Edwards was at the orphanage from 1940 to 1944.
For corroboration of abuse at the orphanage, see messages posted in 2005, 2006 at
Was at Parmadale from 1950 – 1956. Sr. Myra was brutal even then. She was not the only one, but certainly one of the worst. We were little kids with nobody to protect us. Over the years, I have wondered why news of the atrocities did not get out. Am glad to finally find the silence has been broken.
I just recently found this web site. I was absolutely shocked to read your posting. Sister Myra sure got around. I was there from 1963 thru 1968 and was one of her favorite people to beat. It is so shocking to hear someone else say her name. I have hated this women for fyears. She beat me at breakfast, then let the girls beat me up when we got back to the cottage after breakfast and then she stripped me, had them hold me down to beat me with a 2×4. Then I would get to stand in front of a full length mirror and hold my ankles for an hour or more. Were you in her cottage. I can remember a couple of other girls she did this too, but only there first names; Chrissy and Barb, there was one other, it seemed that the four of us were her favorite targets. I put another posting on this wieb site. I believe she payed a heavy price when she died, she had to stand before God and answer some hard questions, don’t ya think? Thank you for this posting, I wasn’t sure if anyone else was out there. I too was in the band, payed alto sax, even made 1st chair. Mr. Hearns was the band teacher. Some good memories – St. Patricks Day parade downtown??!!! Thank you again.
I hadn’t visited this site since last November and was startled to find the recent postings regarding Sr. Myra and mention of Barb Novosel. She was my sister – 15 months younger than I am. At Parmadale, we were in separate cottages. When I learned of Sr. Myra’s abuse of Barb, I went to the Monsignor’s house, which was in the village and begged him to do something. He ignored my pleas — as did any nun who I also begged for help, including my own house mother. I felt so powerless. What’s worse, when Sr. Myra learned of my actions, she beat my sister even harder and more often. Barb begged me to stop trying to help her because my efforts were making things so much worse for her. Once Sr. Myra had me come to her cottage one evening and gathered the girls around her and said, “Marilyn thinks I beat you. Do I beat you?” They replied in sing-song unison, “No Sister Myra. You LOVE us.” After I left, she had all the girls beat my sister with radiator brushes and their fists. Barb died before her 24th birthday — never having gotten over the trauma she suffered at the hands of Sr. Myra.
I heard Sr. Myra is dead now. I only wish I could have confronted her on her death bed! May she be rotting in hell — or the equivalent.