Back in 1977, every weekday started with morning mass, and Sister Mary Anne used to play the organ in church. Her fingers were skeletal, and her arms moved like a puppet. She didn't so much "play" the organ as she heaved her hands down on the keys, collapsing on each note like she were crawling out of a grave. She had a knack of making even the most heavenly hymn sound like a Dark Shadows scene-change.
After three years of suffering through Anne's Shout the Glad Tidings, our young congregation sighed in unison when the nun was moved to 5am mass. It was an act of mercy on two different levels: 1, it got Anne out of the "popular" daily mass, and 2, it spared the sister's feelings (by not taking her playing away completely). I imagined our Pastor at the time - a menthol-smoking priest as old as Anne herself - spinning the demotion as a positive: "By playing at five in the morning Sister Anne, your beautiful music will literally start our day." Of course the Pastor would have had to YELL that as Anne was hard of hearing.
On a completely unrelated note, I was the only kid in class who didn't want to be an alter boy.
In hindsight now, I guess I missed all the fun...