The Nuns of NIH

The Nuns of NIH

Thirty plus years ago the National Institutes of Health, simply referred to as NIH by most of the world, acquired a nunnery located at the northwest corner of the NIH campus at the corner of Old Georgetown Road and Cedar Street. It was vacant of course, but the property had not been touched by renovators. A Sister revisiting the building would feel right at home.

The privacy barriers were still in place to keep the residents from being seen by outsiders when deliveries were made or when there were visitors. The small private cells of the sisters were empty awaiting new residents. They were actually too small to be used as offices, but were suitable for a single bed. Unfortunately, it still had all the original plumbing and lighting.

I was part of a newly formed work group assessing how well NIH administered it's safeguards against discriminatory practices, and being short on office space in which to house us, they just gave us the keys to the nunnery.

Work projects don't lend themselves well to 8 to 5 schedules, so we found ourselves working into late hours more often than not. This was okay for most of us, but several of our group found the building with it's old inadequate lighting spooky and complained about weird unexplained noises. The fact that the nuns had buried their dead on-site in the back yard didn't help, even though we were assured that all the graves had been moved to a local Catholic Cemetery before the nuns had vacated the property.

One evening when interviews on campus ran well into the evening I returned to the nunnery. Having parked my Chrysler LeBaron in what had been part of the front yard, while walking to the front door I noticed a nun in her habit standing there staring wistfully at the property. I approached her, "Hi," I said. I told her who I was and what I was doing there. I asked her if she were a former resident, and she smiled and said, "Yes.'" That she had spent many years there. I asked her if she would like to come inside and revisit her old haunts.

"Thank you. I would like that very much." We went inside and I discovered that all the other staff had already gone for the day. I still had to finish up some work in preparation for a meeting for the next morning, so I told the Sister she could spend as much time as she wanted looking around. Also that I was making a pot of coffee if she wanted a cup. "Oh, no," she said, "but thank you."

I finished up my work in about an hour and discovered the nun was still there. I advised her I was going to leave shortly and would be locking up. I asked if we could chat for a while, as I was curious about our office accommodations. She agreed and we sat in the kitchen area, me finishing the dregs of the coffee I had made, and she happily engaged in talking to me.

She explained that she hadn't talked to an outsider since taking her vows in 1951. I pointed out that she was talking to me now, but she with a toss of her hand and a French style "phyftt" said "Oh, it doesn't matter anymore," and continued chattering.

She told me how hard it was to keep vows of silence, but how comforting it was to live with the other sisters. I asked her about the graves in the backyard, and she said "Oh, Yes. They were behind the single pear tree that was still in the backyard and which still bore fruit.

I laughed and told her how some of the staff thought the place was haunted, and that they thought some of the graves had not been moved and were still occupied. She allowed as to how they were right about the graves, but that they had no reason to fear any ghost, that she knew that for a fact.

Time ran out and not having seen a car when I arrived I asked her if I could give her a ride anywhere. She declined. We walked out together, and I left her out in front of the house. Driving away, the green light at the corner had turned red, so I had to stop. I looked in my rear view mirror and I saw her walking around the side of the house toward the pear tree.