tempers often exploded and the children shouted at each other. Much about the household was
loud and raucous, freewheeling and unrestrained.
If Mrs. Boyd granted her children unusual freedoms within her house, she was more than diligent in imparting rules for outside
thehouse. She inculcated her children with a protective mechanism they remembered all their lives. Over and over again she said
if people knew too much about the Boyd family they would use the knowledge in a critical manner.
Never tell people what you don’t want repeated,
she preached.
People will seek out your weaknesses and faults, so tell them only of your strong points. No family matters must ever be mentioned
beyond the front door.
This resulted in the Boyd children being extraordinarily reticent about all but the most inconsequential of family matters,
even when they reached old age.
While Elsie had striven mightily to have people in Erie think she was as comfortable as before her husband died, inside the
home she turned poverty into a cardinal virtue. She taught all her children, but especially John since he was at his most
malleable age, that they had principles and integrity often lacking in those with money and social position. She hammered
into John that as long as he held on to his sense of what was right, and as long as his integrity was inviolate, he was superior
to those who had only rank or money. She also taught him that a man of principle frightened other people and that he would
be attacked for his beliefs, but he must always keep the faith. “If you’re right, you’re right,” she said.
For several years after her husband died, Elsie maintained a semblance of religion in her household. Because her husband had
been a Catholic and because all the children were baptized in the Catholic church, she encouraged Marion and Gerry to attend
church. But she was becoming increasingly annoyed by what she saw as church pressure for greater financial contributions.
Then came the day when Marion, who was studying for her Confirmation, could not remember her catechism. Marion reported to
her mother that the priest ridiculed her in front of the class and made her kneel before him “like he was a tin god.” Such
authoritarian behavior on the part of priests then was the rule rather than the exception, but Elsie Boyd—a Presbyterian and
a mother burdened with protecting her children against the world—was furious at the way the priest had humiliated Marion and,
by extension, her family. She called the priest and said, “I have enough trouble trying to keep this family together without
having a priest pick on my children.” When the priest protested, Mrs. Boyd laced into him with even more animus. The priest
insisted he was right, at which point Mrs. Boydended the conversation by serving notice she was removing her children from the Catholic church.
John was too young to be troubled by this. But Marion had heard what happened to children who left the church and she thought,
“Oh, my. I’m going to hell.” Two of Hubert Boyd’s sisters, both of whom were devout Catholics, were more than a little disturbed
by this theological shift and feared for the souls of the children. Bitter recriminations ensued.
Elsie, as usual, was unbending. These were her children and she would raise them as she saw best. Her dead husband’s sisters
had no voice in the matter. She summarily tossed them from her house; it would be years before any of the Boyd children were
allowed to visit the two aunts.
This was not the last time Elsie was to demonstrate her willingness to sever a relationship with any person or any institution
that offended her. She could do it without a second thought, without looking back, without any willingness to discuss the
issue. Once she shut the door it was closed forever. John warned by her example, and it was a lesson he would remember.
A few weeks later Elsie withdrew her children from