Hail to the ATWTs

(pronounced “at-wits,” it stands for All The Way Throughs!)

It’s a holiday weekend and my office is being occupied by Superboy (left). Trips to the computer are restricted to hasty peeks. So I’m just going to give you some photos to study. I wish they were bigger, but this blogging program only allows 300 pixels. To see larger versions of the three group photos, click on this link and select "Slide Show". Some of us still marvel that we went through all 12 grades in North Allegheny schools. We’re the equivalent of the Sons and Daughters of the American Revolution or the Signers of the Mayflower Compact—to give it a patriotic spin on the Fourth.

My thanks to fellow ATWTs Bill Young, Marge Downer and Helen Yingling, who supplied photos and names. I regret that I don’t know who went all the way through from Marshall Township; I understand kids in our class from the Peebles district of McCandless, with its tiny old school, were transferred to Espe (according to Priscilla Kerr). Several non-ATWTs from Franklin Township (Connie Stevens and Janet Gilleland) tried to help, but since neither was around at the beginning, they couldn’t supply a class photo and could only guess at names. I would be happy to add ATWTs from the other elementary schools in the North Allegheny district at a later date (and before the t-shirt order gets placed).

The Borough of Bradford Woods

According to Marge Downer, BW’s school was the only public building in town and was used for everything. A big folding wall divided the two classrooms that opened for Sunday services, before the church was built next door. The first four grades were on one side, grades 5-8 on the other. As she writes, “With four grades in one room, the teacher had to keep us all silent for most of the day. We had no special subjects either, which meant Mrs. Weinman was with us from nine to four with an hour break for lunch, when we all went home. Once she took us to her place for a field trip. She and her husband had a mink farm. I don’t think anyone got a finger bitten off.”

Geographically, Helen Yingling, who lived close to the rest of the Yingling clan on Sunset Drive in 1946, should have been a classmate of mine at Ingomar. But since her family was going to be moving the next year, her dad insisted she should commute everyday to school in the wilds of Bradford Woods. She hitched a ride in a U.S. Postal Service truck driven by Jim DeZort (who smoked stinky cigars) along with huge canvas bags of mail.

This photograph of Bradford Woods “little room” (called that not because of its size but because of the younger kids in it) was probably taken in spring 1947. Class of 1958 ATWTs are first graders in the front row. Recognizing them, in boldface, from left to right: 1. Pat Henke, 2. Mildred Walters, 3. Grier Cooper 4. Helen Yingling, 5. Peter Young, 6. Jack Sramek, 7. George Gunn, 8. Marge Downer, 9. Susan Chapman, and 10. one second-grader, Margie Theurer (’57).(Contact Helen if you want to know the older little people in the back rows.)

Out front is Teddy Downer, Marge’s dog, who seems to have been a fixture in BW school photos.

Espe Elementary, McCandless Township

Largest of the first grades, Espe had at least 13 ATWTs (maybe more?). This photo also contains Sue Sutter and Marilyn Michalko, who recognized their error early on and departed for Ingomar School in time for second grade. (Sue then moved on to Pine Township School until she rejoined us at NAHS in 8^th grade.) Notice how Espe separated the girls, apparently finding them delicate and seating them on those extremely uncomfortable wooden folding chairs in the front row. Front row (left to right with some names missing): 1. Kathie Boyer, 2. Dolores Fike, 3. Sue Sutter, 4, 5, 6. June Blystone, 7, 8. Donna Osterwise (Jami Hart), 9. Edrie Apple, 10. Marilyn Michalko, 11. Janet Heim, 12. Mildred Halboth. Back row: 1. Bill Young, 2, 3. Calvin Hartman, 4. Richard Sass, 5. Chuck Richards, 6. Warren Bald, 7. Ron Huch, 8, 9. Gary Diamond, 10. Harry Hipwell, 11. Ron Carpenter (?), 12. Regis Gschwind, 13. Billy Rogan, 14, 15, 16. Bob Beilstein. Teacher: Miss Stansbury (see Mickey Michalko's remembrance in the comments).

When I asked if Bill Young if he was really wearing knickers, he replied, “Of course they are knickers. At age 6, I was a slave to fashion. Fortunately, I outgrew that problem. Kneesocks had powerful elastic bands which probably cut off circulation. The bottoms of the knickers also had extremely strong elastic bands. At the end of a day wearing that combination, my legs really hurt. Gosh, the sacrifices we make to look good.” Darn it! I wish you could see his outfit better--the bowtie, the Fair Isle vest.

Ingomar Elementary, McCandless Township

Well, I saved the best for last. We Ingomar kids were clearly a happy-g0-lucky lot compared to the rather rustic B-Woodzers and proper Espians. Girls are mixed in with boys, and no one needs a chair. Actually, I’ve cheated a little by providing the second grade photo (1947) in order to include some stellar class members who are not quite ATWTs—Brandt, Roessler, Schleuning, and Roth. (At left I’m setting off for the first day of first grade, Sept. 1946.)

Front row: Ted Matoka, Henry Ford, Arthur Brandt (who later departed for Espe), Richard Sinewe (‘59), Philip Lane, Billy Campbell, Jack Miller, Ernie Roessler.

Middle row: Margie Behrens, Karen Ringeisen, Linda Schleuning, Barbara Sweeney, Joyce Kuhlman, June Blystone, Sue Sutter, Patty Nutter (’59), Ruth June Gross, Mike Lake.

Back row: Ray Blystone, Dick Fink, Virginia Grosick, Marilyn Michalko, Mrs. Reed, Judy Roth, Marilyn Sarver, Jimmy Quickle, George Crawford. Missing from the picture, but also Ingomar ATWTs: Audrey Bergman and Marilyn Grupp.

Pete Brandt has remarked rather enviously that he wishes he could have worn a striped jacket like Jack Miller, clearly our GQ fashion candidate. Good thing he didn’t know about the Prince of Fashion, Bill Young, yet.

Any miss-identifications? Let me know. Next week I should be back online.

We’ve Got a Contest Winner

Without the aid of his yearbooks (back in Gibsonia) while still down in Florida, Pete Brandt nailed those football players mentioned in my poem “A Has-Been” (see posting for June 14). I’ve since realized the grand prize, the gold and black pencil, is from the first football season (1955), which no doubt enhances its value on the collectibles market, although the poem was written about the 1956 team. That was the second year when we finally started to win games and play at home. Winner of the consolation prize (a program from the NAHS vs. Darlington game (a 28-0 win for NAHS) is none other than Bill Young, currently known to us as Mr. Keen, Tracer of Lost Classmates. The correct answer (tricky because there are two possible Bobs):

Bob Good or Bob Richard
Andy Sohngen
Stan Cleva
Wally Barker
Randy Brandt
Jack Chotta

An Overdue Thank You

Well, I’m still on a music kick this week. To get you in the mood, click on the title to go to a YouTube link of the Clemson University band, playing the Dixieland classic, “Tiger Rag,” as its fight song. (And remember to shout “Hold ‘em Tigers” at the right times.)

I’ve always loved bands, especially in parades. But since coming to Iowa, I now know just how passionate people can get about them. Meredith Willson, who created “The Music Man,” hailed from Mason City, Iowa. His musical, which was a huge hit on Broadway in 1957 (then a movie in 1962), is about the reverence in which marching bands are held throughout the Midwest as the citizens of River City demonstrate. The promises of traveling conman Professor Harold Hill to solve their problems by creating a boys’ marching band are gullibly believed. And when the kids miraculous strike up “76 Trombones,” Hill is taken in by River City, too (particularly Marian the librarian).

Members of my immediate family have each had their band experience. Including my own cameo performance playing George M. Cohan’s “Give My Regards to Broadway” on the glockenspiel in the St. Patrick’s Day parade (March 1955) along Fifth Avenue. Janet Gilleland and I joined but soon resigned from the Perrysville Fireman’s Girls Drum and Bugle Corps after that appearance. My husband spent his junior high school years in Lancaster, Pa. playing a sousaphone (left). He was the only kid big enough to haul it around, although the uniform trousers suggest the school wasn’t expecting anyone quite so tall. He soon grew tired of removing various detritus—such as pieces of hotdog and bubble gum wrappers—from the bell after every football game. Our daughter Lia seemed to be striking a blow against male dominance of the trombone by taking up that instrument for a couple years. When she got braces it proved too painful to continue playing—by then, the spit valve on her second-hand instrument was sticking way too frequently anyway. Our most successful musician, Brenda, played clarinet throughout high school and opened my eyes to just how important the band was at Ames High both for camaraderie among the members and its role of representing the school in parades, pep rallies, and athletic events. Both of my sons-in-law also took up wind instruments in school. Alas, none of us continue to play—but we all learned to appreciate what making music as part of a group entails.

Looking through NAHS yearbooks of our era I’m struck by how little attention those stalwart members of the Tiger Marching Band received. Although the six majorettes and drum major rated a two-page spread, the rest of the band (58 strong) also rated only two pages in 1958. And unlike the majorettes, whose names were listed as captions to both photos and again mentioned in the accompanying blurb, the band members remain anonymous (except for the color guard and the officers). I looked back to previous yearbooks; in 1957, again the band rated a 2-page spread but no names, and in 1956, they only rated one page but without even a group picture, much less names.

The Midwesterner in me cries “Unfair!” I talked to Bill Young about this the other day. He was in North Allegheny’s band from the beginning and quite serious about music. He remembers all the practicing individually and during band class, the half-time shows, the bus trips to Shaler or Hampton for Friday night football games. According to him, NAHS’ band teacher, the late Robert Testa, was “a prince” and one of those talents who can play every band instrument and listen with great patience to all those sour notes that novices inevitably make. Bill remembers once after a French-hornist made a gaff, much to her embarrassment, Testa stopped the band and demonstrated just how easily it could happen. By changing the angle of the mouthpiece very slightly, he showed how you could to be off-key in 5 or 6 different ways.

So today I want to bring NAHS Tiger Marching Band of 1958 back for an encore. We didn’t give you the credit you deserved for all your hard work and wonderful contributions to so many school activities, but you guys rocked. Let me name and thank each of you:

Karl Aveard, a drummer who really did continue to play in rock bands after graduation
Bob Benjamin, another drummer (captured in the photo right with Karl)
Chuck Gruber, sousaphonist (who no doubt has his own detritus stories) and band vice president
George Gunn, drummer (and timpanist with the orchestra)
Bill Young on saxophonist, initially entered college as a music major but could not see himself becoming another Mr. Testa so changed to chemical engineering. (See these three in left photo)
The three Benny Goodmans of the class were Richard Sass, Pete Thurston, and Bill Vestal (photo left). Bill also served as NAHS’ first drum major (1956-58); Bill Young enviously recalls Vestal’s trousers actually tailored for a smart fit—unlike the rank and file. Also the memorable piano-tuner routine Bill pulled off at one musical assembly.

I sadly regret that it's too late to thank Mike Thurston, trumpeter and band president in 1957-58 (right).

To fast-forward: If you’d like to see a video of the huge North Allegheny Marching Band entering Newman Stadium in August 2007, click here.

And Finally, a Postscript

After that earlier posting “When NA was the new high school” (4/12/08), I had this note about the NAHS school color from Bob Beilstein: “I was on the committee in 8th grade charged by Dr. Vonarx with coming up with the colors, and we had three choices—green/black, green/white, or red/white. Tom Maxwell was the faculty adviser and he said that after he went to Pitt, he always liked their colors, black/gold. To appease him, we added black/gold to the colors voted on by the school. (Of course, none of us, including Tom Maxwell, realized that Pitt's colors were blue/gold).

As is well known, black/gold won the student vote, only to be challenged by the juniors and sophomores coming out from Perry High. Vonarx then said we would have another vote, but prior to that vote, he arranged a special pep rally out on the football field where the band came marching out onto the field followed by the new football team—all in their new black and gold uniforms. Spectacular! Black/gold won the second vote hands down.”

Strangers within Our Gates

That biblical phrase, used in the fourth of the Ten Commandments (Exodus 20:10 and later in Deuteronomy), is a theme that began for me in 1957. What reminds me of it is a program in my scrapbook for my last piano recital on an evening in June 1958 at the home of my piano teacher, Marlen Geier. I played Chopin’s “Polonaise in A Major”—wish I still could.

Marlen was special. She, her parents, and older brother had been transplanted from Germany to Ingomar shortly after the war (WWII). I always wished I knew their Coming to America story. The family seemed serious, silent, and rather sad whenever I came to their house for my weekly lesson. Marlen was then a student at Carnegie Tech’s College of Fine Arts (in music) when I first started and later a vocal music teacher for 7^th and 8^th graders at NAHS. She chose very hard classical pieces for me to learn and seemed to think I was more capable than I did. I liked the fact that she never praised me on weeks when I really hadn’t practiced enough and was trying to scrape by because I was a good sight reader.

That sight-reading skill had come in useful when someone needed to accompany hymn singing at Methodist Youth Fellowship meetings or for Junior Choir practices. During the 1957-58 school year, Marlen offered me a paying job (50¢ an hour, I think) to go over to Gumbert School for Girls one evening a week with her and accompany their chorus, which she would be directing. I jumped at the chance to get to know her better on those rides.

Strangers in suburb paradise?

Gumbert was located on a bluff overlooking McKnight Road where the Ross Park Mall is today. It was Allegheny County’s female counterpart to Thorn Hill School for Boys, which was located out on a farm in Warrendale. Since Thorn Hill closed in 1980, some former JDs have written fond memoirs about the farm and the practical skills they learned there. I don’t think anyone has rhapsodized about Gumbert. It was cramped, drearily institutional, and when we arrived at 7 pm, always smelled of overcooked cabbage. The adolescent girls who made up the chorus had the unhealthy look of too much starchy food and were forlornly dressed in the castoffs of older people. What I liked about them though was that they were high spirited and happy to see us and to sing their lungs out.

In fact, they would mob me, wanting to touch my clothes and admire whatever I wore. At first, I felt uncomfortable, but since they seemed anxious to see what a teenager from the outside world might be wearing, I began dressing for the occasion. I tried to wear something different every session. Then one wintry night, things got out of hand. Girls who at first were just running their hands over my fur-blend sweater set, started to yank on my scarab bracelet, grab the kilt pin on my pleated skirt, and pull my pageboy-ed hair. They were at the point of striping me by the time some of the school staff intervened and roughly dragged the ringleaders away—as I stood all askew, shakily watching and not knowing what to say or do. That ended the weekly fashion show. My attempt to entertain had only gotten them in trouble.

As for their singing, this group was not a knock-off of the Obernkirchen Children’s Choir. Or, although most were of a similar skin shade, the Silvertones of Barbados. Vocal timbre was sadly lacking. Sometimes they shouted and bellowed or when miffed, made no sound at all. I don’t think they ever considered listening to each other and attempting to blend voices. Two-part harmony—sopranos and altos—what was that all about?

So Marlen struggled to get them just to sing in unison such old standbys as “The Ash Grove,” (Welsh folk song—click on titles to link to audios of these songs) “The Happy Wanderer” (originally “Der fröhliche Wanderer”) and “For the Beauty of the Earth” (she had to sneak in her countryman J.S. Bach, too). Something with contemporary appeal was “This Old Man” (with a knick knack paddy whack, give the dog a bone), made popular in 1958 because of Ingrid Bergman’s movie “The Inn of the Sixth Happiness”—and afterward Mitch Miller got a hold of it.

That June the parents of the Gumbert School Chorus were invited to a year-end concert to hear what the girls had been practicing. It made me terribly sad. Not many parents showed up, and those who came didn’t look much better off than their daughters. These families (likely dysfunctional) were the strangers within the gates of the North Hills. Those girls, isolated up on that bluff, were completely alien to the lush green hills and woods that surrounded them. Local realtors had an unwritten understanding about selling homes to “colored people,” as they were then called. It was still a decade before Fair Housing legislation prohibited redlining. Did a single black student attend NAHS while we were there? If so, he or she was very much alone.

Ingomar's Diversity

In those days Ingomar had a black population of one: Thomas “Tug” Seymour, who lived in the basement of the Ingomar Volunteer Firehall and did odd jobs for people. Tug was from the South; he was relentlessly cheerful and obliging and could play a mouth organ, banjo and kick drum at the same time—the epitome of an Uncle Tom. As a kid, he fascinated me, and I took every chance to talk to him. I loved to listen to that accent. Probably I recognized in him the only other African American I “knew”—Uncle Remus in Walt Disney’s “Song of the South (1946). (Click on title to hear "Zip-A-Dee-Do0-Dah.") And I never had an inkling what life was really like for Tug or what he really thought.

As I reflect back on a Pittsburgh suburb of 1958, I know that I can’t impose and judge it based on my current views after the sea change in American society since then. But my discomfort, more likely dismay, at the vanilla-ness of the place still haunts me. It had a lot to do with my efforts in the 1960s to get as far away from home as I could, to make friendships with people as different from me as possible, to marry a bookish European who had spent his childhood in a DP camp in Germany (and whose family initially reminded me of Marlen Geier’s). In the photo below, taken in Karlsruhe, Germany (1949) he's the kid on the left.

Perhaps the desire to escape the familiar is part of growing up for many. But my quest went even farther: to become a stranger myself, the alien within some Other’s gates.

The Floods of 2008--and a Contest for Blog Readers

Sorry, friends. This week I’m just too preoccupied with the present—and future—of my adopted state of Iowa to write much about the past. My husband and I here in Ames, as well as our daughter and her family in Wisconsin, are not suffering as so many Midwesterners are right now. Yes, we mopped up a few leaks after the torrential storms that have dropped about 8 inches of rain in this area over the past two weeks.

On May 29, Ames got 5 inches overnight, and the next few days were when most of the damage was done to homes, businesses, parks, and student’s cars left in parking lots anywhere near our two creeks—Squaw and College—and one river, the Skunk. Ames got skunked all right. This past weeks other parts of the state got socked—Cedar Rapids, Iowa City, and Des Moines especially.

The other curse has been the tornadoes that flattened the town of Parkersburg in May and destroyed the Little Sioux Scout Ranch in the loess hills of western Iowa this week. I’m continually proud of the Iowa spirit of fighting back: hundreds of people filling and preparing levees out of countless bags of sand; the boy scouts, who soon proved that they indeed were prepared (click here for one scout’s story); and all the people who followed instructions of state and city officials to help, evacuate, or even just follow the jingle drummed into our heads when driving our cars in flash flooded areas—“Turn around, don’t drown.”

One hundred miles east of us in Iowa City, home of the University of Iowa, where both of our daughters and sons-in-law have studied (and later two of them taught), summer school classes were canceled on Friday. Every able-bodied student, faculty, and staff member was needed to fill sandbags and protect campus buildings. The photo (right) shows part of one of the “bucket brigades” set up from the basement to the third floor of the library that were formed to hand up, a few at a time, all the books and dissertations stored in the basement—over 100,000 volumes. To read the story, click here.

Well, that’s the Iowa I love. And as I said at the beginning, I’m worrying about it right now. (Photos from Des Moines Register)

On a lighter note…

Enter the Senior Moments’ Contest!

Readers ask me how I remember such minutiae about North Allegheny in the mid-1950s. I have to confess, it’s not that I possess a photographic memory. I’m a packrat; I’ve kept scrapbooks and saved mementoes that probably should have been chucked long ago.

When looking for something else the other day, I came across the January 16, 1957 edition of The Cardinal News, published by Wauwatosa High School (NW suburb of Milwaukee, WI). Its exchanges section contained a poem by one Barbara Sweeney.

I didn’t recognize it at first, and thought I must have saved it because someone else had my name (I’ve already discussed the multiple-Barbara problem). After reading the first line (with raised eyebrows), I realized I had written it for The North Star in December 1956.

A Has-Been

By Barbara Sweeney

I’m just a “has-been” at N.A.H.S.
The boys used to love me, I freely confess.
Just ask Bob or Andy—you’ll certainly see,
They once enjoyed spending their evenings with me.

Lots of other guys liked to be with me, too—
Stan, Wally, and Randy, to mention a few.
They took me out often on Friday night
And in their strong arms would hold me tight.

September, October, in lots of ways,
Were really wonderful “Courting Days!”
When I passed by for all to see,
A lot of strange boys made a play for me.

I was only with Chotta now and then,
But one pass from him had me hooked again!
I was dropped and kicked—but ‘twas all in fun
For I knew they loved me, everyone.

Things are different now.
They don’t see me at all.
Because, you see,
I’m just a
FOOTBALL!

(Hope you didn’t miss my sophomoric cleverness in shaping the lines to look like a football)

So here’s the contest: Without looking at your yearbooks, can you tell me the full names of the six gridiron heroes of 1956 who are mentioned in my poem? The first to email me the correct list will receive (if they come to the reunion) the authentic black-and-gold pencil sold by the 1956 NAHS football team to earn money. Consolation prizes will be programs from NAHS football games—the 5 we actually won that year. Winners to be announced 28 June 2008.

Eligibility Rules: To enter this contest you must be a member of NAHS Class of 1958 but not a member of the aforementioned football team. (That would be like shooting fish in a barrel, after all.)

A Commencement Address for the Slackers

In summer 1986, my elder daughter, Brenda, had just finished her freshman year at the University of Iowa and decided that she really liked art history courses better than journalism. At the time, Donna Chase, a Pittsburgh friend of ours, had a major role as visual arts coordinator for downtown Pittsburgh’s annual outdoor extravagance in Point Park, the Three Rivers Arts Festival. Donna invited Brenda to serve an internship with her for the month of June, helping with the set up and wrap of the exhibit and serving as a go-fer during the 2-week run. While Brenda learned a lot about artists and the public’s perception of modern art, it was a nice excuse for my husband and me to spend a long weekend at the Oakland apartment on loan to her.

Meanwhile, the youngest son of my long-time Ingomar friend, Carolyn Kummer Gaus, was graduating from high school during our visit. Carolyn asked me to join her and her husband Don for the ceremony, which was held outdoors at the football field of North Allegheny Senior High School in Wexford. In 1977, NAHS eliminated the student speeches in favor of a newer tradition (perhaps my vapid 5 minutes had contributed to the decision but more likely it was the growing number of successful alumni). As the program stated, “It is a distinct privilege to select a commencement speaker from our many accomplished graduates. As former North Allegheny students, our speakers bring a unique relevance and authenticity to the program.” Already back in 1980, Bill Vestal had a return engagement as a commencement speaker as part of that new tradition. (Later, in 1991, Bob Beilstein, then a member of the North Allegheny school board, gave the address at his daughter Laurie's graduation).

Let’s Skip to the Chase…

Imagine my surprise, upon arriving at the ceremony, to find the Distinguished Alumni Commencement Speaker for 1986 was none other than an old friend from the Class of 1958, Dr. William K. Bauer AKA “Skippy.” He was last mentioned in this blog on May 24 (re favorite teachers, when he told of his brush with plagiarism and the life-altering counsel offered by Mr. Conway) in case you missed it.

After 1958, Bill had earned academic degrees from Slippery Rock, Chapman College, and a Ph.D. from the University of Pittsburgh. Having begun his career as a teacher, he had gone on to hold administrative positions with the Community College of Allegheny County. The previous year (1985) he had been appointed President of the Community College of Beaver County. He was also the father of three NAHS students—Jay (Class of 1988), Ann (1989), and Ken (1990). But his presence alone wasn’t what made the evening memorable. He gave a commencement speech that I’ve never forgotten. It was perfect! After I called and congratulated him on it the following day, he kindly sent me a copy.

You see, my mother had a role in Bill’s career. I had come home in tears one spring day in 1958 because Bill had just received the letter from Slippery Rock rejecting his application. Mom believed this was a major blunder on some admission director’s part, and “the Mayor of Ingomar” (as she was affectionately known around our house) never hesitated about righting anything she perceived as an injustice. She immediately got on the phone to her friend Dr. Thomas Carson, N. Allegheny district’s supervising principal. Through some intervention on Dr. Carson’s part, Bill was allowed to take several summer courses at Slippery Rock with the understanding that if he passed them, he would be conditionally admitted for the fall term. Well, the rest is history; he actually finished his bachelor’s degree in three years. Although, by 1986, my mother had lost her sight and was in failing health at a nursing home near me in Iowa, she must have asked me dozens of times before she died to read Bill’s speech to her. She always smiled and laugh in the right places, too.

Please click on the underlined phrase to go and read Bill’s speech. I promise you, it’s a gem. Because it’s online as a Goggle Document, it may take a few seconds to download so please be patient.

The Day We Graduated: June 5, 1958

If you need to get in the mood, listen to The Four Freshmen sing “Graduation Day,” (recorded, 1956) by clicking on the highlighted title.

9 A.M.

The last week of the school year and liberation is in sight. That Thursday morning, John Bolvin, one of the faculty advisers to our class, gives us a pep talk before the rehearsal, where we will practice marching down the aisles to the strains of Elgar’s “Pomp and Circumstances,” played by our classmate Christine Ferguson. I remember Mr. Bolvin telling us that it had been a pleasure to advise us, and that our class had an interesting mix of students, a balance that the two earlier graduating classes hadn’t had. I think he meant that all of the various high school types were represented (leaders, brains, athletes, artists, hard-workers, hot-rodders, and law-breakers).

We didn’t know it then, but he, too, was about to graduate from high school POD teaching and enter the world of higher education. Dr. Bolvin is now an emeritus professor in the Department of Psychology in Education and the former dean of the College of General Studies at the University of Pittsburgh. In fact, the CGS awards a scholarship annually named in his honor.

The baccalaureate service had been held on the previous Sunday evening, but not everyone had attended and we had only filed in together minus the pomp. For tonight’s graduation ceremony, we need to practice the hesitation step. The girls (who would wear white gowns, heels, and caps with the tassels secured by bobby pins) catch onto the rhythm pretty quickly; most of the guys (to wear black academic robes and mortarboards with tassels clunking them on their noses) never do. As I recall, some drill sergeants (Mmes. Fulmer and Bowman, maybe?) are posted on each side telling us when to turn and how much space to leave before following the preceding graduate as we enter from the foyer at the back and come down the side aisles of the auditorium.

8 P.M.

It is still quite bright out that evening as commencement begins, but, of course, it won’t be over until after 10:30 pm. After we march in, Rev. Luther Fackler of St. John’s Lutheran gives the invocation before we sit down. Dr. Thomas Carson, Supervising Principal, utters a few words in educationese; and Ed Florak, class president, welcomes the assemblage.

Back in mid-April, tryouts were held for commencement speakers. We had to present a 5-minute speech on the general theme “What we owe” before a panel of teachers. Those selected, who were now sweating profusely up on stage, spoke in this order: Bob Beilstein, “What we owe to parents and faculty”; Marjorie Downer, “What we owe to our friends”; Peggy Peterson, “What we owe to our country”; Barbara Sweeney “What we owe to ourselves”; and Bill Vestal, “What we owe to faith.” The audience was requested to please reserve their applause (otherwise the thunderous ovations likely to erupt after each of these talks might have seriously delayed the proceedings).

Aside: The other day I read my speech, typed on 3 x 5” cards, and marveled at its vapidity. Originally it had been too long, but I seem to have cut out all the best parts, and what “we owe to ourselves” came out prescient of the age of me-ism, to arrive a decade later when the Baby Boomers came of age. I was ahead of my times. I wish I could have left in the quotation I liked from my favorite play, “Our Town,” when Emily discovers that people don’t really perceive life passionately enough as they are living it. Darn.

Next we, the senior class, sing “The Halls of Ivy” in unison—which seems a little odd upon reflection, since it’s about an ivy-covered college. Were we led by Miss Werner? I can’t remember much about what happened right after those speeches, still recovering from the adrenalin rush. I don’t think any of us knew where that song came from. Actually, it originated as the theme song for an NBC radio sitcom by the same name, which became a TV series (1954-55). It was sung at the beginning and end of each program by what I imagined was the Princeton men’s glee club. Remember the words?

"Oh we love the halls of ivy
That surround us here today,
And we will not forget,
Though we be far, far away.

To the hallowed halls of ivy
Every voice will bid farewell
And shimmer off in twilight
Like the old vesper bell.

One day a hush will fall,
The footsteps of us all
Will echo down the halls and disappear.

And as we sadly start,
Our journeys far apart,
A part of every heart will linger here.

In these sacred halls of ivy,
Where we've lived and learned to know,
We'll meet again at twilight
In the sweet afterglow."

9:30 P.M.

Next, the new NAHS principal, Robert Grine, presents some scholarships and awards from local organizations. The grand prize goes to Anne Kiley for being a National Merit Scholar. By coming in 5^th for the whole country in the Exceptionally Able Youth Tests, Anne also earns a full scholarship to Duquesne University. Other award recipients include Marjorie Downer, Marilyn Michalko, Phil Lane, John Allardice, Ted Sprys, Janet Heim, Peter Thurston, Richard Sass, Peggy Peterson, and Regis Gschwind.

Mr. Grine then presents the entire class as having completed the necessary requirements to graduate. Ivan Hosack, the North Allegheny Joint School president, announces our names alphabetically as we stand, cross the stage, shake his hand, and get our diplomas. According to the list in the program, 169 are given out.

Now the pace picks up with the singing of North Allegheny’s alma mater by the Boys’ Senior Quartet (John Allardice, John Brownlee, Mike McKay, and Ray Wick). And then a benediction by Rev. Fackler before we march out a lot faster than we came in—and with no hesitation steps.

High school is over for us. The Class of 1958 is history.

I’ve got more to say about graduating—but this play-by-play is enough for one posting…

Lord Jim

“He was an inch, perhaps two, under six feet, powerfully built, and he advanced straight at you with a slight stoop of the shoulders, head forward, and a fixed from-under stare which made you think of a charging bull. His voice was deep, loud, and his manner displayed a kind of dogged self-assertion which had nothing aggressive in it. It seemed a necessity, and it was directed apparently as much at himself as at anybody else. He was spotlessly neat, appareled in immaculate white from shoes to hat, and in the various Eastern ports where he got his living as ship-chandler's water-clerk, he was very popular.”

So begins Joseph Conrad’s novel about an accident at sea and the complex character whose error in judgment haunts him for the rest of his life. Today I’m thinking about another Jim, also complex and who somewhat fits the description above (except that he was several inches over six feet and was not appareled in white): one of my favorite high school teachers, Jim Wall. As you will see from the quotations below, I am not alone in my affection for Mr. Wall. But he had the added dimension to me of being, first, our next-door neighbor on Ingomar Road soon after he and Joanne were married, and then, the neighbor four doors up from us as the babies began to arrive. Five kids, four boys. Having just spent the past week with two small boys, my admiration for the Walls’ ability to keep their sanity—cheerfully—only grows.

I had one disagreement with Mr. Wall in 11^th grade English class, however, and that concerned the readability of the novel he assigned: Lord Jim by that linguistic paragon Joseph Conrad, born Josef Teodor Konrad Kurzeniowski (1857-1024). Conrad was a Pole who wrote 20 novels and many short stores always in English, his third language. He’s the guy we ESL teachers hold up as a role model to our struggling students. (I admit I took fiendish pleasure in reading recently that although Conrad became a master prose stylist in English, he never spoke our mother tongue fluently.)

Clearly Mr. Wall saw something in Lord Jim that remained impenetrable to 16-year-old me. I read and re-read the first two chapters in confusion. Who was telling the story? What had happened and when? And to add to my frustration, it was about the British navy and their sailing ships, a subject that completely bored me. Why couldn’t Wall have assigned Jane Austen or one of the Brontes?

Finally, I told him that I just couldn’t stand this book. He did not seem too surprised at this confession, and generously suggested a substitute: The Nigger of the “ Narcissus,” another Conrad sea novel! So I swallowed hard and wearily slogged through it.

Four years later at Allegheny College, I butted heads again with Joseph Conrad. This time I was required to read Heart of Darkness for a Comp Lit class—and I loved it. Thanks to developing some maturity and learning that a story doesn’t have to be plot-driven or told in a linear fashion, that developing the psychological state of a character is one of the things that makes literature an art, I “got” Conrad. (Maybe it helped that the setting was a jungle, no ships.) Anyway, I’ve always regretted that I never told Mr. Wall I finally appreciated his favorite writer. I realize now he was trying to stretch our brains and make us work to appreciate sophisticated fiction. Perhaps he also wanted us to realize that our idealism would eventually have to be tempered by the hard realities of making mistakes and dealing with the consequences. In the words of Marlowe, the principal narrator in Lord Jim:

“It is when we try to grapple with another man's intimate need that we perceive how incomprehensible, wavering, and misty are the beings that share with us the sight of the stars and the warmth of the sun.”

* * *

This week I asked some 1958 NAHS classmates about their favorite teachers. I hope you’ll enjoy reading their responses as much as I did. And I would welcome any other class members to offer your testimonials about teachers you liked—either by clicking on “Comments” or by sending an email to Sniper.Sweeney@gmail.com.

Did you have a favorite teacher at NAHS?

Bill Bauer: “In our junior year, I was enrolled in Mr. Conway’s social studies class. Toward the end of the term, there was a major paper due and I, of course, had given the matter no attention whatsoever. On the morning of the day that the composition was to be submitted, I somehow secured something that had been written by, I think, Georgie Richard’s older sister two years before. There were, you will recall, no copy machines save those god-awful mimeos. So I, in a display of inventive genius, cut nearly an inch from the top of the title page to eliminate reference to Ms. George and in very close proximity to the top of the shortened page, typed my name. I was reasonably sure that Mr. Conway would not notice that the new first page was 8- 1/2 x 10 inches in size and that the font employed in spelling out my name was different from that used in all of the other words contained in the treatise.

I was wrong. At the next session Mr. Conway did not return a graded paper and asked me to stay for a private discussion after the bell. To my great surprise, he didn’t lecture me on the evils of plagiarism or sloth. Instead, he reminded me that fellow students would routinely listen attentively when I delivered a silly rendition of some hastily gathered news article during the “current events” portion of our class time. He asked if I had given any thought to what I might like do with my life after high school. When I stared at him blankly, he suggested college. Then, to my absolute amazement he proposed a thing that I greatly, greatly yearned for but couldn’t reveal, even to myself. I might, he said, pursue a career in education. I might, he said, be a teacher. Duane Conway was a caring, considerate and helpful person. And, to its credit, the District recognized those qualities and made him – I’m pretty sure – its first full-time counselor.”

Kathie Boyer Schellhaas: “Of course I had a favorite teacher, and friend for many years as Bill and I would see him at the [class of] 1957 reunions and around town. He was so personable, had a good sense of humor and was interested in all students’ achievements. Mr. Wall, who unfortunately has since died.”

Joe DeVitto: “Are you really asking me to go back 50 years to remember some people? I have a tough time recalling what happened last week. Well, here goes. A great favorite was Mr. DeAugustino, who was in charge of drivers’ education. He had a lot of patience. Wow, that's how we got our driver’s license then.

I also liked Mr. Cicero, our Spanish teacher. I didn't remember any Spanish 20 yrs later, but his classes were always colorful, informative and enjoyable. Mr. Burton was great. He showed me how to make my first tack hammer in machine shop. It looked like a chrome statue after all the polishing. I took it home and told everyone it was a trophy.

Mr. Drazenovich always had a coaching way of getting me through gym classes. He had me lifting weights and jumping all over the place. I remember the horses, parallel bars, trampolines, wrestling, and all that good stuff that I couldn't do well.

A real favorite was Mr. Keller, who always talked in a monotone and put me to sleep in trigonometry class. I can remember asking him one day how the Russians put Sputnik in orbit, and his answer consumed the rest of the class period.

I think my favorite was Mr. James Wall. He was a great teacher and had a lot of patience. He was the kind of person who took so much, and then Pow!, put you in your place. I respected and admired him for that.”

Henry Ford: “I have to say that my all-time favorite teacher was Mr. Wall. I also liked Coach Drazenovich, Mr. Matthews, Mrs. Anderson, Mrs. Costello, and Mrs. Dancer.”

Mildred Halboth Sutter: The teachers I admired the most were Mr. Chipley, Mr. Wall, and Mrs. Letzkus--they were all excellent.

Ron Huch: “It was actually Coach Drazenovich who had the most influence on me. I was not an athlete, but his gym classes and the way he treated me stand out in my mind. I remember one time when he decided to make the class do calisthenics, but said anyone who did not think it was fair could walk out. I walked out, looking over my shoulder to see if anyone else was following. No one was. You can imagine what I was thinking. A while later, Coach called me in, as I expected, but what he said I did not expect. He congratulated me for walking out and gave me an A. What a wonderful lesson that was for someone who, at the time, had so little confidence in anything I did. I always appreciated Coach’s sense of humor and his genuine caring about students, but from that class onward he was golden in my memory.”

Paul Mahoney: “My favorite teachers are Joe Drazenovich, Lyle Fox, and Jim Wall. Joe and Lyle were my football coaches, and they taught me the importance of working as part of a team. Jim Wall for his great sense of humor; it made his English class one of my favorites.”

Terry McMahon: “I played basketball for NAHS for four years and that first year with no seniors we got killed. Didn't win a game, didn't even come close. But yet there was a silver lining for me. I got to play as a freshman and Chuck Horne, our basketball coach, took me under his wing and really shaped my future. He would pick me up at my house everyday during the
summer for three years at seven in the morning, and we would go to his friend’s house somewhere around Perry High School. This guy had a basketball court in his backyard, and [Coach Horne] would teach me to play all day long.

As a consequence, I received a free ride to Geneva College, where I played for four years. Believe it or not, I'm still playing. My granddaughter, Danielle, is in ninth grade at Central High School here in York PA. She is their starting center. She called me up when she was in sixth grade and asked if I would teach her to play basketball. Again history repeats itself; we practice every nice day all year long. Now I'm still teaching, only my group has grown to four other girls as well. Since I love to teach basketball, the more the merrier.”

Nancy Meier Reeder: “My favorite teacher was Miss Warner, chorus, she was very, very soft spoken but a no nonsense teacher. She was very talented and made everyone want to use their musical skills to the fullest. I really enjoyed her class every day.

I also was very fond of Mr. Fulmer. He was a very dedicated teacher and made you want to learn. I had the good fortune to become reacquainted with him and Mrs. Fulmer when his youngest son, Tim, played little league baseball with my son, David. Hope this information is helpful to you. Of course, everyone loved Mr. Wall.”

Marilyn “Mickey” Michalko: “Your inquiry sent me straight to my high school yearbook to the Teacher Section. I had never noticed or realized how young a lot of them were nor how many of them had their Master’s. I guess I would have to say that my favorite teacher in high school was Mr. Cicero, the Spanish teacher. I remember taking an English grammar test on the first day of class and anyone who did not pass was not allowed to take Spanish. His reasoning was that if the student did not understand the grammar of his mother tongue, the student would not be able to comprehend the grammar of a foreign language. The second day of the class and that day forward, he spoke only in Spanish unless he was explaining the intricacies of Spanish grammar. He was strict, explained things well and ran an orderly classroom. I did major in Spanish with a minor in business in college, but then spent the next 15 years speaking only English to my kids, so I lost a lot. When I taught ESL as a volunteer to Hispanics in Mississippi and California, I guess I used Mr. Cicero’s method—speaking English and using non-verbal ways of communicating what the words meant.”

Jack Miller: “I am writing about my Spanish teacher Mr. Cicero. Hard to believe but by being in International Rotary, I have had house guests from Spanish-speaking countries. Also I had an exchange student for one year from Chile. A little bit of Spanish was helpful. ¡Sí, Senora!”

Bill Young: “One memory which is still quite vivid is Joe Wissinger’s Geography class in 8th grade. I think he was forced to teach Geography because there were no classes in Biology to teach that year. Neither the class members nor Joe were very enthused about Geography. Probably half a dozen or so times that year, someone would ask him, “How does corn reproduce?" or "Why do some people have blue eyes?" He would ask if we were really interested in the topic. When he received a resounding YES, he would cover the blackboard with data, and he showed his true passion for teaching Biology. I probably would have no idea today about how chromosomes effect reproduction if he had not made it so interesting.”