Update 5-8-07

Hi,

Business first:  the count on the Tampio/Gibson scholarships -- they're just about funded for this year.  We have $465 for the one honoring Vince, and $423 for the one honoring Booker.  Please make any final checks out to:  Rich Eisbrouch, and send them to me at:  23030 Dolorosa Street, Woodland Hills, California  91367.  In the bottom left corner of the check, indicate which award you're supporting or if you want your contribution split between the awards.  Thanks.
   
    From Claire Brush Reinhardt:  Thanks so much for sharing the memories of Vince Tampio.  As I told you once before, I had tried several times after graduation to find him, especially when the class of '62 had its first reunion, but, alas, to no avail.  I did and still do think of him often, and I always wanted him to know what a positive influence he was for so many people.  Even though my class graduated the first year that Vince was at South, and we only really knew him for that one year, it was a great year, and I know that so many of us benefited from his knowledge, experience, and friendship.  I hope that somehow he knows now how very much he was appreciated and admired.
   
    From Andrea Schwartz Neenan:  I appreciated and enjoyed reading about Vince Tampio.  He was my favorite teacher, mentor, and friend during my junior and senior years.
   
    From Barnet Kellman:  No doubt like many of our classmates I was a huge fan of the "Steve Allen Show," and no part of that show was funnier than the “Man on the Street” -- except maybe the “Nairobi Trio.”  Anyone who remembers Steve Allen will, of course, remember Tom Poston, who just died.  I was surprised (and sad) to learn of his passing as I had worked with him for the first time two years ago on a one-season show called “Committed.”  There was no sense of age or illness about the guy.  He was sharp as hell and truly one of the very funniest people I've ever worked with.  And a hell of a nice guy.
   
    From Tom Romano for Jean Cohen Oklan:  Although I do not remember the incident Jean refers to in Mrs. Newman's third grade class, I cannot believe I passed on the opportunity to kiss her.  Ordinarily, I would have gone along with my buddies, Ziggie (Paul Zegler) and Eric Hilton. The only thing I can offer in my defense is that I had a crush on Bonnie Black that year.  Perhaps I did not want to be considered a two-timer.  For what it is worth, I did kiss Bonnie on the last day of school -- that took an enormous amount of courage.  I had big plans for Bonnie and me in the fall, but she moved that summer.
   
    From Paul Zegler:  I was very pleased to read Jean Cohen Oklan's remembrance of a third grade kiss in that musty smelling coat room.  It was very exciting then.  What Jean didn't know was that since she was the only Jewish girl in the class, she unknowingly created a kissing frenzy for the horny Jewish boys like Eric Hilton and me.  Though I remember a much more exciting kiss at our sixth grade graduation party at Bob Rossi's house, where we played Spin the Bottle.  After spinning, the bottle pointed to Jean, and I took her into a dark closet to the strains of "Venus" by Frankie Avalon to do some serious kissing.  No tongue, but still very heart-pounding and very enjoyable.  Thanks, Jean.
        Moving on, to the question of whether Cooky's had a basement:  the answer is yes, though I like to think of it as a lower level.  We had the reception for my first wedding there.  It was lots of fun... I think.
        Finally, does anyone remember coming home from the beach and stopping off at the Texas Ranger in Long Beach?  There was that big neon sign of a cowboy on horseback and great hot dogs and fries.  Ahhhhh, the good old days.
   
    Hi, again, folks.  Moss is Maine here:  Jean Cohen Oklan’s recollection of the “hot sex” closet scene in Mrs. Newman’s class brought back a whole bunch of memories for me as part of the Brooklyn Avenue School group that got together at our 37th reunion and had a wonderful time taking pictures and talking.  I think the photos are still on the class home page.
        Do any of you Brooklyn Avenue-ites remember Mrs. Ward, our fifth grade teacher?  I remember she had a passion for anything purple, and one year we got together with her husband and hid him in the closet behind her desk with a purple birthday cake and a bouquet of purple flowers.  She was teaching the class with her back to the closet, and he popped out with the cake.  I remember it nearly gave her a heart attack, but we loved the fact that she was so surprised!  She was a very nice person, as were Mrs. Newman, and our fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Petraglia, and our sixth teacher, Mrs. Endicott.  And Peter, was the Shore Diner the one that was right by the railroad tracks at the Gibson station?  I remembered it had great food but couldn’t remember the name of it.
        Hope all is well with everyone.
   
    From Lynn Nudelman Villagran:  The stories from Irene, Jean, Ira, and Peter made me laugh.  Thanks for the memories.  Jean's story about a cloak room reminded me of a story from Harbor Road School and Miss Neubauer's class.  I don't remember which grade it was, possibly second, but someone locked poor Miss Neubauer in the closet.  The class thought it was funny, but I, the future social worker, felt empathy for her and unlocked the door.  Does anyone else recall this?
   
    From Jean Cohen Oklan:  Our family house at 19 Cherry Street is currently up "For Sale," since my mom can no longer live there by herself.  My siblings and I are sad to have to say farewell to the house we grew up in, and we will miss not being able to have our seders and family gatherings there.  This will begin a new chapter in our lives that I'm sure many of you have already experienced.
   
    From Robert Fiveson, random memories:  Ira, I was there when Tuerk liberated that microphone.  We needed it, and the Lapides Bungalow Colony in upstate New York had more than one.  It was there, too, that one day we decided to visit Barbara Dorin at her summer camp nearby -- we could have found our way to her on pheromones and testosterone alone.  We didn't have a car, in fact, we didn't have drivers' licenses yet since we were all of fifteen, so we borrowed Jay's dad's really nice, red convertible -- without him knowing.  Flying along, top down, radio blaring, on two-lane, twisty upstate roads, we were heading down a really steep hill when a hard right turn came up at the bottom.  Jay was driving waaaay too fast, and midway through the turn, he yelled, "Hold on!  We're not going to make it!"  We didn't, either.  The car spun out, went across the road at the turn, screeched onto the opposite shoulder, did a 360 as it careened back onto and across the road to the other side, and then started to slide sideways on the opposite soft dirt shoulder.  Then time stood still while the car, still facing sideways, built up dirt against the driver's side while simultaneously starting to roll over.  The side I was on began lifting into the air, and just at the tipping point to topple onto me and crush me to death, it paused for literally a lifetime -- that was the first time my life passed in front of my eyes and I hated the film.  Then the car fell back to earth with a huge crashing thud, and a cloud of dirt enveloped us completely.  Total silence, then Jay and I looked at each other, and after a few "You OK's?" we climbed out to look at the car.  Three flats.  We managed to get a repair truck and after several hours limped back to the hotel with the car.  And, as if God had not shined his love upon us already, the very same parking spot we lifted the car from was open.  Years later, I was visiting Jay, and we went to see his parents.  That night, we admitted to his dad what we had done.  His dad then said he had always wondered how he managed to bend the rear axle of that car without ever having done a thing.
        By the way, that same microphone was in use the night Ira Mitzner had an appointment and had to show up late at a gig the Fabulars had, I seem to remember in a backyard in East Meadow.  No problem -- Ira's thirteen-year-old brother could fill in.  Ira is still amazed at how drunk we got the poor kid in the little time he was in our care.
        Then there's the story about the monkey, but I sense I'm about to start channeling Jean Shepherd, and I have used up my time on the floor...
   
    From Hy Rosov to Barbara Blitfield Pech:  It was only yesterday that I organized your 20th reunion, a buffet affair at $31 per person at the Coral House in Baldwin.  My loyal helpers were Robert Fiveson, Irene Saunders, Ira Levy, and Barbara Blittfield.  There were a few others, but my yellowed notes only reflect the above names.
        I can remember your yearbook was one of finest published in my twenty-five years as adviser.  As I thumb through the Legend, I remember at least five or more students on every page.  The top thirty or so I remember vividly are:  Paul Zegler, Barnet Zinger, Tom Velardi, Danny Stellabotte, Karen Stagg, Pete Rosen, Valerie Nelson, Laura Littner, Rich Lobell, James Lachere, Greg Kaplan, Jim Karl, Barnet Kellman, Stu Kandel, John Hubbard, Zelda Genin, Andrea Gladstone, Roberta Freeman, Diane Fruzetti, Robert Fiveson, Judy Fingerhut, Alan Feldman, Linda Felton, Emily Ferber, Ellen Epstein, Carol Ewig, Andy Dolich, Tom Connelly, Barry Cohen, Barbara Brill, Tom Calise, Barbara Blittfield, Joan Bouza, Fran Bellucci, Allan Bendel, Jay Berliner, and Jerry Bitman.  I'm sure I may have left out a few more.  I had a great time working on the Legend and eventually serving as adviser to the Southern Bell for fifteen years and coaching soccer, basketball, and track.  Although I began at South in my early thirties, I always identified with every senior class and felt like a member of the class.  Teaching at South was one of the greatest experiences in my life.  If any of the above students own a computer, I would love to hear from you.  I am still teaching at seventy-eight and hope to finally retire next year and devote my time to writing and silver sculpturing.
   
    From Barbara Blitfield Pech to Hy Rosov:  Personally, I have never since known and can't imagine a finer group of people to be associated with.  Just reading the names brings back a million fond memories and solid life directives.  You will always hold a dear place in my heart as a great teacher, mentor, and friend.  Thank you.
        And while we have found another path to wander down memory lane, I just wanted to thank the marching band for keeping me completely sound and visually focused out the school's front windows during the six years at South.  I still get chills when I hear a radio station play Sy Zentner's "Up a Lazy River," only it was played better by the South band, in memory and in reality.
   
    From Emily Kleinman Schreiber:  If anyone has been living in the past, it's me.  It's warm and fuzzy back there.  This job, being Alumni Association president, makes me feel like I'm a kid again.  That wasn't hard for me to do since I don't think I've grown up yet.  I wonder what that feels like?
         About the make-out parties:  we older kids also had them, and they were back in 6th grade.  I'm sure I mentioned this a few years back, but I'll tell it again.  I can still picture the Big Five -- really Eleven, but one of the girls was so little, we considered her a half.  Most of the boys were smaller than the girls back then.  In fact, looking at me now, it's hard to imagine that I was once tall.  That party was at Fran Gibel's house on Cloverfield Road South.  It was at Christmastime because I remember some mistletoe hanging from the basement ceiling -- the Green Acres houses had great big basements.  In order for the boys to kiss the girls, except for our halfer, they had to first climb up on a chair.  I must say that I was a nervous wreck, and my lavender sleeveless blouse had perspiration rings forming at the bottom of arm opening.  How embarrassing.  We played Spin the Bottle, and I have no idea who kissed me or who I kissed, but it was fun.  Don't you think that game would liven up the parties you go to now?  Youth is definitely wasted on the young.  When we were planning the Fifty Year Celebration at South last year, I suggested that we have a Sock Hop and play Spin the Bottle.  Dr. Lando just looked at me.  Anyway, I still think that would have been more fun than the silent auction.
        Enough rambling for now.  Best to everyone.
   
    Finally, from Evelyn Roedel Read '59:  I really look forward to these updates.  Every time I start reading one, the TV show -- and tune -- "Happy Days" starts playing in my head.   
         Brooklyn Avenue School and the theater were mentioned in the last newsletter, which brought back memories.  On Fridays, different colored movie theater flyers were given out in class at Brooklyn Avenue.  On Saturday, we would head to the theater on Rockaway Avenue and look to see if the color flyer we were handed was displayed in the booth.  If it was, we were entitled to enter for free.
         On Rockaway Avenue, there was a joke store where one could buy things like buzzers to conceal in the palm when shaking hands with someone and plastic dog poo to place strategically on the rug of a dog owner.  My brother Walter, class of '61, was always playing practical jokes on me, so I purchased a lifelike, five-foot tall, jointed cardboard skeleton and luminous paint.  In a friend's basement, I painted all the bones with this paint, and I figured out how to fasten the skeleton's head to my head so I could move it, and I made tabs to hold behind the hands.  In my bedroom that night, I removed the shade from my table lamp and held the bright light close to all the paint.  While Walter was sleeping, I slipped into his bedroom and closed the door to block the hallway light.  I opened his closet door at the foot of his bed and went inside.  Then I began making all kinds of scary noises.  That woke him, and then I worked the skeleton head and arms to make it look real.  Walter was able to find his bedroom door from the light coming under the bottom edge, and he ran hollering downstairs to Mom and Dad.  I slipped out of his room, quickly folded the skeleton up, slipped it under my mattress, and got into bed, pretending to be asleep as I heard Mom coming up the stairs.  I guess she convinced Walter that this apparition was just a bad dream, but I finally got him!
         Years later, at our two-room summer bungalow in Southampton, Walter had the top bunk and I had the bottom.  The room was barely the width of the army bunks and, for air, I faced the open side and slept at the edge of the mattress.  Being terrified of spiders -- one had run across my grandmother's face when she'd slept there a short time before -- each night, I would check the bed with a flashlight before climbing in, looking between each sheet, under the bed, and on the nearby walls.  One night, as I tried to fall asleep, I felt a spider move across my face.  I hastily jumped out of bed and turned on the flashlight to find the critter.  After much searching, I reluctantly got back into bed.  Needless to say, I lay awake waiting for the spider's return.  It was years later that I learned that the "spider" was a big, balled-up wad of thread swung from the upper bunk by Walter who -- lying on his stomach -- patiently kept fishing with the thread until he got me.  I sure do miss my little brother.