This is a condensation of the December 2004 newsletters Newsletter Editor: Frank Barning 1960, fbarning@yahoo.com
Richard Streb: great teacher, war hero and prisoner
By Michael Haag, 1961
Several people have mentioned Richard Streb in previous newsletters, saying he was one of the best teachers they had at Division Avenue High School. I had Mr Streb for American history in my junior and senior years, and I have often thought of him since. Finally I got in touch with him a few years ago, and also I have some up to date information about him which can add to and correct some of the things that have been circulating among us (see Nov. 27 newsletter).
I found him by doing some searching on the web, and when I came up with a Streb of about the right age who had been arrested and imprisoned for demonstrating against the School of the Americas, a facility run by the US army for training the military officers, the secret police and other enforcers of Latin American governments in the arts of 'executions, torture, blackmail and other forms of coercion' (to quote The Washington Post of 21 September 1996), I reckoned that I had found my man.
Anyone who was lucky enough to have Richard Streb for a teacher will remember how American history became filled with a cast of remarkable and curious characters, giants and bit-part actors who strode across the stage of our classroom. And they literally did, in the person of Streb himself, who would leap up on to his desk to enact some dramatic event or deliver a famous speech. It really was theatre, and on at least one occasion it became theatre in the round when in his excitement Streb leapt off his desk and on to ours, advancing from desktop to desktop and carrying the drama of history into every corner of the room.
I remember Warren Gamaliel 'The Idiot" Harding, the hapless twenty-ninth president of the United States; also the amazing Woman Who was in Labor for Twelve Years (Frances Perkins, Secretary of Labor throughout Franklin Roosevelt's administrations); and I recall Streb, with his arms outstretched, recreating for us the speech delivered by William Jennings Bryan at the 1896 Democratic Convention ("You shall not crucify mankind upon a cross of gold"). This last he did with a particular mock bathos; Streb was a Catholic, I gathered, and I remember him telling us how he used the rhythm method.
The dramatic episodes which most captured my imagination concerned the events surrounding the Pullman Strike of 1894 in which Streb once again enacted all the roles. The railway workers' strike was led by Eugene V Debs, who went on to become socialist candidate for the presidency of the United States five times running; the strike was broken by federal troops over the objections of the governor of Illinois, the great liberal reformer John Peter Altgeld, described by Streb as The Forgotten Eagle but never forgotten, by me at least, since that time; and Clarence Darrow, the lawyer who defended Debs at his trial, and who later famously was the defense lawyer at the Scopes Monkey Trial in Tennessee in which the prosecuting attorney was William Jennings Bryan.
These figures embodied in their careers, both during and long after the Pullman Strike, many of the great progressive causes of their time, and in the passion with which Streb presented them to us I always felt that he meant us to understand that their causes, which boiled down to an overriding respect for human decency, were still there to be contested in our day. That was what was so exciting about Richard Streb; there was nothing small or mean about him; he believed in the promise of the good with a passion.
And so my recognition of the man who in his seventies was arrested in 1996 and cautioned for trespassing on US military property, and who then in the following year deliberately repeated the trespass, who stood up in court and said he could do no other, and was sentenced by the judge -- the same judge who several times had sentenced Martin Luther King for civil disobedience -- to six months in a Georgia federal prison. It was a circumstance he would have relished, at least on account of its historical associations, for as well as the Martin Luther King connection there was another with Eugene V Debs, who after protesting against America's involvement in the First World War, was tried and convicted of some spurious crime and was also sent to a federal prison in Georgia -- from where he ran for the fifth and last time for socialist president of the United States and won over a million votes (though I should add that unlike Streb during the presidency of Bill Clinton, Debs was let out early by President Warren Gamaliel Harding).
That internet report which I found three years ago led to an address to which I sent Richard Streb a letter asking if he was indeed once of Levittown, and which I immediately followed up with a phone call. He spoke about the School of the Americas ('Michael, America is doing some terrible things in Latin America'), and he also mentioned his book, Life and Death Aboard the USS Essex, and how he had been touring the country, giving talks about it, and was nearly sold out now. I sent him a check at once and happily have an autographed copy, which I have read.
The USS Essex? Well, also if you search the internet for Richard Streb, or better for Dick Streb, you find that there was a young man who served aboard the aircraft carrier Essex in the Pacific during the Second World War (see attached photo). I had noticed this but thought it must be some other Streb; it never occurred to me while in high school, nor to any of us I suspect, that Streb served in the war or indeed would have been old enough to serve, and I do not recall that he ever mentioned it. Even had I thought about it, and I had known Streb's age, I would have ruled it out; he was thirty-five in my senior year, meaning he would have been nineteen at the beginning of 1945. And this Streb of the USS Essex had joined the Navy in December 1942 and served nearly three years in the Pacific and had been awarded thirteen battle stars -- if it was our Streb, he could only have been a sixteen year old boy when he went to sea.
But as it turned out he was indeed our Streb. For me he was already something of a hero just being our teacher. That is why I wanted to get in touch with him; to tell him after all these years that I had admired him and to say thank you. But what I had known of Streb was only a small portion of the man. For in tracking him down I discovered that he was something of a hero campaigning against American wrongs in his older years. And now I discovered he had been something a hero in the war, at an age when I was still firing paperclips across the classroom.
The USS Essex was the first ship to suffer a kamikaze attack, and it cost the lives of sixteen of Streb's companions. Until almost exactly that time blacks were forbidden to serve in combat positions in the United States Navy but were confined to kitchen and cleaning duties and the like. Aboard the USS Essex that policy was recently changed and both blacks and whites operated the ship's guns. It was sixteen of these gunners, eight white and eight black, who were killed when the kamikaze pilot crashed his plane into their ship.
The symmetry of these deaths, preceded by the racial assymetry of their lives, led Streb to write his book; he had watched his companions die, now he wanted to know how had they had lived, and during the 1980s and 1990s when Streb was in his sixties and early seventies, he researched the biographies of each, tracking down their brothers and sisters, their widows and their children, and piecing together a story of America as it was in those times. And being Streb he also had to know about the kamikaze pilot Yoshinori Yamaguchi and traveled to Japan, eventually getting copies of official documents and having them translated into English. He tried to track down Yamaguchi's family but there had only been a father, and he had long died. 'Yamaguchi, the man who crashed the Essex, was promoted to lieutenant posthumously', Streb writes. 'He came from a family of farmers. They lived somewhere in the northern part of Kyushu, where they grew brown rice and vegetables. His father, an elderly widower, was left without family assistance by his son's death.'
Richard Streb left Levittown a few years after we graduated -- not because of any scandal as incorrectly and perhaps maliciously alleged by a former Division Avenue High School teacher -- but for a better post at Northport on Long Island, and to do a PhD, and to generally bring his career to the heights of excellence. One of his proteges at Northport became New York State Teacher of the Year, an honor which he dedicated to Richard Streb.
After we spoke on the phone, Streb wrote me a letter. 'I am still touring the country talking about and selling my WWII book. Should slow down after July. I'm about to run out of books and I will not have another printing. I need a change in my life -- enough is enough. I want to travel, meet people, expand my horizons after this fifteen years writing, selling and being charming. I want to play a little, sit on a beach by the ocean, smell the salt water! I appreciate your kind words and thank you for giving me a powerful ego trip. For a short time I thought I was something special. Thanks for the terrific stroking. I needed that!'
There was a PS: 'Finally -- by way of an exit -- I'm sending you this leaf. Leaves are precious to me -- have hundreds in my books -- stick it in a book and think of me every time you see the book'. That was the last time I heard from Richard Streb. He had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease which was creeping upon him slowly.
Since then I have been in touch with Peter White, who tells me that he sees Streb about twice a year. 'He resides in Harrisonburg, VA in an adult residential facility. His wife Rosemary lives there on her own, but in another building. Dick resides in an assisted living place mostly for those with cognitive impairment problems. He is still Dick Streb. Still sounds the same. Still cares about people. He is 79, and will turn 80 in April. His memory is short. When I call him, I can tell more is slipping each time. I just wish I could communicate to Dick the thrust and importance of your message. I surely will try, and also to Rosemary and their daughter Roseanna.'
I replied to Peter White asking him to try, but even if Streb does not remember, I remember Richard Streb.
From Roya Sitkoff Harel, 1961
I grew up in Levittown, graduated from DAHS in '61, moved to Israel to go to college and have been living here ever since.
I am still married to the same husband for the past 42 years, have 2 kids, my daughter lives in Israel and she and her husband are raising 3 teenage boys and my son (married with 2 kids) is a Professor of Neuroscience and Physiology at the Center for Magnetic Resonance Research, University of Minnesota Medical School.
My "old" name was Roya Sitkoff and married name is Roya Harel. I would like to hear from anyone who remembers me (fat chance) and hope you all have a great time at the reunion. My email address is nismroya@shani.co.il College days in Nebraska for 13 Division Avenue graduates Wayne State College is 1,500 miles from Levittown and is in the middle of a cornfield. It was instant culture shock for the group of Division Avenue guys went off to the small college in Nebraska in the early 1960s. The Levittown contingent included Ron Albaum, Toby Rutner, Jim McGrath, John Tanner, Warren Zaretsky, Mike Caldararo, Arnie Katz, Bill Stanley, Bill Whalen, Bobby Burner, Jim Judson, John Sullivan and Arnie Galeota. Some were in Division's class of 1960 and others graduated in 1961
On paper, it did not seem like a match made in heaven, and for some it wasn't. McGrath and Caldararo have lived there for more than 40 years, so for them it was a fortuitous move. Arnie Galeota, class of 1961, was among those who headed west and he will occasionally grace the newsletter with tales of "those wonderful Nebraska days," as he calls them.
Arnie Galeota writes:
Wayne State was in a town of about 3 to 4,000 people with a campus population of less than 2000 students. Most of the students were from small towns in Nebraska and Iowa. There were 11 from Hawaii and four from Michigan who we used to play in touch football.
Why did we pick this college? Well, there is a story to that. Albaum wasn't a great student, just like me. His parents spent the money to have a profile done to see what school he could get into with a so-so grade point average. The profile turned up Wayne because it's entrance requirements weren't too difficult and the yearly tuition was reasonable.
Albaum did a year and talked Caldararo and myself into giving it a try. The word got around among others in Levittown who were in the same boat, fair grades in high school but not good enough to get into a good school in the northeast. The cost of going was very inexpensive, which was a factor for a few of us. We all got together and discussed the kind of adventure it might be for all of us to go far away and try to get a college education.
I had all good intensions but became easily side tracked with my new found freedom from a strict father, so I went nuts. Toby, Jimmy, Mike, Bill, John and Warren, all managed to stick it out and graduate. I lasted a year and a half until the Dean of Men informed me that I was out.
When our crew from Levittown and three from New York City first arrived, the word had leaked out that the "the Yorkies" had hit Wayne. It was Sept. 1961 and the weather was dreary. It was cold and our trunks of bedding and clothes hadn't arrived and the heat hadn't been turned on in the dorms. In order to keep warm, when we went to bed we slept between the mattress and the box spring. The mattress substituted as a blanket for me.
After a few weeks some of us had made a few local friends, drinking buddies if you will. We got the inside scoop. The parents of the high school girls, especially the seniors, were given orders not to fraternize with those gangsters from New York. We might rape them and kill them. Now you have to remember the mentality of the farmers of America's heartland. They only know what they've been taught about people from the big city.
Even some of the college coeds kept their distance from us.
Some of us felt isolated from the general population so we decided to form our own fraternity. We called it "The Ugly Club" and ironically I was made president for life. Mike Caldararo was vice president. We had one of the guys draw cartoon characters on our sweatshirts with a heading of "The Ugly Club" and your rank or position in the club. He was a cartoonist and from Nebraska. The sweatshirts were all exactly alike except for the character painted on it.
We would sit in the cafeteria together and attract a lot of attention with our outlandish behavior. We were loud and a bit obnoxious, but entertaining. After dinner, the club would gather in the student union and have a meeting where we would go over the business of the day. We would start planning our weekend drinking binge except for Mike. He wasn't into that. He hooked up with a girl as soon as he could. If I'm not mistaken, that's the girl he married. Her name is Janet and she is a terrific person.
One midweek afternoon Jim McGrath, Arnie Katz and I went and bought a cheap car, and I mean cheap. It was an old black early 1950s Chevy. It had a column standard shift and it just ran. It cost about $200 and four of us chipped in. Ron Albaum was the 4th party. The day we picked up the car, Ron had a class so we registered it in his name, with no insurance of course.
That first weekend we had the car the four of us took a trip to a slightly larger town called Freemont 30 miles away. We rode around that town for a while until we found a large pizza place where there was some co-ed dancing going on. McGrath and I managed to get two of the girls interested in us so we took Katz and Albaum to a hotel so they could sit in the lobby until Jim and I completed our getting acquainted time period. We took the girls back after an hour, went and picked up the guys and went back to the campus.
The following weekend McGrath and I had a prearranged date with the girls and we took Katz along, Albaum declined. We entered the same pizza parlor where we were warned by the girls that some of the guys were pissed off about us moving in on their girls.
All of a sudden a group of guys started gathering. The three of us put our backs together so we could protect each other but I wasn't much of a fighter, but McGrath was ready and so was Katz. I wisely suggested we get out the back door since we were outnumbered.
Fortunately they agreed so we managed to get out with little time to spare.
The next weekend just McGrath and I made the trip, no Katz. But this time we met the girls away from that pizza joint. We wound up sleeping in the car on the side of the road and the girls stayed with us but no sex, just some making out. We never saw them again.
A few weeks later Albaum's parents happened to drop in at Wayne, 1500 miles from where they lived in Levittown. His father was an executive in a button company and he traveled a lot, so his parents made a side trip to see us. I came home from a class, one of the very few I attended, and in Albaum's room I see McGrath, Katz and Ron and his father and mother. I had grown up with the Albaums (the twins, Ron and Don), we lived on the same block so I knew his parents well. His father was furious. He was madder at Ron than he was at us for the car being put in his name and therefore they'd be liable in the event of an accident. He sold the car since it was his to sell and never gave us our money back. He was mad at us too and he got even.
Bill Whalen was a muscular, tough guy who was our protector. He wrestled and played football for Division. He dated the late Chris Wilkens for a while. Legend has it that after he made his presence felt by making the varsity football team at Wayne, he went to a bar one night where all the players hung out. He made a public statement that it was hands off the guys from Long Island or they'd answer to him. Now that may be an exaggeration of the truth, but no one ever hassled any of us. We became friends with a lot of those guys.
Whalen used to room with Jimmy McGrath, who was a fantastic light-weight wrestler in high school and coached the sport for many years in Nebraska. Whalen knew we were all afraid of him, not terrified but respectful of his ability to hurt people. He used to come in on weekends in the middle of the night and Jimmy would be sound asleep. Bill didn't care, he would put on all the lights, make all the noise he wanted and when he finally decided to go to bed he would throw a shoe at Jimmy and tell him to turn out the lights. Jimmy was more fearless than I was so I was glad he was rooming with Whalen instead of me, but he got up and turned out the lights. Whalen never put a hand on any of us. He didn't have to.
Whalen was dating a girl named Laveryl Nelson. She had a striking resemblance to Chris Wilkens who Bill had been going out with, but it was over with them. Someone made the stupid remark that he was interested in Laveryl because she looked like Chris and he was pining over their breakup.
Well, it got back to him that I made the statement, which wasn't true. I was warned that he was waiting for me at the cafeteria where he was going to tear my head off. Needless to say, I was terrified but I thought to myself, I better face him and get it over with since I couldn't avoid him on campus for too long.
I remember walking into the cafeteria, seeing Bill and several of the guys sitting at a table with a look on their faces that could only mean a funeral was a strong possibility. I walked right up to him short of breadth, they had no Depends in those days, so I was on my own. I said, "Before you kill me, I had nothing to do with it." He saw the look of terror in my face and busted out laughing. What I didn't know was that he had found out who the guilty party was. Well, I cleaned out my shorts and got my lunch.
I will tell you that going to school in Nebraska grew on most of us and we learned how to deal with the culture shock. Some of us learned how to use squirrel guns and me personally, I learned how to drink beer. I thought I knew how from Sid's deli in Levittown, but I realized I was a novice when I got to Wayne State.
Arnie Galeota's email address is Arniegaleota4795@aol.com
Bizarre John Tanner, a character straight out of Animal House
By Warren Zaretsky
Last I heard of John Tanner he was teaching in the Chino Unified School District in Southern California. He was in high school, and then continued to be, one of the most bizarre people I ever knew. At Division Avenue, he would start the day with an empty box of Marlboro, and by the end of the day it would be filled with assorted "bummed" butts for his evening pleasure.
He worked for a short time as a bouncer at a dance club on Hempstead Turnpike (maybe The Highway Inn) and during a scuffle I saw him stab a guy with a knife and casually stroll away, whistling the theme from "Bridge on the River Kwai." His most memorable line for me was, while visiting his mother in the hospital after a hysterectomy, he told me: "They took out everything except the box it came in."
He came out with the "Wild Bunch" to Wayne State College in Nebraska, and we were roommates for one freshman semester. His basic philosophy as a roommate was: "What's mine is mine and what's yours is mine." I remember coming back to the room very drunk one night, and with a Jack Nicholson smile from "The Shining," he poured lighter fluid on me and chased me through the dorm with a Zippo lighter. Some other guys stopped him, but I'm absolutely sure he would've set me ablaze and looked for a bag of marshmallows -- he claimed he was just trying to sober me up.
He took almost every class I took and had the same history major. Shortly after I "knocked up" (quaint expression) a Nebraska girl in a cornfield in the back seat of a 1960 Valiant and "had to" marry at age 19, he did almost the exact same thing (maybe his parking spot was amongst the broccoli rather than corn). After graduation in 1965, I got a job teaching in Chino California and, unbeknownst to me, he applied to the same school district. Imagine my surprise when he began teaching the same subject (American Government) in the room adjacent to mine.
He also moved into the same apartment complex and lived directly across the pool area from me. I never swam at the same time he did, never swam at night, and after seeing "Psycho" I never ever took a shower without double-bolting both the front and bathroom doors. However, 3 years later when I left teaching and California, he stayed on and I haven't seen him since 1968. I heard, as of 1998, that he was still teaching in Chino.
I am sure back then his licorice was a bit too tightly twisted and he was perhaps a hair's breath from being a serial killer, but yet he seems to have managed to have had a successful teaching career molding the minds of our nation's youth (may the lord have mercy on their souls). A phone call to the Chino USD personnel department might shed some light on his current status, if only to verify if he is alive or dead... or sleeping by day and wandering over the earth by night, seeking out those who he perceived wronged him in high school -- think back, think hard, bolt your doors.
From Steve Mohr, 1960:
I have been getting a real kick out of the information in the newsletter and have been trying to get back to you to fill in the considerable gap I left out between DAHS and retiring (in a previous issue). I feel exactly the same as the rest of our classmates. Levittown was a magical, special place in time that we all were so fortunate to have been a part. My family moved from the Bronx in 1950 to 103 Kingfisher Road, 1949 ranch. My two older sisters and myself attended Northside School as did most all of us, 4th through 6th. Mr. Henabry, Mr. Marassa, Mr. Donavan. I also recall Mr. Miranda and Miss Stahman.
One of the great memories of that time was the scout troop that some of us belonged to. It would meet each Friday night in the school basement. There were several patrols within the troop, each with a patrol leader. My patrol leader was none other than Tommy Paturzo. I see from his photo that he still is one, and very good at it I'm sure. I wonder if he remembers the Panther patrol of troop 322 or the night while standing at attention for a long time on a hot summer night, passing out and splitting his chin open on the basement floor STILL at attention. Thanks to his unselfish sacrifice, we all got to sit down.
The next 6 years at DAHS has to be the greatest time of my life. The best teachers, namely Mr Chenevey who said to me when we first met, "You have a lot to live up to Mohr." He had my sisters before me and they were smart. Anyway I stayed in his classes all throughout and did well, thanks to Lilette Levy doing my homework. Mr. Keating and Miss Eisenhauer also played a big part in hammering things into my thick skull.
As graduation neared I learned that I was accepted at Cornell, but in my great wisdom I thought it better to stay with my girlfriend and continue to work at Charlie's gas station on Newbridge Road. What a genius. I can still see the disbelief on the guidance counselor's face, although he tried little to change my mind. Can't remember his name though.
Senior year was most memorable and our lunch table was one for the record. There was Arnie Mark, Kenny Ganim, crazy Warren Zaretsky and myself. One day we dared Warren to throw a milk container at the teacher in charge, not sure but I think it was Mr. Simes. Naturally after giving it a great deal of thought, he did it. I don't know how we never got arrested. Those were some great times and went by far to fast.
After graduation life shot past faster than a speeding bullet, and I'm sure I am not alone in that reflection. After a brief tumultuous marriage, the light finally went on, although dimly. I relocated in California where my family had moved years earlier, met and married the most wonderful, giving, "patient" girl, and for 37 years have known how and what a marriage is supposed to be. We have raised 4 great kids who all live within 100 miles or so. Close but not too close, if you know what I mean.
In the middle of all this I earned a commercial pilots certificate, bought a small plane and did some free lance commercial flying. Got interested in sailing and built a 55ft. ketch cruising yacht in our back yard. After 7 years, we launched "The Linda Marie". We lived aboard her for more than a decade and sailed to Hawaii and around the Pacific for almost a year. When we returned home we had 20,000 miles under her keel. Sadly we sold her some 10 years ago, but it was time.
We now have a beautiful home overlooking the ocean and Catalina Island, and the time has come to wash these hands and hang up the tools one last time. The shop is sold and at the end of this year, I will sit down for the first time in 45 years, to spend the rest of my days with my "Linda Marie" wrapped in my arms while watching those magnificent sunsets. Thanks for the memories. My email address is SteveMohrSr@aol.com
Michael O'Boyle, 1960
I graduated from Fordham University in 1964, with a degree in chemistry. Shortly after that I was drafted and spent two years in the Army. Following that I worked as a chemical technician for a while, but not having the aptitude or interest to pursue a graduate degree in chemistry, decided to go to graduate school in psychology. I received a master's degree from Hollins College around 1970, then went to Florida State, obtaining a Ph.D. in experimental psychology in 1973.
I taught college at Southern Mississippi for several years, got married in 1975. Sometime later I had a midlife semi crisis and decided to go to medical school. I graduated from medical school in 1981, completed a residency in psychiatry in 1985. Since 1985 I've been on the faculty in the department of psychiatry at the University of Texas medical branch at Galveston.
I have a wonderful wife, four children ranging from 16 to 23, two neat dogs (Great Dane and Rottweiler), and a cat. My oldest son is threatening to graduate from UT Austin with a degree in philosophy soon. All in all things have worked out pretty well for me. My address is moboyle@utmb.edu
Leslie Wohl Day, 1963
I don't have good memories of Division. I thought the teachers were almost uniformly uninspiring and uncaring people. I loved Summit Lane Elementary School, but once I got to Division, school was often a place of fear and lack of respect for the children who went there. However, I did love Mr. Lasker.
I am a science teacher and I work hard trying to connect on many levels with my students and I think that my experiences at Division Avenue taught me that this is part of a teacher's job - to find each child's strength and help them build on that. I went on to college at Adelphi and then Hofstra for a couple of years, but then I quit. It took me almost another 20 years to go back to school, but I did. I finished my BA at City College and then my masters at Bank Street College of Ed. Two years ago I got my doctorate at Teachers College Columbia Univ. in science ed. I teach life science to 4th and 5th graders at a private school in Englewood, New Jersey. My husband and I have lived on a houseboat at the 79th Street Boat Basin in Manhattan on the Hudson River for 29 years. I am a naturalist and am writing a Field Guide to the Natural World of New York City, to be published by Johns Hopkins University Press in summer 2006.
I feel inspired by many of the stories in the newsletter. It's wonderful to read about the rich lives Division graduates have led.
Levittown: a baseball boy's field of dreams
By Frank Barning, 1960
Baseball has been my passion since 1951. From birth to age 12, I lived in Forest Hills, NY. Not much baseball was played in that area of Queens because just about the only grass was growing on the front lawns of rich people. We baseball fanatics had no choice but to play softball on the cement playgrounds of the public schools. No wonder I never learned how to slide.
My family moved to Levittown in 1954, about two months into the seventh grade. Among the appeals of my new hometown were the sparkling green baseball fields. The more I rode my bicycle, the more ball fields I found. They appeared behind schools, at village greens and in parks. This place was made for me. No more wearing out my Keds on cement. No more softball. Now I could play the real thing. BASEBALL
Adding to my joy were the dozens of others youngsters like myself who loved to play our national pastime. It was a rare spring or summer day that I could not get into a pickup game. Mostly, I found them at the Azalea Road park, in the shade of the water tower. Also, there was a bunch of guys who hung out at the North Village Green who were always ready for a game. The North Green guys called themselves The Natives. I quickly joined their tribe. The swimming pool was maybe 50 yards from where a ball field had been created by the guys. We used to go for a dip in between games. Truly, I could not have asked for more.
Although it was not baseball, stickball games were great fun. Hundreds, if not thousands of hours, were spent behind Northside School playing the game. Bob Castro, Malcom Karman, John Koehler and I spent many a sweaty summer afternoon tossing Spaldings and tennis balls into a chalked box we had drawn again a brick wall behind the school. Our bats were broom handles. John was a great hitter, Bob had a deadly fastball and Mal roamed the field like Mickey Mantle.
We even imported kids from other parts of Levittown to play stickball against us for money. When you had John Koehler on your team, you expected to win. Truly, he hardly ever struck out. A few years later, he brought the same batting eye to the high school team and earned all-league honors for coach Joe DiMaggio's the Blue Dragons.
I was too old to play Little League by the time I moved to Levittown, but did sign up for one year of Pony League ball. Classmates Artie Dorrmann, Tom Young (who moved to Roslyn before graduation) and Jay Citrin were teammates.
This was around 1956 and the big star in our age group was Pete Cybriwski, a pitcher whose fastball was legendary throughout Levittown. Pete moved through the halls of Division Avenue like he was Elvis himself. He had an aura, a presence. He was a man, while the most of rest of us were still boys. I remember at parties around Levittown during high school, if the girls heard that Pete was coming, they would swoon. No kidding.
Opening day of Pony League, Pete is pitching for the Exchange Club again my team. During warm ups, we focused on Cybriwski, marveled at his size, the speed of his fastball, his charisma. Our manager gathered our team together and said not to be afraid of Cybriwski. Easy for him, he did not have to face this monster. Then he announced our batting order. "Barning, you're leading off," he said. "Take a couple of pitches. Let's see what this kid has."
The umpire yelled "Play ball." I walked to the plate, took two strikes, swung and missed the third pitch and trotted back to the bench. Overall I struck out all three times, but did foul off two pitches. That day, I realized for the first time, that there were levels of the game.
Pete was an all-county pitcher a few years later at Division, won a scholarship to New York University and left after a year when he signed a professional contract. His pro career was short, talk about levels of the game. He married Kathy Thomas and they had four children. Kathy went to Division prior to high school. Her father was Joe Thomas who coached football at Chaminade High School for many years. Pete died of a heart attack in 1972. He had just turned 30.
Tears come to my eyes as I write this. He had become good friends with me and my guys, Bob, John and Mal while we were in high school. We got together a few times after high school and Pete told stories about pitching in Dothan, Ala., in the minor leagues. He talked about the high humidity and the huge mosquitoes that bloodied the long white socks that he and his teammates wore. Pete had gotten his shot, had no excuses and was thankful for the opportunity to play pro ball.
Pete Cybriwski was one of my baseball heroes. Nearly 50 years later, he still is.
Michael Haag's article about Richard Streb in the Dec. 2 newsletter generated the following responses:
Sue Chasin Ross, 1962
What a testimonial to an educator. Mr. Streb had every reason to feel special. For so many former students to remember him in such an admiral way... makes him very special. The writing by Michael Haag is wonderful. As a retired Physical Educator, I can only hope that I have had some positive effect on some of my students. Michael did a terrific thing by tracking him down and getting and staying in touch. Bravo to him for following his heart and letting a gifted teacher/person know what an impact he had on his life and the lives of his other students. A teacher could ask for no more than that.
Having been at DAHS for 7th-9th grade only, I never had Dick Streb... my loss.
From Susan Weldon, 1960
It's heartening to me to know that there indeed were role models in Levittown who had an awareness beyond our small world.
Tom Urban, 1960
The last time I saw Dick Streb was on the day I took the Regents exam for American History in June of 1960. I needed to finish it to graduate. My mom had died that week and Dick came over to me and whispered in my ear…"just do the best you can".
I was in a fog, going to exams in the AM and a wake in the afternoon and evenings…but somehow I passed the exam. Thanks Dick!
He was an amazing guy with whom I sparred daily in class. He was one of few who could hold his own against my immature sarcastic (rank-out) mentality!
Jon Buller, 1961
Michael Haag's excellent article touched off another Streb memory. Sometime in my junior year (I was in the class of '61) we were all herded into the auditorium for an assembly featuring Mr. Streb's senior history class. It must have had some connection with Lincoln's birthday. The format for the assembly was very simple. First the entire class, lined up on the back of the stage, would deliver the line, "ABRAHAM LINCOLN SPEAKS!" Then one student would come to stage center and recite a quotation from Abraham Lincoln. The class chorus would again thunder "ABRAHAM LINCOLN SPEAKS," and another student would come forward to recite another quotation, and so on. It wasn't quite a Chuck Berry concert, but at least it offered the variety of getting out of the regularly scheduled class.
Then, after a few quotations, I began to notice something. It almost sounded like they were saying "ABRAHAM LINCOLN STINKS!" I thought this was sort of funny. Then I listened more closely. They were saying ABRAHAM LINCOLN STINKS! or at least some of the kids were. There seemed to be a war going on, between those kids on stage saying SPEAKS, and those saying STINKS. The audience began to catch on, and now, each time the chorus delivered its line, there was laughter from the audience. This seemed to encourage the STINKS contingent, which got louder. Perhaps also some of the SPEAKS contingent, playing to the audience, was joining the other side. By the end of the program, STINKS had clearly won the day.
My memory fails me as to the outcome of this assembly. Was there complete pandemonium by the end of the assembly, followed by a lecture from Mr. Reilly? Or were there just assorted chuckles here and there, which were ignored by the powers that be? Does anyone else remember ABRAHAM LINCOLN STINKS?
From Rich Humbert, 1960
Another small Streb anecdote. He would give us all 5-10 page papers due on a Friday. The following Monday he'd hand them all back with notes and grades. Then he would quote verbatim from memory several extended selections from the best papers. He had an astonishing memory. When we asked him how he did it, he said he taught himself and modeled after JFK who would read a novel every day.
Bob Castro's memories:
Look out Mr. Peyton!
My recollection of learning how to drive, and what led up to it, brought a smile to my face recently. As most of us will remember, when we were in school virtually all transportation was by foot, with sporadic parental motorized intervention.
In our senior year some of the class of 1960 were lucky enough to convince their parents to let them use the family car or to buy their own. Or if your father wasn't too keen on the idea of letting you drive the family sedan, one might release the brake of the aforementioned sedan after the rest of the family was asleep, roll it back down the driveway (with the help of similarly auto deprived friends) and push it down the block before starting it.
Then there was the inevitable scrounging for "pocket change" among the passengers so that we could put enough gas in the tank (at about $0.26 per gallon) for the evening's festivities, and still leave enough in the tank so that it wasn't apparent that it had been driven. My classmate, Jim Merry, was a specialist at this, and I often wondered what his dad (who I think was in the Air Force) would have done to him if he were caught borrowing the family car. My dad was rather strict and I figured that just for being a willing participant and passenger, I was flirting with something between being sent to military school and death. And those were the good options. With Jim's dad, who knew what could happen.
So it was with great relief that John Koehler, one of my three closest friends at DAHS, got a '49 Chevy that we could get a lift to school in and bomb around in on weekends. I used this fact as a wedge when I approached my dad about driving. Additionally, my dad was getting tired of driving me around to my part-time jobs, the first of which was as a ride operator at Nunley's Happyland on Hempstead Turnpike.
When I asked him if I could take Driver Ed. (with Mr. Peyton), he agreed without even the smallest bit of resistance. I was one of Mr. Peyton's prize driving students and he often marveled at my ease and familiarity behind the wheel of the Driver Ed. car. He once remarked to the other three occupants of the car (much to my embarrassment) that "he would feel safe sitting on the hood of the car" while I was driving. I didn't have the heart (the guts really) to tell him about the amount of "unauthorized" practice I'd had. I completed Driver Ed. and received my junior license and that valuable "blue card" which allowed you to drive after dark without another licensed driver in the car.
Several months after getting my blue card, I was allowed to use my mother's car, a 1954 Mercury convertible after school. One of my first solo driving experiences became what could charitably be called "a close encounter". I was rushing (I was always late for something) to see a Blue Dragons baseball game and came into the parking lot near the ball field (behind the metal shop) at a "brisk" pace. I wanted to see John Koehler pitch, especially since he didn't pitch that often and I couldn't hit him at all when we played stickball. The battery that day turned out to be Gary Parker and Artie Dorrmann. But, I digress.
The parking lot was small and crowded, but I spotted an empty space, probably recently vacated by a departing teacher. I pulled the car into the space at about 20 mph, without ever giving the brakes a serious thought. Unfortunately, what I had not seen was another teacher bent over, getting into his car. I "panic braked" the car amid the head turning screeching of tires, but I managed to miss him, his car and every other solid object in the vicinity. Is there anyone out there who has not figured out yet who the teacher was?
The look Mr. Peyton gave me as he exited the car was one that I've not forgotten to this day. Yes, my life as a free teenager flashed before my eyes, and yes, there was an animated lecture and yes, there was the threat of "recalling" my blue card, but worse than that was the realization that I'd almost hit him. And, I took major grief for month's to come from the friends who were at the game. "Nice play Shakespeare" and "cool maneuver, pal" are two of the printable comments that had to be endured.
Speaking of Shakespeare, "all's well that ends well", as no other punitive actions were taken by Mr. Peyton, after much pleading and promising on my part. And, my Mom eventually sold the car to me because I had demonstrated such a serious attitude towards driving. There are other "adventures in driving" that I could subject you to, but I'll send them for inclusion into the DAHS newsletter down the road.
I'm sure that I was not the only "Rebel without a cause" driver out there during our DAHS years. It would be great to hear someone else "fess up". My email address is BobCastro43@aol.com
From Andrea Leporati Rago Crawford, 1960
I have always cherished my Levittown idyllic years.... and have always thought we received a wonderful NY regents education... although no other state is impressed with it. I have lived many places and you can identify without being told when you talk to a New Yorker.... accent aside... we open up so easily and will tell our life's story quickly. I believe that was part of Levittown's influence ... we were or many of us were so innocent.
Bob Rago and I married in 1963, he and Ken Bram took a computer class in adult ed one year. Ken went to Burroughs and Bob started he life work with IBM. We moved to Fremont, CA, Arlington, TX and San Jose, CA. Sadly, Bob died July 13, 1995 of colon cancer.. We have three outstanding children, one child transferred to Florida State University. We located there as a family. I tried to provide emotional support for her... she has gone on to OSU and earned her PHD in chemistry at age 30. One grandchild and one on the way. Jeannine 33 years old runs the Woolrich outlet store in Orlando, FL... single no children.... Brian 29.... is still a student up in Columbus, OH.
My brothers, the infamous Leporati boys... are doing well David in FL, Michael in Maine, Bob is bi-coastal... brother Steve sadly died a few years ago.
I live in New Port Richey, FL with second husband of 5 years.... we took a boat run from Morehead city, NC to Tarpon springs, FL. I loved it I was the navigator... on this trip we decided to move here... last place on earth I ever thought I'd retire to. We are members of the Coast Guard aux, part of homeland security. My parents still live on the Island, Northport. My email address is crawfordx2@verizon.net
Wally Linder's favorite Gladys Eisenhauer stories
I was in the class of 1961 and Miss Eisenhauer was a very popular citizenship education teacher. She drove a big, new, expensive, gigantic, light-green car (Bonneville-I think). It was the kind of car that folks in Levittown just did not have. The trunk was as big as a queen-size bed. I suffer from CRS, and for the life of me, I don't understand how I can remember that. I think I was in love with her, and her car.
In the summer and fall of 1960, the presidential election race was hot and heavy. JFK debated Nixon on TV, and everyone watched. The difference between the two men seemed like the beginning of a new era. I was interested in politics for the first time in my life. I remember driving "The" 54 Chevy out to the end of the earth, Port Jefferson, to see and hear JFK. We stayed up all night in John Fitzsimmons' living room to hear the election results.
Before the election, Miss Eisenhauer told us that she could not vote for JFK. She went on to say that she thought that JFK was the best candidate, but she had a big problem with, and fear of, LBJ. She told us that according to the "Historical Time Table," JFK would die in office. She really believed that voting for JFK would make LBJ President, and she was sincerely afraid of LBJ becoming president. Everyone thought she was nuts.
Right after the Cuban Missile Crisis, JFK said "do for your country," and I did. I was in the Navy "seeing the world" in Millington Tennessee, when Miss Eisenhauer's prediction came true. I had not thought of what she had said, until that day - Nov. 22, 1963. I've thought about Miss Eisenhauer, every November 22nd since.
We went to the Museum of Natural History with Miss Eisenhauer. I think that was our senior trip. The poor women, was never the same after that outing. I remember her, red complexioned and angry as hell (she was actually shaking), telling our class that Division Avenue High School had been banned from the Museum for all eternity, because of the behavior of its students. Something about mummies being disturbed. Because there was an outstanding invitation to her Old Westbury home, she still had a graduation party. We went, but things were never the same. Does anyone remember the details? My email address is xwal@aol.com
Answers to previous question
When you graduated from Division Avenue, were you properly prepared for the real world?
Warren Zaretsky, 1960
"The real world?"... I wasn't prepared to cross Hempstead Turnpike by myself. I wouldn't have been married and a father 2 days before I turned 20 if I was "prepared." I'm still not prepared for the real world... anyone out there prepared yet? The Boy Scouts are prepared, Preparation-H is prepared, when I hit the old age home my meals will be prepared, but me, I'm still wingin' it and flying without a net.
____, 1962
Neither High School nor college prepares you for the school of hard knocks that awaits outside the confines of the classroom. School is merely a sheltering environment designed to teach the academics that prepare you to coexist in an educated society.
Like everything else in life, school is what you make it. There are those popular, peer-conscious students who thrive on every social and academic level. Others are influenced by the guidance they receive at home, and others by their inherent spirituality.
Extra-curricular activities provide an additional source of personal growth within the context of a learning environment. In addition, some educators are mentors to those students seeking the guidance they can't find elsewhere. But basically, the boundaries of high school are limited to one's personal clique of friends, and exposure and interaction with other classmates.
Yes, high school provides the opportunity to learn certain social and physical skills. And with that comes the inevitable loss of innocence as the students mature and grow. But it's not until you experience life on your own that you realize how ill-prepared you are to deal with certain realities that you can only learn from living them: the death of a loved one, a traumatic illness, a dishonest employer, discrimination, and the general ills that plague a culturally diversified society
High school does not prepare you for a failed marriage, or the prospect of terrorism, or mass annihilation, or a war that never seems to end. It doesn't prepare you for a volatile stock market, an uncertain Social Security system, empty campaign promises, the possibility of a catastrophic pandemic or the uncertainty of a future for our kids.
The best we can hope is that high school continues be a spring board for future learning, unhampered by the constraints that now give students more rights and power than the educators. But that's a whole other issue.
Ava Berg, 1960
I was prepared for world to be a big Levittown. Great friends, even Jews and gentiles at same parties. I went with Richard Glaski for one day till mom said no-only Jewish boys. Of course I had to rebel, not only not Jewish-not even white. I was totally clueless about race in America or even in Levittown. if Mr. Smith or Jones had built Levittown it probably would've said no Jews allowed. I couldn't comprehend separate everything down south. Blew my mind.
I really believed that brotherhood stuff and freedom for all. So when the brother said let's make a baby for the revolution I jumped in the bed. My beautiful black, Jewish, smart daughter Melanie was born 1966. I worked for NYC welfare for ten years. Worked with the artist Romare Bearden. 1977 NYC lower eastside was disgusting- even though my rent was $80 month. Moved to Harrisburg, Pa. in 1980. Melanie was all scholarships to the University of Pittsburgh. She tutored Refrigerator Perry and got her masters in electrical engineering. I drove a tractor-trailer, made more money than with my college degree. I have plenty of stories-as we all do. Levittown gave me a good place to grow, a good beginning. I wasn't taught to hate.
Cliff Fromm, 1960
As smart as we thought we were we probably didn't have the "street smarts" of city kids, but we were damn close. It seems that most of us turned out pretty good and did quite well. So if the proof of the pie is in the eating, yes we were prepared. Teaching a person to drive a car is the first step. One really learns when finally getting on the road.
Classmates write concerning previous newsletter items
Steve Mohr, 1960
It's funny how just a few blocks between where each of us lived created such different circles, all doing the same thing. While Frank Barning (see Dec. 7 newsletter) was playing baseball at Azalea, we were playing at Redwing Park. Stickball was played behind the sunrise market at the West Village Green. Our star hitter was the "Paturz" (Tom Paturzo Baker '60), Donny Harloff pitched the most wicked curve I ever saw on a Spalding. Other regulars were Bruce Garabrant, Jimmy Crescenzo, Bob Rago, Richie Capone, Joe Lavery, among others.
I got to play little league for 3 years and I did have to face Pete Cybriwski. He had a smokin' fastball. I did get a hit off of him, but he then hit me with a pitch the next time up. I never hit him again. A real shame he lost "the big game" so young.
Warren Zaretsky, 1960
The combination of Steve Mohr's recollection of the "milk container" incident and Frank Barning's story about Pete Cybriwski sparked the memory of a story that's not flattering to Pete's "speed" off the mound.
After the milk container splattered the un-remembered teacher, there was laughter, applause, and near pandemonium in the cafeteria, while the other supervising teachers searched the landscape for the missile's launch pad. I have no memory of whether it was a teacher or a student who pointed and said: "It came from THAT table." -- but suddenly we were surrounded by teachers. I remember Arnie Mark, Jim Healy, Pete Cybriwski, Steve Mohr, and I think one or two others at the table -- though I clearly remember Jim Healy "instigating" the bet and Arnie Mark making it formal with a $10 bill.
We were all summarily marched down to Mr. Aiello's office, and he was having all he could to keep a straight face and act angry. He had us wait and had a brief conference outside the door with Mr. Reilly. Upon returning he said words to the effect that, unless the guilty one identified himself, all of us would be suspended and it would be noted in our permanent records. No one spoke up. He then said: "This is really serious. I must suspend you all if I don't find out who did it. Go out in the hall and I'll give you 3 minutes to talk it over."
Once outside the door most all the guys, though not thrilled about the consequences, were of the mind that they got me into it, shared the blame, and would keep silent. Pete began moaning something about his chances at a good college and even West Point, and how I should give myself up for "the team." By that time Aiello motioned us back in. At that moment the light went on in my on-again/off-again brain and I just had enough time to say: "I've got an idea... when we go back in, follow my lead." Aiello asked what we decided. After a short silence I said: "As I understand it, if someone doesn't say they threw the milk container, you will suspend everyone. I think what you're asking us to do is unfair, and some of us may have more to lose than others... so, if what you need, to prevent us all being hurt, is for someone to say they did it, then I'll be the sacrificial lamb and say I did it." Aiello "got it" immediately and I saw a tiny smile being fought back.
My memory tells me most of the others may have gotten it as well, however, Pete piped up with: "Geez, thanks for admitting it, I couldn't stand it on my record... I didn't think you'd really throw it... geez, you almost got us all in a really big mess." Thud!
--
Memories of the first children of Levittown
Tom Toscano, 1961
I wonder if other people see what I think is going on with the alumni newsletter. These last few months have created a potential "monster" as more and more alums become aware of it and begin emailing in their recollections. I sincerely believe that the newsletter is performing a "Tom Brokaw-Greatest Generation" function, i.e. giving voice to the memories of the first children of Levittown, the nation's first suburban community.
We were thrown together in a mass migration (from the 5 boroughs, primarily), after World War II and populated the mid-Nassau potato fields by the thousands almost over night. The resulting explosion of energy was a national first, and I think that it was a major reason that so many of us believed and still believe, that we grew up in a very special place.
The newsletter is unlocking a treasure trove of memories, and reading the entries has been great fun.
Biographies of two Levittowners transplanted to Texas
Perry Berns (Bernstein), 1960
I know many people who never attend their reunions and have no regrets, not me. I was excited to see everyone each time, even though some of you were a little harder to recognize.
I do remember walking a great deal in the early years. Some of us like Warren Zaretsky, Bill Stanley and Bill Whalen lived on the south side and most of you lived on the north. The oldest grade since the 7th, at Wisdom Lane, probably made us more comfortable at being the oldest at Division.
There are so many great times to remember, but not all for email. I recall my first day in Levittown, July 1954. Bill Whalen initiated me into the neighborhood by hitting me with pieces of cardboard shot from a rubber band stretched over a wooden pistol. I remember being slammed to a wrestling mat causing a nosebleed, while Mr. Simes carried my mother out of the gym screaming. Also, coming home after practice on my 16th birthday only to find 20 or so of you hiding upstairs. Surprise!
During my senior year going steady was much more important than doing homework or studying for exams. My parents were angry with me most of the year so no allowance and no car to drive to the prom. Warren Z to the rescue. He had an old car he was about to junk. He had smashed it with a sledge hammer inside and out and covered it with graffiti. I took it to the prom with Susan Kalinsky. We had to push or roll it backwards to start it. I couldn't let the valet park it so we left it several blocks away. What a night. Actually, my memories of those days are in bits and pieces, but they do make me smile a lot.
I graduated from East Texas State University (now Texas A&M in Commerce). Bill Whalen talked me into going there, only he didn't show up. Bill went to Wayne State with the others. I was a biology teacher for 7 years and headed the science department in the largest high school in Texas. Surprising since the guidance counselor suggested my parents not waste their money on college. I now own an art gallery, in Dallas, and have been conducting art auctions for fund raising since 1973.
I've been married to a wonderful girl (Kathy) for more than 24 years. Fortunately, I married up. She is much more intelligent, and nicer than I. We have three great kids. Tyler, 19, like his father, was voted most favorite senior in H.S., but unlike his father received a Presidential Leadership Scholarship to the University of Oklahoma. Cydney, 17, beautiful and a National Honor Society member. And Kendall, 15, is the dancer in the family, also with her mother's brains and good looks. My email address is perrybernsgallery@sbcglobal.net
Ann Crescenzo Fazzino, 1961 I must agree with all of you that our childhood in Levittown was indeed magical. At the end of the fourth grade my family moved to Levittown from Ozone Park, Queens, a very Italian neighborhood, where I was related to just about everyone including former Mayor Rudy Giuliani. He's my mother's cousin. I don't know him personally, just on TV like you. I have 200 first and second cousins.
At the end of the fourth grade, I recall, my dad taking me with him to Levittown while he painted our future Levittown home. I made friends with three girls that very first day. That evening my brother Jim (class of 1959, Levittown Memorial) asked me how I liked Levittown and I said, "Jim you're going to love it, everyone is so friendly." Jim joined me the following day and together we made friends with everyone on the block. Our new address was 203 Kingfisher Road.
In the early days I remember riding my bike all over town. I loved the movies, roller skating rink, Jahn's ice cream parlor, Caruso's restaurant, Azalea pool, and the North Village Green. I also kind of remember going to some school during the earlier summer years making baskets, painting pictures, and creating objects out of clay. There was so much to do growing up in Levittown and we had so many friends and could do whatever we wanted to do. We didn't need an adult to take us wherever we decided to go. We rode our bikes and then later walked all over town. In the early years of Levittown I remember one Halloween that landed on a Saturday, so Jimmy and I got up really early and went Trick or Treating all over Levittown. We came home only to empty our loot (because it got too heavy and our bags were ripping) and we went right out again in a different direction until it got dark. We didn't worry about our candy having razors or poison, or any other bizarre happening. We just thoroughly enjoyed Halloween.
I attended North side School and I recall my sixth grade teacher, Mr.Torrence, who was my favorite teacher at my elementary school. In 7th grade I followed my brother to Division Avenue. It wasn't a high school yet. Jim was captain of our 9th and 10th grade basketball team and so I'd go to the games just to watch him play. He sure was some basketball player.
In 7th grade I remember meeting Rita Cataldo and we became very close friends throughout our high school years and beyond. She was more like a sister than a friend. She slept over my house more than she did her own. Throughout the years at Division I always brought my friends home with me to eat. Italians like to feed everyone. My mom loved to cook and she always made more food than two families could eat. Throughout my high school years I remember coming home and watching American Bandstand. My mom would have the show on already and she knew all the regulars. Jim and I would practice learning the latest dances. I remember all the regular parties, the pj parties, and the beach parties.
Throughout my school years I'd talk to everyone that I encountered and I was always in trouble for talking in class. I kind of got to know Mr.Aiello very well. Nice guy. One day Rita took my textbook without my knowledge and tied it on to the blind strings in our second floor class room and hung it out the open window. Well the teacher on the floor below came up with my book in hand and sent me to Mr.Aiello's office. I also remember Rita and I getting in trouble for wearing three pairs of socks.
I too was annoyed at my guidance counselor Mr. Rogoff. He informed me that he wanted me to only take Art, Homemaking, and Typing and Business classes as he stated that "I would get married someday and that I didn't need math or any academic classes." If you are told this you believe it and you don't even try, so I just looked at school as a social hour. In ninth grade I made numerous friends, too many to mention, with the exception of Loretta Fountain and Ginny Castle, and we've kept in touch throughout the years. Loretta and I still talk every week on the telephone for hours. We've never lost touch. Neither distance nor time could ever change our friendship.
After high school I went to work in Garden City at Doubleday where I went dancing after work with all the girls. We followed a group called the Four Grads all over the Island. Loretta Fountain and Maryann McNally worked there too. Then I worked in Gimbel's in Garden City for three and a half years. Charlene Masek and Maryann McNally worked there too. One summer day at the beach I met Karen Hogan, Barbara Gleason and Ann Hoffman and we all decided to go to a place that they knew of in Glen Cove called Molly and Me. It's there that I met my wonderful husband Joe. We've been married for 39 years. Joe is not only my husband but, he's my best friend. When Joe and I lived on Long Island, Joe was a police officer in New York City. We had our home built in Ronkonkoma before there was even an exit out there.
We have two beautiful daughters (they both look like my Joe) and 2 precious grand-daughters and one adorable grandson. They amaze me. We moved to San Antonio, in October 1980 a couple of months after my brother Jimmy moved here. I loved my brother so much that I wanted to follow him and thankfully my husband was all for it. Sadly, in 1988 at the young age of 46 years, Jimmy lost an 18 month battle with Lymphoma. It's hard to lose someone so special. Jimmy died the way that he lived life, with unbelievable strength, caring and giving to everyone. His nurses loved him. He was my pillar of strength throughout his ordeal. I miss him so much. I want to thank each and every one of you who have mentioned Jimmy in your e-mails or in your DAHS newsletter articles. It does my heart good to hear anything concerning Jim's life.
Joe and I are both very family oriented. We do everything with our children. We even went to school with one of them. Our oldest daughter Christine graduated in 1990 from the University of Texas in San Antonio with a BS in Finance. In December of 1994 our younger daughter Jennifer graduated from the University of Texas together with her dad and myself at the same ceremony.
Joe and I were college graduates and first time grandparents all at the ripe old age of 50. My Joe tutored me in all our classes that I didn't have a background in from high school. Joe was such an unbelievable teacher that I actually graduated on the National Deans list and earned many a semester on the President's list. Joe graduated Magna Cum Laude. Jennifer earned her BA degree in Early Childhood Education and she is a kindergarten teacher with many honors. My Joe and I got identical BA degrees in Sociology, the study of people in groups and also in American Studies, which is the study of American culture.
And what do you think was part of our American Study curriculum? Levittown, as it is America's first track housing community. To be exact Levittown, PA was the first. My professor was teaching us about Levittown and she was shocked that I knew more than she did about our community, as you do too.
After college I was a Resident Coordinator for a low-income community here in San Antonio. I worked with former City Councilman Robert Marbut's Office. It was so exciting to actually make a difference in a community. Then I went to work in two different Assisted Living Communities as an Activities Director for the elderly, another truly rewarding career.
In October of 2001 I reunited with Rita Cataldo, Loretta Fountain Dascawiscz, Ginny Castle Goodale, and Mary Birney Miller in Las Vegas. I hadn't seen them in too many years to mention. But the five of us picked up where we left off. We acted like teenagers all over again. Since that was such a successful reunion, in 2003 we took a week long cruise out of New York to the Bahamas. Again we went back in time to a place I will always call home, Levittown, a magical time to be visited again. My address is joeann@gbronline.com
Memories The decline of the East Village Green Jon Buller, 1961 Growing up at 176 Blacksmith Road, I was only about a five-minute walk away from the East Village Green, and that was where I would head as soon as I got my allowance every week. When I was in elementary school I got 25 cents. This meant that I could buy a comic book for 10 cents, a Baby Ruth candy bar for 5 cents, and I still had a dime in my pocket for later in the week.
Among the comics of that era were some great masterpieces of juvenile literature. There were the Donald Duck stories of Carl Barks, the Little Lulu stories of John Stanley, and many others. The pharmacy at the East Village Green always had a mouth-watering selection that included these and many others.
Later, my reading tastes were to become more expensive. In the sixth grade I developed a taste for science fiction, and the East Village Green had a great selection of paperbacks for 25 cents each. I bought Brave New World there, and 1984, and other works by the great s. f. writers of that time -- Bradbury, Sturgeon, Arthur C. Clarke. By the time I got to high school I started buying magazines as well. Esquire at that time published things by Hemingway, Faulkner, and Norman Mailer. The New Yorker had stories by Updike and Salinger. These were all at the East Village Green Pharmacy.
Now there is only a cheesy little convenience store there. It sells lottery tickets and possibly The National Inquirer, or something similar.
Classmates write concerning previous newsletter items Tommy Paturzo Baker, 1960 I would like to comment on some of the commentaries posted. First, it was great to be part of the Levittown experience. We had so much, not wealth, but a sense of community.
In Levittown, we might disagree, or even fight, but never held a permanent grudge. I had the opportunity to stop a few fights in the locker room. I was the matchmaker and introduced couples. Some of the couples stayed together for a long time, even married. Looking back, it was more fun to promote relationships.
Bruce Garabrant, Jimmy Crescenzo, Donny Harloff, Louis Lopez, Chris Wilkens and others are no longer with us, but they remain in our memories. Bruce, Jimmy, Donny, Louis and Chris lived within one block of my Falcon Lane address. We were all better from having known them.
Steve Mohr had a great sense of humanity; his sense of humor was worthy of prime time. Johnny Koehler, Bobby Castro and Malcom Karman, the three Musketeers, were also great comic relief. I needed humor in those days. I was so fortunate to meet everyone in high school, but did not experience the same genuine relationships in adult life.
Ava Berg was right, we did not know prejudice growing up in Levittown. My first contact with prejudice was when I joined the Army. Growing up in Levittown helped me learn to accept differences in others. That old line from South Pacific, you have to be carefully taught; we were never taught to hate.
Jeff Peyton, 1961 I enjoyed reading Bob Castro's account of his near-rear end of the Driver-Ed Teacher. I sent "Mr. Peyton" his story, which I am sure he will enjoy. I'll send a copy, too, to Mr. T. Bob's story inspired me to write another Driver Ed. Remembrance, one often told over the years at family gatherings.
Driving Down Memory Lane As you may recall, Cornflower Road passed by the Community Church to the east, thanks to a fairly long banana curving north and intersecting with Periwinkle. At the south end, near Division Avenue, Cornflower skirted the power lines that ran clear to Newbridge Road. Interesting to think that it still does.
The Cornflower Road time-space banana curve remains etched in my memory. I was driving to school with my Dad. I rarely did. I did not want to ride with him or be seen riding. I was nobody's child. I walked. It was not cool having your Dad teach at the school you went to.
In the winter, walking to school was not always pleasant but it was a choice. What was a backpack? You carried your books to school. But this morning I was late and it had snowed. And so there I was "riding to school" with Dad. The roads were slick with ice but clear of snow. As we approached Cornflower Road, the walkers glided by. Ahead, a car had turned onto Cornflower Road. (Actually, it would never really stop turning.) The car was familiar. It was Mrs. Gaskins', Richard Gaskins' Mom. Unpredictable movement associated with her car was not unusual.
Immediately, Dad's Driving Teacher Instincts kicked in. He slowed, being careful of course not to go into a skid. Mrs. Gaskins, however, was still turning. Time, yup, seemed to be standing still. She had entered "the mother of all skids"-a skid as long and as curved as Cornflower Road itself, a skid as simple as a forward pass 'line' drawn on a play diagram. We could see it coming. Even though Mrs. Gaskins was clearly on the other side of the road, her vector was locking on.
My father, pathetically trying to mount a snow bank in a 1960 Comet, could not evade Mrs. Gaskins, now zeroing in, her face quizzically framed in her windshield. The sound of the impact crunched the air. Thus it happened that two cars kissed, steam rising, on Cornflower Road on a frosty morning. The walkers stopped, gathered, and looked. A scene out of a Little Lulu comic book. Wow. An accident. Mr. Peyton, the driver ed. teacher, in an accident And me smiling wistfully at passers by, the crackle of snow under the feet, feeling more sorry for my Dad than for myself. --
Memories of substitute teachers
Frank Barning, 1960
Some of us were absolutely cruel to substitute teachers. It was an art form at Division. One day, we had this prim and proper woman substituting in one of our classes. She was trying to hold a raucous group together and doing fairly well until Eddie Byrne started this slow, deep, penetrating laugh. He went on and on until the teacher, checking her class roster, politely asked, "Mr. Byrne, what is the problem?"
Without hesitation, Byrne replied, "Lady, you look just like an owl."
The poor woman gathered her things together, put them in a briefcase, got up from her desk and started to cry. Also without hesitation, she opened the door and left the classroom. None of us ever saw her again at Division.
Byrne, known as Kookie (as in lend me your comb), a few years later went to prison for murdering his father in law. Maybe the owl lady got off easy.
Rich Humbert, 1960
One substitute calling attendance pronounced Raymond Wenz's name as Raymond Wang... you can imagine how that was received.
Also a substitute called Mrs. Kling had similar control problems and lost it when someone wrote on the board "KLING KONG"
One more is Mrs. Fleckenstein who tolerated no foolishness in true Teutonic style. She just needed a helmet with horns. She was armed with a ruler she applied liberally.
We were cruel. I substitute taught high school math for a semester a few years back and in doing so got paybacks for my little cruelties.
Bob Castro, 1960
Since we had developed the reputation as being rather tough on substitutes in general, one time they sent Al Tarney, who was an English teacher by trade, but they knew that nobody would screw with him.
He assessed the situation and immediately gave everyone a study hall, but all those who didn't want one (basically all the guys) were invited to come up to the front of the room and talk football until the end of the period. I also remember going through 2 substitutes one time before the third finally got control of the situation.
BIOGRAPHY OF AL CARDAMONE, 1962
I have been reading the newsletter with interest and fond memories. I decided to take a few moments and let you know what has happened with me. Heck, I'm not even sure if any of you remember me because I was never very active with our class. I spent much of the last three years of high school involved with Mr. Frank Vitale and the DAHS Cry-Slurs (Chorus).
Four days after graduation I found myself at Fort Dix, NJ and I was in the U.S. Army. I retired in September of 1992. During my time with the oxymoron, I was with Military Intelligence, I had an opportunity to travel extensively throughout the Asian Pacific regions. My area of expertise was the armies of the Peoples Republic of China. Assignments found me in Japan, the Philippines, Thailand, Korea, Laos, Cambodia, Viet Nam, and Hawaii. In the continual US I was stationed at Ft. Devens, MA, Ft. Meade, MD, Ft. Sheridan, IL and Ft. Riley, KS (where I retired).
While in the Army I had a second career in retail loss prevention and security. I eventually became the Security/Loss prevention Manager for Sears at their stores in Waukegan, IL, Pearl Ridge, HI and Manhattan, KS.
I have taught at the National Security Agency Cryptographic School located in Maryland and after retirement I was a teacher at the local Catholic school working as a substitute for grades K - 12. I also was the Development Director for the Parish. Prior to teaching I did a six year stint with the US Postal Service in Topeka, KS.
I have had 13 heart procedural operations (for bad plumbing) and now have 5 stents keeping my clogged arteries open. When I retired from the army the VA classified me as a disabled Vet, and the Post Office has me on a disability retirement. Additionally Social Security has me as 100% disabled. This has still not really slowed me down. For the past four years I have been the Assistant General Manager for the local Holiday Inn Express and I have also been a full time college student. On Dec. 9th of this year I received my BS in Human Resources Management (Magna Cum Laude) and I am presently setting up my own consulting and outsourcing company.
I met a girl when I was an instructor at Fort Devens and we were married fifty-three days after we met. We are still together. We have a son, two daughters and each daughter has given us a grand daughter. The grandkids are four and six and Tess (my wife) and I spend most of our time spoiling them.
My life has been full and although we have had some hard times, we have always manager to get through them. If any of you want to correspond one on one my e-mail is acardamone@cox.net, my address is 502 W. Spruce St. Junction City, KS 66441-3629 and my phone is 785.762.7874.
Assorted comments
John Stalberg, 1962
Although my parents had little money, my father's family was all doctors and lawyers who went to the U of Pennsylvania. That's where I went. I doubt that guidance counselor Mr. Rogo ever heard of it. The depression, WWII and meeting my mother in England and having me, kept my father out of college until the 1960s.
The problem at DAHS was that richer districts could pay more money. I had Mr. Chenevey (great) for 8th grade math and he then left for Syosset. I think that is now unconstitutional, at least in California it is. Compton has as much money now for teachers as Beverly Hills.
A great experience for me was subbing at Division in several May- une school years, because medical school ended early. What an experience sitting in the faculty lounge 4-5 years after graduation. Compared to the 1960s, DAHS was as good as most private schools are now because public education has gone down the toilet.
And here is a memory of one of our teachers.. I had Mr Graham for homeroom in 8th grade. He was an English teacher, but not mine until years later. I was at my cousin Greg Donaldson's house on the south side, 2 Rock Lane. It was summer and we were sitting around bs-ing when I heard the ring of the Good Humor Man. I ran outside and waved him down. I could already taste the Coconut or Toasted Almond. Who got out of the truck with a cheery (until he saw me) "What do you want?"
It couldn't be, am I dreaming, my homeroom teacher Mr. Graham? No must be a look alike, teachers aren't ice cream men, are they? It was definitely the weirdest, freakiest bizarre feeling. Mr. Graham looked more uncomfortable than me. I told everyone in Greg's house what happened and they couldn't believe it either. It PERMANENTLY changed how I felt about Mr. Graham and he always looked scared I might say something and blow the whistle. I never did, but he always was worried when I was around, or so I thought. He could have at least been a Good Humor man in East Meadow or Wantagh, I always thought.
In 7th grade math, I had a Mr. Spina. He was morbidly obese, huge-350-400 pounds. He did a lot of, literally huffing and puffing (Pickwickwian syndrome), yelling, screaming, what else do you expect from a 400-pound 7th grade math teacher. He had all us little 7th graders scared shitless.
Well you know those little chairs that have wheels that were behind the teachers' desks? Yep, one day in the middle of a tirade, he kicked the chair out from behind the desk, and when he sat down, or plopped down to catch his breath, the chair collapsed, Spina was sprawled on the floor and broken pieces from the chair were propelled all around the room. Despite knowing the consequences, the class exploded in laughter while he scrambled to his feet, as if he did it fast enough we wouldn't notice. He was forever subdued and I don't recall seeing him at the school again, after the year ended. Boy, payback was so good then, even my parents cracked up, after the obligatory, "He's not permanently injured is he?"
Jon Buller, 1961
One day in 11th grade English class, Miss Smythe, announced to us that we were to have a special treat. Mr. Matthews, the librarian, was going to talk to us about a poem entitled The Lake Isle of Innisfree, by the famous poet, William Butler Yeats. Mr. Matthews sat at her desk, while she leaned on the radiators by the windows, and he began by reading the poem --
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made . . .
I think the poem puzzled most of us. It was written in the voice of someone who was sick of the city, and dreamed of getting away to a simpler, more pastoral life. This was not a major concern of the average Levittown teenager. And we didn't know Innisfree from Freeport. But we could tell that, for some reason, Mr. Matthews thought this was a very special poem. We could also tell that he was very nervous. He was a painfully shy person, and turned red as he was talking to us. After he finished reading the poem he asked if anyone had any questions. There was a long silence. Then Tony Marianova, slouched down in his chair, raised his pencil. Mr. Matthews called on him.
"Will 'dis be on the Regents?" Tony asked.
This question was greeted with a loud burst of laughter from the entire class. Mr. Matthews turned an even deeper shade of red. Mrs. Smythe jumped in, her eyes blazing. She had tried to present us with something special, but it was obviously a case of casting pearls before swine, she said, or words to that effect. She thanked Mr. Matthews, who seemed glad to be able to beat a quick retreat. Then she began writing difficult vocabulary words on the blackboard. She was so mad that the chalk kept breaking.
Poor Mr. Matthews. I wonder what his story was. He seemed to have a slight trace of an Irish accent. He spent a lot of time in back office of the library, hanging out with the two Miss Smiths -- one with a y and one with an i, but it seemed to be a relationship without any trace of flirting or sexuality. Was he gay? I wonder if he ever made it back to Ireland, and lived in a cabin of clay and wattles, or perhaps a Volkswagen van. If so, I hope his sleep was not too often interrupted by nightmares about standing in front of a room of Levittown teenagers, all laughing like hyenas.
Michael O'Boyle, 1960
I can supplement Jon Buller's recent recollection of Mr. Streb's senior history class assembly a bit, although my memory is sketchy. Being in his history class, I was one of the chorus members. Overall, the assembly was a debacle. Looking back, I believe that the theme was too ambitious. In some ways it was like doing an assembly on interpretive dance or free verse; it was just too much for high school students to take seriously. Although I may be blending different assemblies, I believe that part of the program involved a quiz like format. I recall someone asking James Tucker what habeas corpus meant, and him sticking to the literal Latin translation. Later in the program there were quotes from Lincoln, introduced by the chorus saying "Abraham Lincoln speaks" I can't remember if some of us were saying stinks or not, perhaps those in the audience could make that distinction better than I could on stage. I do remember that after each quote we would then say something like "That was the man who grew to be -Living proof of democracy!"
The audience became gradually more restive and disparaging. Things really degenerated following Jane Kranzler's recitation of "Oh Captain! My captain!" Following the program, we were marched back to our home rooms, there to receive a tongue lashing via the PA system by principal Reilly and student president Ira Selsky. A very funny day.
Answers to previous question:
What were your goals when you graduated from high school, and what has been the reality?
Merrill Clark, 1962
Goals! Goals! What were they? I didn't have any goals. I lived one day at a time, not much time spent on the future. I was too busy having fun. Someone mentioned the guidance counselor, Mr. Rogo, perhaps he was to have instilled the idea of goals. He was so low key, a "session" with him was a real sleeper.
Goals! Hell, I was 17 when I graduated. I was lucky to know what I was doing in the next day or two; forget about the real future.next year, five years, ten years, down the road. I don't remember reading much in high school, particularly textbooks. I certainly didn't remember anyone talking about goals and the future. My future.
My Dad worked for Republic Aviation and my Mom was a stay-at-home Mom. We didn't do any serious talking about goals... and we surely didn't use that term. Hell, I thought that was a business term developed in the 70's. Goals! To have those you need a mentor. Someone with insight, maybe even a visionary. Goals, you say. The time I do remember goals was when I was playing soccer in England in the early '70s.
I remember hearing, "What are you going to do after high school, Merrill?" I'd always answer, "Go to college". Where? I didn't know. My mother guided me through the application process, I got accepted to Rider College in Trenton, NJ... small, private business college. Howie Pivnick (Division track coach) asked me why I was going there... answer, I was accepted. For me that was a biggie.
But Howie said they didn't have a track team, so he made some calls to his alma mater, Cortland, in late May of '62 and arranged an interview with someone and the next thing I knew, I was headed to Cortland. Was that my goal? Are you kidding? With my grades (dead center of a class of 210), I was lucky to be accepted at any college. Goals, again, pertained to sports for this (at the time) 17 year old. Poor Howie got egg on his face when I was tossed out after the first semester... academically insufficient.
It made no difference to anyone that I had broken the 440 record for Cortland on my first (indoor) outing at Syracuse U. I couldn't handle the fact that I was on my own, out from under the guidance of my folks and completely free to do whatever I wanted... well, almost anything.
Fortunately, I got my act together in the next three or so years and managed to graduate college in mid 1966. As I grew older, sometimes the idea of goals came into mind, but as an Air Force aviator, I just went along with the flow, did what I needed to do, didn't crash and burn an aircraft, and managed to stay out of trouble and survive a year flying combat in Viet Nam ('69).
Goals still come and go and now that I am once, soon to be twice retired, my goal is to stay healthy, love my children and grandchildren, enjoy my woodworking and homebuilding, and move to the Rockies in about two years.
All in all, goals or no goals, I wouldn't trade my life for any other. We get one chance in life. Some folks plan out their lives to the nth degree, and then die when they get there. Others carefully plan their lives and live it nearly as planned and are very successful. I praise those folks. My good friend Tom McKeon is one such man; and there are many others from the class of '62 who are also very successful in life. God bless them. I may have lived my life by the seat of my pants, but that's just me.
Frank Barning, 1960
My goal was to get a degree from a four-year college and then find a job as a sports writer. In high school, I had no idea how that could be accomplished. Charles Lindbergh flew across the Atlantic Ocean in 1927 without radar. That's how I felt when I started at Hofstra in 1960, clueless but with a goal.
As luck would have it, the college had a very good student newspaper and a need for sportswriters. The editor thought I had promise and I certainly had enthusiasm. A year later, I was working in the Newsday sports department part-time and a couple of the full-timers (George Vecsey and Bill Searby) took me under their wing taught me how to be a professional.
This training led to a variety of positions in sports public relations and journalism. Radar or not, it worked out. In my entire adult life, only five years were spent in non-sports jobs. And I have been married for 36 years to a woman who loves sports just about as much as I do. She did not want me to be a sportswriter because of the hours (most games are played at night) and in my mid-20s, I turned down a full-time job at Newsday. Opportunities that followed surpassed writing for a newspaper, creatively and in other ways. My goals have been substantially exceeded. Baseball executive Branch Rickey once said that luck is the residue of hard work, so call me lucky.
Tommy Smith, 1961
My goals after high school were to accomplish something with my life and to continue my schooling. After finishing my tour in the Army and school, I met that goal and became an entomologist. Then I started my own pest control business, which I still operate today. My business was and still is very busy, especially in termite and home inspections.
--
Memories
Jeff Peyton, 1961
We moved to Levittown from Brooklyn in October of 1949. There were no streets, just mud. It was a sea of mud for several weeks before the graders and dozers began to give shape to the streets and the landscapers came in planting curbside trees and bushes.
Our house sat on Snowbird Lane just two blocks north of the flat terrain that only a year or two later would become Northside School. I can't even recall how we got there -- we probably walked -- to the Community Church on Azalea Road, my 'first school' in Levittown. I was six, and there were 7 kids in attendance in the basement.
November came and the next thing I can remember is waiting for the bus on the corner of Snowbird and Kingfisher, huddling against the corner house away from the morning wind that was always biting cold. The bus to the Quonset hut that was part of Wisdom Lane School was filled with kids singing military songs-Anchors aweigh, my boys, Up we go, into the wild blue yonder, and When the caissons go rolling along. I imagine there were other Church basements used like this until the building of the schools subsided.
Jerry Reichert, 1961
I just started getting the newsletters, and I am amazed of how vivid the memories some of you have regarding DAHS. I do remember my first however. I didn't have the benefit of going to public schools (Northside) as many as you did, but went to a catholic grammar school in Hicksville. Vowing not to go to a catholic high school, I flunked the entrance exam so I could finally go to school with my neighborhood friends.
After 8 years of grammar school, of course, I walked into homeroom wearing a white shirt and tie. Immediately, Artie Reiersen told me "to take that tie off, you are setting a bad example!" Which I did and felt great about doing so. That was the start of my wonderful four years at DAHS which I always remember fondly.
Answers to the question . . . We have all lived for nearly 60 or more years. What have you learned that perhaps others could benefit from?
Lou Kuhlman, 1960
I would like to submit two phrases as good rules to guide one's life. The first is "go simple, go small, go now". I picked up this little gem from a husband and wife writing team who wrote books and articles on cruising sailboats. I don't recall their names. Although they used the phrase only with respect to sailing, it has an almost unlimited range of application.
I'm sure that each of us has had, and hopefully continues to have, an unrealized dream. Things that we have always wanted to do someday, but the right time to do it just never seemed to present itself. As an excuse for not doing something, we overcomplicate the conditions necessary for us to achieve the dream. Do it simple, do it small, do it now. Realizing a dream in a simple way is infinitely better than never doing it in a grand manner. If the reason you are not realizing a dream is a spouse who refuses to go along, go without them. More than likely, you will have a better time without him/her. I know that when my wife goes on her multi-day shopping trips with her gal pals, I stay home, and we both enjoy our time apart. When she comes home, and pulls things out of the bags, it's just like Christmas.
My second submittal is..."shun security". This phrase is probably more applicable to those entering or actively involved in their careers, although it does apply to many situations. Security is another way of saying boring, unchallenging, poor paying, or unrewarding... a great way to sleep through your life. The reason why it's secure is because no one else wants it.
When we entered the work force, many of us were told that job security was important, so was employee loyalty, future pension benefits, all the perks of being a good company man or woman. These ideas are as worthless as some of the guidance provided by our school counselors. The great rewards in life always involve risk... often great risk. The best carnival rides are exciting because you think that you have overcome some great personal risk, such as falling out of an inverted roller-coaster car. Most of what we perceive as risks in life are as real as those at the carnival. Shunning security in all aspects of your life will put life in your life. Lou Kuhlman's email address is webekuhlmans@msn.com
John Stalberg, 1962
I would tell all kids to take Spanish.forget French Latin or German. Of course, who knew? But the most important advice for those coming up now is read, read and read some more. The more you read, the more one likes it- we didn't have video games, 600 channels, VCRs and now TIVOs, but we had TV, sports, records and of course radio. Matter of fact I did a lot of reading while listening to Alan Freed, Cousin Brucie, Peter Tripp and Murray the K. But reading is the key to speaking, writing, spelling, vocabulary etc. Helps a lot on SATs too. Problem is I can't get any kid to listen-they're too busy listening to their iPODs.
When you figure what your interests are, try to find a mentor, someone you look up to, who is good or great at what he does, is very experienced and has your best interests at heart. You don't want someone who sees you as future competition. Better to be a non friend, non family, so you get objective feedback. My year and half with Dr. Pollack at USC is with me every day. He was way ahead of his time; he knew the importance of LEGAL medicine years before Court TV; basically academically he was my idol, and not just me. Everybody who trained with him agrees. As an aside, Pollack was from Newark NJ, so there was the East coast connection. I had the East Coast bias, still do, but less. Everybody with a brain can't be from California and fit that mold. John Stalberg's email address is doctordoowop@hotmail.com
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Newsletter Editor: Frank Barning 1960, fbarning@yahoo.com
posted 2005.07.11 - last edited 2008.04.11
Copyright 2004, blue-dragons.com and Frank Barning
