the years. Her gentle hands took care of what is for most of us a very unpleasant task--touching and caring for the feet of others. Like Jesus she washed the feet of those she loved and brought a new spirit of life and love to them."
Even after being gone from us these many years, we still love to remember this special lady whom we called George.