"Get that out of your mouth."
With lots of lisping,"It'ssss not candy, it'ssss a cough drop."
The nun made the kid take out a handkerchief, he dropped the drop into the snot rag.
"No candy in class!"
"It'sssss not candy!"
The nun hit the kid.
It could've been you, it could've been me. In 1962, at St.Stephen's of Hungary, the nuns sold you candy at lunchtime then confiscated it if you ate it in the classroom after lunch. Reminds me of states that have liquor stores on the highway, sell you a bottle with a smile, then expect you to keep it in the bag until you get home.
There was one controversial food stuff that caused an uproar in class. Cough drops.
Depending on the nun, cough drops weren't considered candy if you could prove you were near death.
Symptoms of death, or a parent's note that your throat was sore could do it, but only after the note passed analysis in comparison to a previous note from the same parent, authenticated in consultation with other nuns. Some infamous forgers developed their talent on East 82nd Street. If they were born a generation earlier, they would've been in the O.S.A. crafting passports for the French Underground.
A key part of the strategy to hold onto your cough drops was to place Kleenex tissues on your desk and hack when the nun was facing the blackboard. If you positioned some phlegm under your nostril and over your lip, better. Rubbing your eyes a lot was risky, it was a great allergy signal but drove the nun crazy and sometimes they'd take the cough drops away even if you were sick because they didn't like the way you looked.
Keeping your cough drops was a constant struggle requiring vigilance, cunning and endurance.
As you can see from this First grade picture taken in St. Stephen's on the day before Thanksgiving in 1962, my brother was a master at deception and candy retention. See the Kleenex on his desk? Two seconds later, the nun turned and Rory released his practiced cough from hell.