Update 9-14-04
Hi,
I was going to start with something else, but Booker Gibson just called, which would have been exceptional enough, but, unfortunately, he phoned with sad news. Tom McPartland, who was organizing the Class of '64 reunion this past weekend, collapsed Friday night at the first party. From what Booker can determine, Tom's OK, but he's supposedly still at the South Side Hospital in Islip. If any of you know Tom and call his family, please give him and them our best. I think his home phone, as listed last week, is: 516-456-5758
Here's what I was going to start with -- since it is a presidential election year -- from Jerry Bittman: Several weeks ago, I wrote a column that appeared on the editorial page in the Kearney Hub which is owned by the Omaha World Herald. Many people told me how great it was, and my daughter mentioned that some teachers told her how powerful it was. Well, a couple days ago, I saw how Bush said he mourned the loss of over 1,000 Americans in Iraq. So I proceeded to call the Kerry-Edwards headquarters in Washington, DC My contact there was named David. I also spoke with him several weeks ago, when I called and suggested that Kerry go on the offensive. The other day, I suggested that Kerry ask Bush how many of the funerals Bush attended. We all know the answer is ZERO. Well, I was informed that the subject would be too sensitive for Kerry to ask, BUT that another Democrat would bring it up.
I then mentioned the article that I had written and David asked me to read it to him. When I was finished, he remarked how great it was. He then said that both parties will take articles written by citizens and send them to papers across the nation. I was asked to send them the article, which I did, that same day, and they said they would send it out. Naturally, he could not tell me which -- or if any -- papers would print the article. Nevertheless, I was quite honored and flattered.
Here is the article. It is addressed to Carolyn Scheidies, a Republican writer, and to the
Republican party:
Since Carolyn Scheidies is such an expert on politics (what is her background here?), I'd like to ask her and the Republican party a few questions:
Can Scheidies please inform us how many times President Bush has come to Nebraska during the reign of his administration? And please don't include 9/11/01, when they were trying to keep him out of harm's way.
Can Scheidies please inform us why Republican Representative Doug Bereuter of Lincoln declared the war in Iraq was not justified, and how, because of the war, our country's reputation is at its lowest of all time?
Can Scheidies please inform us how in a period of two years Bin Laden has gone from being WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE to it not being imperative that we capture him, according to the President?
Can Scheidies please inform us why no members of the Bush and Cheney clan are now fighting in Iraq. Or do Bush and Cheney feel the same as Bill O'Reilly of Fox News, who said he would NOT send his son to Iraq?
Can Scheidies please inform us -- with the American death toll in Iraq now over 1,000 -- how many funerals of servicemen the President has attended? (Answer -- Zero.)
Can Scheidies please inform us why the Bush Administration has banned all taking of photos of American draped coffins? Is this not a ban on one of our greatest freedoms?
Can Scheidies please inform us why any rhetoric about anti-Bush statements supposedly comes from radical Liberals -- yet Scheidies and others justify the Bush administration's right to criticize whomever they want?
Can Scheidies please inform us how Vice President Cheney went on "Meet The Press" and said with a straight face that neither he nor the White House had any doings in Halliburton being granted government contracts in Iraq -- in which Halliburton overcharged our government for services -- when in effect proof has come out that they indeed aided Halliburton?
Can Scheidies please inform us how we went from having a budget surplus to having the largest deficit of all time?
Can Scheidies please inform us how during this Administration's tenure more jobs were lost than at any other time in the past 75 years?
Can Scheidies please inform us why during the Bush Administration more leases were granted by the Bureau of Land Management, but they are not being used?
Can Scheidies please inform us where President Bush and Vice President Cheney were during the Viet Nam War?
After 9/11, like many other Americans, I was behind the President. But with lies coming out of his and Vice President Cheney's mouths and no Weapons of Mass Destruction discovered, and with the loss of American lives, and many other people's dreams being destroyed, I changed my stance.
And finally if Scheidies believes this article is being written by a Democrat, she is wrong. In my lifetime, I have voted for four Republican Presidential candidates.
(Note: since this article was published, Carolyn Scheidies has not had the convictions to respond. Also, did everyone see in the news the other day that Tony Blair -- Bush's biggest international ally -- has refused to endorse him in this election?)
On two entirely different subjects, from Zelda White Nichols: Having lived there for 25 years, I find it hard to believe that Massachusetts has the safest drivers. Several years ago, AAA ran a survey that proved Massachusetts drivers were the rudest and most aggressive. I would have to agree with that. Whenever we see someone weaving in and out on our roads here in San Diego, we always say, "They must be from Massachusetts."
Also, my mom lives in Pompano Beach, Florida, right smack on the ocean; she doesn't even have to cross the road to get to it. She evacuated on Tuesday to a hotel in Tamarack, which is quite a way inland. I hope Barbara Pech was as safe as my mom was. As much damage as this hurricane caused, I just came to the realization that I would much rather live in an area of hurricanes than of fires. At least, you get notice several days in advance that a hurricane is expected, so that you can prepare and get out. After being in three major fires in six years, my husband and I are seriously looking to move to North Carolina, although when you come out to our mountains in East County you realize there isn't much left to burn. All one can see is black and brown mountainsides, even more bare where hydroseeding was done -- it never took and the earth still has an odd yellow color. Eleven months later, people are just starting to rebuild, though many find their losses too painful to handle and are moving out of the state. I wonder if those who suffered loss of homes and pets in the Florida hurricanes will feel the same and leave there.
More on the storms, from Marc Fishman: Even though Frances was enormous, short distances can make a huge difference in the amount of damage. We live about 30 miles south of Delray Beach. Our community lost some trees, lots of branches, and we lost power for most of a day. My father lives in Delray and stayed with us. His community has been without power, telephone, or cell phone service for about three days, and many more trees are down. There seems to be minimal damage to homes in south Florida.
Somewhat differently, from Allen Moss: Hey Barnet. Hope you and your family are well. No need to worry about your memory. It has served you very well with regard to my comments about Elliot's beautiful convertible. I should have been more specific to say that it was a 1964 Ford Galaxie 500 Sunliner. There is a great picture of one on the website HubcapCafe.com. The Galaxie line was introduced in the early 1960s and included a number of body styles including a convertible. Remember the Ford models that had that bizarre hard-top "convertible" that disappeared into the trunk? That was a "Starliner." They had to discontinue that model after a few years because the springs kept breaking and the top would fall into the trunk! But they kept the "Sunliner" on for a few more years. Sorry folks, if I am boring you with the trivia. But after owning a vintage auto for eight years, I have gotten hooked! Hope everyone is enjoying the tail end of summer.
From Steve Gootzeit: To Barnet Kellman -- I don't recall Elliott's parents having a Ford Galaxie convertible, just that his mother called him something funny that, for Elliot's sake, I fortunately can't remember.
From Grace Dibble Kincade by way of Barbara Blitfield Pech: We are thrilled to be grandparents again!
From Al Raitano '61 by way of Emily Kleinman Schreiber '61: I finally received word from New York, and my first performance at the San Gennero Festival in Manhattan will be on Thursday, September 16th at 7:30. I will probably do two shows that day. The next day, Friday, the 17th, I will do a late afternoon show at 4:00 PM. That's all I know so far, and as to where the performance will be, I don't know yet. But I believe it's outside, so I shouldn't be too hard to find. Please let everyone know, and I hope to see some of the gang there.
[Rich -- More from my phone conversation with Booker: Despite Tom McPartland's being ill, Booker said the Class of '64's reunion went on and was a lot of fun. He was only there Saturday night, but still saw several other former teachers, including Ed Schmidt and Joe Caruso. Booker also wanted to assure Allen Moss, Thomas Romano, and any others, that young Mr. Seaman, the Biology teacher, eventually turned out to be very good, and he only retired after 30 years. Also, something I didn't know, either from Lawrence Levy's article about Forest Road School or from recent reports about South, is that though the student bodies of both schools may now be nicely mixed, the faculty still isn't so well integrated.]
Finally, from Andy Dolich: Being one of South's most hopeless math students, please forgive my possibly incorrect figgerin' -- that's math in Memphis. But I would like to suggest to Paul DeMartino that the next, and last, reunion take place in 2047. That would make it our 82nd, meaning that a majority of us would be in the ozone layer and others in vegetative states. Still, a select few can actually compare notes on how their favorite shop projects turned out, however impaired or nonexistent their memories may be. I will forward you my address in late '46.
(Actually, Andy relented and said we could contact him as early as late '45.)
Rich
Saturday, February 18, 2017
Update 9-7-04
Hey,
Labor Day's gone. Two more months till the election. Meanwhile, some other news many of us have been curious about.
From Paul DeMartino: There seems to be something in the air about the 40th reunion. There's no established date yet, though April may be OK again, because Easter is in March next year, or we may get a better price in the summer. We also have not selected a site, though we may use the same hotel as the last time. Our committee plans to meet within the next two weeks to finalize our game plan, and hopefully we'll have the selection made by 10/1/04. This should allow everyone enough time to comment and rearrange schedules. We'll try to make everyone happy, but you know how hard that is. Meanwhile, thanks for your patience.
And if you've absolutely got to go to a reunion this weekend, a reminder that the Class of '64 is having their 40th. When: Friday, September 10th and Saturday, September 11th. Where: the same place we had our 37th -- the Wyndham Windwatch Hotel and Hamlet Golf Club in Hauppauge. What: They will have a hospitality suite and a Saturday buffet dinner. Details: If you want to attend, contact Tom McPartland, either by phone at: 516-456-5758, or by e-mail at: tommcp@ptd.net
Next, a series of hurricane reports, mainly from Barbara Blitfield Pech in Miami:
9-3: ITINERARY CHANGE: I will be at the Hurricane Hilton (formerly the Pech Palace) for the big B.J. (Hurricane Frances). Orlando is not a good travel choice, for obvious reasons and then some. As hurricane is scheduled to make a direct hit in the area of central Florida, the highways and all roads outta here are JAMMED with bazillions of mandatory evacuations and residents of barrier islands and beach front properties --see, being "poor" has it's advantages. I can just stay in my modest, but inland, home and watch it blow away, rather than come back to it after a miserable repast in a shelter. YOU ARE WELCOME TO JOIN ME here if you wish to share the experience or need a place to hang out during the Labor Day weekend. Note: some of the amenities have been suspended -- poolside sunning and golf will be replaced by white water rafting, and parasailing; weekend gourmet meals may be limited to what is still frozen after the power goes out, or canned foods if I can find the manual can opener. Bring (dry) fire wood, as local wood may be used for the ark or may have to be cut from fallen trees on roof of house! Candles good. Scented candle not good. But anything that can be rolled and lit BETTER! (Hey, I said it's gonna be a longgggg couple of days, and nights -- gotta do what ya gotta do!) I will keep in touch as long as the power, and the powers that be, stay on the good side!
9-4: Hi there. To date, I am bored out of my mind just waiting for this to "hit." I just pray that I can say the same thing hours from now. Miami is huge, to say the least -- the physical size of Brooklyn. I am 40 miles inland from the beaches, but my area is called Kendall Lakes, for all the obvious reasons, and my house boasts an elevation of 9 feet above sea level -- almost a mountain top for Miami. We "flood" in heavy rain storms, but have no prior experience with what we're about to go through. The evacuation center is the local high school, 1/2 a block from the house, so I am stickin' home to "protect" the manor. And to be here for the neighbors as we set up the bbq's to cook all the defrosting meat and guzzle the kegs that have been "procured" for the event. In the event of a power failure, beer needs to be cold or it's worthless. Steaks and chops will be the afterthought and reason to start fires. (Jeez, do I sound like Bevis or Butthead? Eek -- GET ME OUTTA HERE!) By the way, "your own is your own." In the last 2 days, I've gotten calls, e-mails, etc., from "our classmates," or rather some very dear concerned friends. Terri Donohue, now a Florida resident, has been chatting up the idea for a Florida Hurricane survivors brunch. Personally, I'm ready NOW! All else quiet -- too quiet. I MISS the sunshine and the daily reality of taken-for-granted routine life. Besides, I am having a difficult time navigating through the house with assorted patio, pool, and plant/outdoor items that are now indoors. SEND HELP NOW -- or a few extra rooms to store the "outside" in!
9-5 -- 1:00 PM: Just a few MORE hours until Frances FINALLY passes over Miami. Thankfully, I'm none the worse for it Lost a few tree branches and my mind during these long 3 days of waiting and waiting and waitingggggg. I suppose that as we get more experienced in preparedness for the durations, I will learn to take bigger risks. I shopped for non-perishables in lieu of power failures and prolonged outages, but DAMN if Florida Plunder & Loot (our local electric provider) hasn't even flickered the lights. And me just sitting here without so much as a scoop of Hagen Daz or Ben & Jerry. Even generic store brand is starting to sound real good! Hmmm, maybe the wind isn't so bad after all. Heck, I can drive to the store faster than the winds' 55mph!..ya think? Seriously, all seems to be good. I will update you on details if there are any changes, but not my weight after I break outta here!
9-5 -- 5:30 PM: You should know me well enough by now to acknowledge that ice cream is just the header on the [long] list. I have no illusions about the rest of the week. Back to office Tuesday on what promises to be a gorgeous sunny day -- to wait for Ivan, expected to hit Florida next weekend. Now, what's WRONG with this scenario??? Note to self: leave storm shutters up. Buy generator and ice cream!
From Eric Hilton 9-5 -- 7:00 PM: As I type this to you, we’re getting the shit blown out of us here in Sarasota, but not as bad as we thought. So far, no flooding. Just lots of rain and lots of wind.
From Terri Donohue Calamari in Naples: Just got my computer up and running for the first time since Charley. All is well, and it looks like Frances will pass us by.
From a college friend near Key West: The fish in our water are doing odd things and acting confused. I assume it's related to all the turbulence from the hurricane.
In other, less dramatic, news, first from Allen Moss to Thomas Romano: You are absolutely right -- Mr. Seaman did get dubbed "the Mongoose." As soon as I read your anecdote, the name came back to me. Not quite sure, either, why the name. The front row of the class was the "Mongoose Firing Line." There was Bone, Elliot Weinger, myself, and a few others I can't quite remember. When he did one of his famous voice squeaks and/or fumbles with the chalk, eraser, etc., the comments flew -- and they were far from "sotto voce." What an incredible bunch of cruel bastards we were!
And from Barnet Kellman to Allen Moss: I don’t remember much these days, but I’d swear Elliott’s parents' convertible was a Ford Galaxie.
News Bulletin from Swift Boats in Nebraska: My name is Jerry Bittman, and I approve this message. (For further political bulletins from Swift Boats in Nebraska, contact Jerry directly at: crazygeronimo@yahoo.com and ask to be added to his mailing list.)
Some exercise advice from Robert Fiveson, aware that, technically, most of us aren't actually "seniors": I just came across this exercise suggested for seniors, to build muscle strength in the arms and shoulders. It seems so easy, I thought I'd pass it on. The article suggested doing it three days a week.
Begin by standing on a comfortable surface, where you have plenty of room at each side. With a 5-lb. potato sack in each hand, extend your arms straight out from your sides, and hold them there as long as you can. Try to reach a full minute, then relax. Each day, you'll find that you can hold this position for just a bit longer.
After a couple of weeks, move up to 10-lb. potato sacks, then 50-lb. potato sacks, and eventually try to get to where you can lift a 100-lb. potato sack in each hand and hold your arms straight for more than a full minute. After you feel confident at that level, put a potato in each of the sacks. But be careful.
Also from Robert, to be checked out when you have, say, a little extra time: She is my new Truth -- http://www.chickenhead.com/loserscopes/0604.asp
Finally, some surprising news for those of us in California who figure death on the freeway is inevitable: It turns out you can die more readily in a car accident in Nebraska than in California. Nebraska is ranked twenty-second worst in the country, while California is merely thirty-seventh. Wyoming is the worst. Massachusetts is the safest, with New York right behind Massachusetts, then Connecticut and New Jersey. It seems congested traffic saves lives. This is all according to the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration.
Rich
Hey,
Labor Day's gone. Two more months till the election. Meanwhile, some other news many of us have been curious about.
From Paul DeMartino: There seems to be something in the air about the 40th reunion. There's no established date yet, though April may be OK again, because Easter is in March next year, or we may get a better price in the summer. We also have not selected a site, though we may use the same hotel as the last time. Our committee plans to meet within the next two weeks to finalize our game plan, and hopefully we'll have the selection made by 10/1/04. This should allow everyone enough time to comment and rearrange schedules. We'll try to make everyone happy, but you know how hard that is. Meanwhile, thanks for your patience.
And if you've absolutely got to go to a reunion this weekend, a reminder that the Class of '64 is having their 40th. When: Friday, September 10th and Saturday, September 11th. Where: the same place we had our 37th -- the Wyndham Windwatch Hotel and Hamlet Golf Club in Hauppauge. What: They will have a hospitality suite and a Saturday buffet dinner. Details: If you want to attend, contact Tom McPartland, either by phone at: 516-456-5758, or by e-mail at: tommcp@ptd.net
Next, a series of hurricane reports, mainly from Barbara Blitfield Pech in Miami:
9-3: ITINERARY CHANGE: I will be at the Hurricane Hilton (formerly the Pech Palace) for the big B.J. (Hurricane Frances). Orlando is not a good travel choice, for obvious reasons and then some. As hurricane is scheduled to make a direct hit in the area of central Florida, the highways and all roads outta here are JAMMED with bazillions of mandatory evacuations and residents of barrier islands and beach front properties --see, being "poor" has it's advantages. I can just stay in my modest, but inland, home and watch it blow away, rather than come back to it after a miserable repast in a shelter. YOU ARE WELCOME TO JOIN ME here if you wish to share the experience or need a place to hang out during the Labor Day weekend. Note: some of the amenities have been suspended -- poolside sunning and golf will be replaced by white water rafting, and parasailing; weekend gourmet meals may be limited to what is still frozen after the power goes out, or canned foods if I can find the manual can opener. Bring (dry) fire wood, as local wood may be used for the ark or may have to be cut from fallen trees on roof of house! Candles good. Scented candle not good. But anything that can be rolled and lit BETTER! (Hey, I said it's gonna be a longgggg couple of days, and nights -- gotta do what ya gotta do!) I will keep in touch as long as the power, and the powers that be, stay on the good side!
9-4: Hi there. To date, I am bored out of my mind just waiting for this to "hit." I just pray that I can say the same thing hours from now. Miami is huge, to say the least -- the physical size of Brooklyn. I am 40 miles inland from the beaches, but my area is called Kendall Lakes, for all the obvious reasons, and my house boasts an elevation of 9 feet above sea level -- almost a mountain top for Miami. We "flood" in heavy rain storms, but have no prior experience with what we're about to go through. The evacuation center is the local high school, 1/2 a block from the house, so I am stickin' home to "protect" the manor. And to be here for the neighbors as we set up the bbq's to cook all the defrosting meat and guzzle the kegs that have been "procured" for the event. In the event of a power failure, beer needs to be cold or it's worthless. Steaks and chops will be the afterthought and reason to start fires. (Jeez, do I sound like Bevis or Butthead? Eek -- GET ME OUTTA HERE!) By the way, "your own is your own." In the last 2 days, I've gotten calls, e-mails, etc., from "our classmates," or rather some very dear concerned friends. Terri Donohue, now a Florida resident, has been chatting up the idea for a Florida Hurricane survivors brunch. Personally, I'm ready NOW! All else quiet -- too quiet. I MISS the sunshine and the daily reality of taken-for-granted routine life. Besides, I am having a difficult time navigating through the house with assorted patio, pool, and plant/outdoor items that are now indoors. SEND HELP NOW -- or a few extra rooms to store the "outside" in!
9-5 -- 1:00 PM: Just a few MORE hours until Frances FINALLY passes over Miami. Thankfully, I'm none the worse for it Lost a few tree branches and my mind during these long 3 days of waiting and waiting and waitingggggg. I suppose that as we get more experienced in preparedness for the durations, I will learn to take bigger risks. I shopped for non-perishables in lieu of power failures and prolonged outages, but DAMN if Florida Plunder & Loot (our local electric provider) hasn't even flickered the lights. And me just sitting here without so much as a scoop of Hagen Daz or Ben & Jerry. Even generic store brand is starting to sound real good! Hmmm, maybe the wind isn't so bad after all. Heck, I can drive to the store faster than the winds' 55mph!..ya think? Seriously, all seems to be good. I will update you on details if there are any changes, but not my weight after I break outta here!
9-5 -- 5:30 PM: You should know me well enough by now to acknowledge that ice cream is just the header on the [long] list. I have no illusions about the rest of the week. Back to office Tuesday on what promises to be a gorgeous sunny day -- to wait for Ivan, expected to hit Florida next weekend. Now, what's WRONG with this scenario??? Note to self: leave storm shutters up. Buy generator and ice cream!
From Eric Hilton 9-5 -- 7:00 PM: As I type this to you, we’re getting the shit blown out of us here in Sarasota, but not as bad as we thought. So far, no flooding. Just lots of rain and lots of wind.
From Terri Donohue Calamari in Naples: Just got my computer up and running for the first time since Charley. All is well, and it looks like Frances will pass us by.
From a college friend near Key West: The fish in our water are doing odd things and acting confused. I assume it's related to all the turbulence from the hurricane.
In other, less dramatic, news, first from Allen Moss to Thomas Romano: You are absolutely right -- Mr. Seaman did get dubbed "the Mongoose." As soon as I read your anecdote, the name came back to me. Not quite sure, either, why the name. The front row of the class was the "Mongoose Firing Line." There was Bone, Elliot Weinger, myself, and a few others I can't quite remember. When he did one of his famous voice squeaks and/or fumbles with the chalk, eraser, etc., the comments flew -- and they were far from "sotto voce." What an incredible bunch of cruel bastards we were!
And from Barnet Kellman to Allen Moss: I don’t remember much these days, but I’d swear Elliott’s parents' convertible was a Ford Galaxie.
News Bulletin from Swift Boats in Nebraska: My name is Jerry Bittman, and I approve this message. (For further political bulletins from Swift Boats in Nebraska, contact Jerry directly at: crazygeronimo@yahoo.com and ask to be added to his mailing list.)
Some exercise advice from Robert Fiveson, aware that, technically, most of us aren't actually "seniors": I just came across this exercise suggested for seniors, to build muscle strength in the arms and shoulders. It seems so easy, I thought I'd pass it on. The article suggested doing it three days a week.
Begin by standing on a comfortable surface, where you have plenty of room at each side. With a 5-lb. potato sack in each hand, extend your arms straight out from your sides, and hold them there as long as you can. Try to reach a full minute, then relax. Each day, you'll find that you can hold this position for just a bit longer.
After a couple of weeks, move up to 10-lb. potato sacks, then 50-lb. potato sacks, and eventually try to get to where you can lift a 100-lb. potato sack in each hand and hold your arms straight for more than a full minute. After you feel confident at that level, put a potato in each of the sacks. But be careful.
Also from Robert, to be checked out when you have, say, a little extra time: She is my new Truth -- http://www.chickenhead.com/loserscopes/0604.asp
Finally, some surprising news for those of us in California who figure death on the freeway is inevitable: It turns out you can die more readily in a car accident in Nebraska than in California. Nebraska is ranked twenty-second worst in the country, while California is merely thirty-seventh. Wyoming is the worst. Massachusetts is the safest, with New York right behind Massachusetts, then Connecticut and New Jersey. It seems congested traffic saves lives. This is all according to the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration.
Rich
Update 8-31-17
Hi,
Now how did we get to the end of August already?
First, from Robert Fiveson: I have to respond to Melody Myles Eckhart's amazing reminiscence last week of working with the Karen. It brought back some bittersweet memories for me, as I have been not only among the Karen, but to the very place described. In my career doing documentaries, I had the privilege of working for four years for the world's second largest private relief organization. If you remember "We Are The World," you have seen my fundraising documentaries. I not only have been to the place described, but I survived a plane crash on a commercial prop commuter Thai Airways flight on my way there -- which resulted in our driving to Mae Sot and allowing me to see the countryside close up.
The Karen are virtually slaves in what used to be called Burma. As the largest indigenous ethnic group, they have been under a repressive Marxist regime for 25+ years. I was the guest of the Karen government-in-exile in a camp in an active war zone on the Thai- Burma border in 1981. At that time, I was shown a piece of a US helicopter that was downed by them. I was asked how it was that a Marxist government was repressing a majority with US-made and supplied equipment and arms (I was traveling as a Canadian, so the question was more intriguing than insulting). The answer was that this area of the world is known as the "Golden Triangle" -- famous for its poppy fields and the resultant heroin. As long as the Burmese pledged to "fight drugs," they were well supplied by the United States. The thing is though, that it is the Burmese themselves who are controlling the flow of opium poppies and garnering the cash. Thus you have a convenient source of money and weapons for a repressive government that has no interest in stopping drugs as it funds its war with the Karen!
I was asked to take the story back to the mainstream media and expose this injustice. They could not have cared less. They had Nicaragua and the Contras on their radar, and that was good enough. (There's another group I was able to spend time with, but that's a story for a different day.)
As I write this, I have a round "coolie" hat made of banana leaves in my office at home. It was given to me by the woman who made the hat. I tried to adopt a child from there, as I was continually surrounded by hundreds of gorgeous kids who had (have) nothing whatsoever. Unfortunately my marriage wasn't strong, and it snapped before that could occur.
The idea that one person can make a difference is more true than any of us can ever imagine.
More from Melody after I forwarded Robert's letter: That was so cool. I really appreciated reading it. He sounds like a wonderful person. When he was there, most of the people I was working with weren't even born, and to think that a whole new generation has come into the world and grown up in the same conditions. I am just sorry that I have opened my eyes so late in my life. There is so much injustice out there, and so many people caught in its ugly web. I just can't understand why it seems so easy to do evil and so hard to do good. And the evil attracts crowds and makes such a noise, while the good attracts a dozen people, and whispers.
On a very different subject, from Thomas Romano: In reply to Allen Moss's comments on Mr. Seaman -- I was wondering when the subject of Mr. Seaman, also known as "The Mongoose," would come up. I believe it was Robert Friedman, also known as "The Bone," who came up with that nickname. (Perhaps we can get some verification of that?) We were absolutely relentless in our persecution of this man. I am not sure I know how it got started, although I suspect I was partially, or largely, to blame. Surprisingly, I actually learned a fair amount of Chemistry that year, which certainly kept me in good stead for my pre-med classes. Anyway, as a class, we should offer this teacher some sort of a belated apology. I am absolutely certain that he thanked God when we graduated!
Something that was supposed to be in last week's newsletter, but got overlooked, from Zelda White Nichols: Just got back from helping my mom celebrate her 90th birthday in Pompano Beach, Florida. Pompano had some trees downed and the cars under them sustained some damage during the hurricane. Fortunately, that was the only damage in the area I was in, and we had no rain. My heart goes out to all the hurricane victims. It's the same type of devastation that we had in California during the fires last October. Whole towns and neighborhoods were wiped out, and it's the same helplessness and shock.
Someone passed these words of wisdom on to me, and I'm sending them on:
Don't Be Afraid to Fail.
You failed many times, although you may not remember.
You fell down the first time you tried to walk.
You almost drowned the first time you tried to swim, didn't you?
Did you hit the ball the first time you swung a bat?
Heavy hitters, the ones who hit the most home runs, also strike out a lot.
R.H. Macy failed seven times before his store in New York caught on.
English novelist John Creasey got 735 rejection slips before he published 564 books.
Babe Ruth struck out 1,330 times, but he also hit 714 home runs.
Don't worry about failure. Worry about the chances you miss when you don't even try.
Finally, from The Associated Press, August 26, 2004: The town of Hempstead, New York has a message for Georgia's Gwinnett County school administrators -- before you target a student wearing a Hempstead shirt, look at a map. Terrell Jones, a student in Gwinnett County's Grayson High School, was weeded out of a classroom by a school administrator because he wore a shirt that read: "Hempstead, NY 516,'' a reference to the Long Island town and its telephone area code. According to Jones' family, which moved from Hempstead to the Atlanta suburb, the school thought the shirt referred to marijuana. Jones wasn't allowed to return to class until he persuaded school officials to search the Internet for the town name.
Rich
Hi,
Now how did we get to the end of August already?
First, from Robert Fiveson: I have to respond to Melody Myles Eckhart's amazing reminiscence last week of working with the Karen. It brought back some bittersweet memories for me, as I have been not only among the Karen, but to the very place described. In my career doing documentaries, I had the privilege of working for four years for the world's second largest private relief organization. If you remember "We Are The World," you have seen my fundraising documentaries. I not only have been to the place described, but I survived a plane crash on a commercial prop commuter Thai Airways flight on my way there -- which resulted in our driving to Mae Sot and allowing me to see the countryside close up.
The Karen are virtually slaves in what used to be called Burma. As the largest indigenous ethnic group, they have been under a repressive Marxist regime for 25+ years. I was the guest of the Karen government-in-exile in a camp in an active war zone on the Thai- Burma border in 1981. At that time, I was shown a piece of a US helicopter that was downed by them. I was asked how it was that a Marxist government was repressing a majority with US-made and supplied equipment and arms (I was traveling as a Canadian, so the question was more intriguing than insulting). The answer was that this area of the world is known as the "Golden Triangle" -- famous for its poppy fields and the resultant heroin. As long as the Burmese pledged to "fight drugs," they were well supplied by the United States. The thing is though, that it is the Burmese themselves who are controlling the flow of opium poppies and garnering the cash. Thus you have a convenient source of money and weapons for a repressive government that has no interest in stopping drugs as it funds its war with the Karen!
I was asked to take the story back to the mainstream media and expose this injustice. They could not have cared less. They had Nicaragua and the Contras on their radar, and that was good enough. (There's another group I was able to spend time with, but that's a story for a different day.)
As I write this, I have a round "coolie" hat made of banana leaves in my office at home. It was given to me by the woman who made the hat. I tried to adopt a child from there, as I was continually surrounded by hundreds of gorgeous kids who had (have) nothing whatsoever. Unfortunately my marriage wasn't strong, and it snapped before that could occur.
The idea that one person can make a difference is more true than any of us can ever imagine.
More from Melody after I forwarded Robert's letter: That was so cool. I really appreciated reading it. He sounds like a wonderful person. When he was there, most of the people I was working with weren't even born, and to think that a whole new generation has come into the world and grown up in the same conditions. I am just sorry that I have opened my eyes so late in my life. There is so much injustice out there, and so many people caught in its ugly web. I just can't understand why it seems so easy to do evil and so hard to do good. And the evil attracts crowds and makes such a noise, while the good attracts a dozen people, and whispers.
On a very different subject, from Thomas Romano: In reply to Allen Moss's comments on Mr. Seaman -- I was wondering when the subject of Mr. Seaman, also known as "The Mongoose," would come up. I believe it was Robert Friedman, also known as "The Bone," who came up with that nickname. (Perhaps we can get some verification of that?) We were absolutely relentless in our persecution of this man. I am not sure I know how it got started, although I suspect I was partially, or largely, to blame. Surprisingly, I actually learned a fair amount of Chemistry that year, which certainly kept me in good stead for my pre-med classes. Anyway, as a class, we should offer this teacher some sort of a belated apology. I am absolutely certain that he thanked God when we graduated!
Something that was supposed to be in last week's newsletter, but got overlooked, from Zelda White Nichols: Just got back from helping my mom celebrate her 90th birthday in Pompano Beach, Florida. Pompano had some trees downed and the cars under them sustained some damage during the hurricane. Fortunately, that was the only damage in the area I was in, and we had no rain. My heart goes out to all the hurricane victims. It's the same type of devastation that we had in California during the fires last October. Whole towns and neighborhoods were wiped out, and it's the same helplessness and shock.
Someone passed these words of wisdom on to me, and I'm sending them on:
Don't Be Afraid to Fail.
You failed many times, although you may not remember.
You fell down the first time you tried to walk.
You almost drowned the first time you tried to swim, didn't you?
Did you hit the ball the first time you swung a bat?
Heavy hitters, the ones who hit the most home runs, also strike out a lot.
R.H. Macy failed seven times before his store in New York caught on.
English novelist John Creasey got 735 rejection slips before he published 564 books.
Babe Ruth struck out 1,330 times, but he also hit 714 home runs.
Don't worry about failure. Worry about the chances you miss when you don't even try.
Finally, from The Associated Press, August 26, 2004: The town of Hempstead, New York has a message for Georgia's Gwinnett County school administrators -- before you target a student wearing a Hempstead shirt, look at a map. Terrell Jones, a student in Gwinnett County's Grayson High School, was weeded out of a classroom by a school administrator because he wore a shirt that read: "Hempstead, NY 516,'' a reference to the Long Island town and its telephone area code. According to Jones' family, which moved from Hempstead to the Atlanta suburb, the school thought the shirt referred to marijuana. Jones wasn't allowed to return to class until he persuaded school officials to search the Internet for the town name.
Rich
Update 8-24-04
Hi,
Three notes and some more August filler:
From Nancy Garfield: If you hear from Barbara Blitfield Pech about Bea Massa Brown, could you let us know how she is, and if she needs anything from us?
From Barbara, but not about Bea in the way Nancy meant: Reminded myself of a more interesting junior high classroom caper as I wrote about Bea Massa. I did have the opportunity to mention this to her at the reunion, and it's just "silly" enough to pass for the type of memory you might want to print. It was a junior high requirement that all the girls take Home Ec, and damn they were going to turn us into cooks even if we burned the school down trying. One of our first stove meals was to prepare oatmeal and cinnamon toast, from "scratch." Not having a lot of kitchen experience, we read the recipe as well as we read anything else we had no interest in. Bea was at the stove stirring an unmeasured amount of oats in less measured boiling water over a flame that mimicked the North-South game bonfire. As the teacher (Miss Brennan?) walked around to each kitchen unit to oversee our progress, we all stood smiling as Bea stood quietly burning, as the oatmeal began to boil over. Then, rather than (logically) lowering the flame, Bea thought fast, just dumped the overspill into her apron pockets, and stood her ground grinning with the rest of us. Can't eat oatmeal to this day without remembering that particular morning.
From Allen Moss: Well, here goes Denny -- some more memories from the good old days. Great idea, too. Hope other classmates contribute their recollections.
Wherever Mr. Seaman, senior year chemistry teacher, resides, I send apologies from one of the students that made your life HELL for a year. Do my classmates remember the first year high school teacher who looked like Ichabod Crane, with a voice that frequently cracked when he was under pressure -- which was most of the time because we showed him absolutely NO respect! He continually was fumbling and dropping the chalk and eraser. And he was absolutely inept with a simple bunsen burner and test tubes. He was verbally pelted with our incredible derogatory remarks and sniggers while he was trying to teach the class. He was literally putty in our hands, because he did not exactly come across as the most confident and secure instructor, and we took advantage of it. And to top it all off, his last name was the CONSTANT target of our adolescent verbal abuses!
On the other hand, one of my most treasured memories was the anticipation of Toni Rea's class. I actually looked forward to it ALL of the time. I know many of you share my feelings about her and her incredible love and commitment to her field. It was so GREAT to see her at the last reunion, and I hope we will see her again next year. And it certainly is not a coincidence that one of my two majors in college was English. My love of writing and my part-time free lance job now can be traced directly back to those hours in the classroom when I was encouraged, supported, and mentored.
And now for some quickies:
Friday nights at "Marty's" by the Gibson train station with Bobby Friedman, Steven Boughner, and many others downing quarter beers until we couldn't see straight.
Bob Fiveson, Jay Turk, and I in our ill-fated fishing expedition in Jay's "putt-putt." Almost immediately hitting Long Island Sound, we were caught in our own version of the "Perfect Storm." Totally unprotected in an incredible summer squall, we were bailing our butts off and totally soaked to the skin. Needless to say -- no fish that day!
Cruising around Woodmere and environs with Elliot Weinger and Barnet Kellman in the Weinger family "wheels," an absolutely beautiful 1964 Ford Sunliner -- always with the top down, and always the shouts of "shotgun" or "radio." We rarely picked up any girls, but we certainly had to been given a "A" for our efforts -- we kept trying! And Elliot, if you are reading this, I am a lover of vintage cars (I owned a 1950 Buick convertible for 8 years when I was in Chicago). You don't want to know how much your beautiful ragtop is worth now!
On occasional Friday nights staggering around the corner of Kalmia and Brentwood Lanes in Green Acres with Greg Kaplan and Neil Guberman polishing off the last of either bottles of Ripple, Thunderbird, or Boones Farm. We never got carded when Greg was buying the booze! Invariably, we ran up against the dreaded "chick gang" comprised of Stu Kandel's little sister Marsha and her friends Robin Seader, Leslie Weinberg, and Sherrie Tepper.
And one last memory -- for you Dennis -- and that is of how gracious, warm, and friendly I remembered your Mom being to me on the few occasions when I was at your house. And correct me if I am wrong: didn't you own a great old 1957 Ford Country Squire station wagon with the wood trim? Idiot Savant Moss on old cars -- thank you very much!
Best Wishes to all.
Finally, another letter from my world-traveling friend Melody Myles Eckart: I began my search for something different to do back in February, when I sat next to a friend’s sister on a plane out of Chiang Mai to Bangkok. Connie had worked in Asia for over 30 years. I was a true neophyte and had been here about 6 months. She told me about this organization called The Consortium that, among other projects, teaches English to refugees. OK, I teach English; maybe I could be of some help? That was how I found myself on a plane flying to Mae Sot in June, when four months before I did not even know what a Mae Sot was.
My experiences in the refugee camps were an education in living, in teaching, and in politics. I will tell you about the first two because the people are what mattered to me, not the politics of why they are there, how they got there, or how much longer they will be there.
Armed with a good pair of heavy-duty sandals, my granola bars, my fanny pack which contained my life (passport, credit card, phone and money) and my sense of humor (a necessity), off I went the first day to Umpiem camp. I worked in three camps. One is to the north about an hour away, called Mae La. It stretches for about 6 km along the road and is set in a beautiful valley with a huge mountain range for a backdrop. There are approximately 40,000 people who live there. Umpiem is south, about an hour-and-a-half of the most carsick, winding, mountainous road I have ever traveled. It is on a hillside and has about 20,000 refugees. Noh Poe (pronounced nupo) is south of Umpiem another hour-and-a-half of more of the same carsick, winding, mountainous road. The only redemptive factor is that the scenery is so breathtakingly beautiful. I could not get over the rich lime greens of the rice paddies, which were just being planted as I arrived; the local people traveling on the songtaws, a form of taxi/truck, loaded with as many as 20 people, some hanging off the back; the motorcycles carrying whole families (I saw one lady feeding her baby a bottle); and the cows in the middle of the road that would look at you as if you were in the wrong place. Also, the dogs sleeping in the roads always added so much color and diversion, who could think about the bad ride?
The camps are virtually concentration camps with armed military guards. The refugees are allowed out to work, but they have no papers and no passports. If they try to run away, they will just be picked up by the authorities and brought back. They are from Myanmar (Burma), but Thailand has offered them a place to stay while waiting for a resolution to this military conflict. I promised not to discuss politics, but that is the situation in a nutshell. No permanent structures are permitted, so all of the houses are made of bamboo -- floors, walls, ceilings, and steps. The windows are skylights in the ceilings, with plastic covering up the holes.
The homes are clean, but sparse. The Karen use very little furniture: no beds, chairs, or couches. People sleep on mats and sit on mats. These roll up nicely to create an open space. The cooking is simple, with rice being the staple food, and most Karen eat it three times a day. Because they are refugees, they are given rations of charcoal, cooking oil, rice, and soybeans. Of course, the rations are never enough to last the whole month. Anything else, they must pay for, which is why some of them go to work in the surrounding fields.
The grounds around the camp are dirt and mud. Nothing is paved. Sometimes stairs on the hillsides are made with bamboo sticks. The chickens and goats run with the children, and the children play games with seeds, strings, and dirt. The paths between the buildings are trodden down, and if it doesn’t rain, your chances of not falling are much better. The mud on the roads constantly threatens to swallow trucks whole.
I wrote in a diary, faithfully, for the entire month I was there, but I will spare you all the detail. I would like to share some of the more poignant experiences with, and about, the people.
The first person I would like you to meet is Paw Yu Lee, whose name means "July flower." She is a graduate of an advanced English Immersion Program (EIP), in Umpiem camp run by two incredible young adults who built the curriculum. To interview for this intensive program, Patrick and Brooke asked the candidates to just “tell them a story.” Paw Yu Lee told about one of the times that her village was burned by the opposing military, and she stood outside one of the bamboo huts and listened to her best friend screaming because the fire was all around, and she was trapped with no way to get out. She experienced her village being burned three times before moving to Umpiem when she was 20.
Kalu Paw, whose name means "angel flower," told about how the people in her village never slept in their houses for fear of the burnings, so they dug holes outside, and the whole family slept in them. If the enemy came, it was easier to run to the forest to get away. One time after a raid, two young girls were found burned with their father, who could not run away because he had a leg amputated after an accident from a land mine.
The last person is Kate, a teacher from Noh Poe camp. She is 30 years old with 13 years teaching experience. I walked into her class the first day and knew immediately she was a great teacher. Her students were noisy, in groups, working and having a terrific time. They weren’t just sitting being robots spewing forth what they had been taught. You can just tell she has a knack for teaching because she cares about those kids. She took me on a walk the first day I was there. What should I have said in response to her statement: “If I could have gone to college, I would be in a city teaching and making a decent wage. My goal is to have my degree by the time I am forty.” There is also a possibility that she may have breast cancer. She has a lump in her breast, and the medics have given her antibiotics.
Personally, this was the hardest thing I have ever done. I slept one night listening to a rat scratch and chew just beyond where I was sleeping. I was so hungry another night I almost cried. I will never forget tutoring a group of orphans one night without electricity. We were like puppies, all huddled together around a tiny candle, working on math and science and reading. Then we had to walk back to the “dorm” in the dark, over rocks, crossing a rickety bamboo bridge in the rain, with only flashlights. I was terrified I would fall. And how can I ever forget the delighted squeals of all those little kids gawking at me and laughing and loving having their picture taken?
On my last day there, I mentioned to one of the young men (a Karen Thai, but not a refugee) who reviews the new teachers that I felt like I had not done very much at the camps. I felt like I was simply given credit for breathing and being born a native English-speaking person. He looked at me and said, “But you never know how much of a difference, sometimes, one person can make.”
The entire experience surely made a difference for me.
Rich
Hi,
Three notes and some more August filler:
From Nancy Garfield: If you hear from Barbara Blitfield Pech about Bea Massa Brown, could you let us know how she is, and if she needs anything from us?
From Barbara, but not about Bea in the way Nancy meant: Reminded myself of a more interesting junior high classroom caper as I wrote about Bea Massa. I did have the opportunity to mention this to her at the reunion, and it's just "silly" enough to pass for the type of memory you might want to print. It was a junior high requirement that all the girls take Home Ec, and damn they were going to turn us into cooks even if we burned the school down trying. One of our first stove meals was to prepare oatmeal and cinnamon toast, from "scratch." Not having a lot of kitchen experience, we read the recipe as well as we read anything else we had no interest in. Bea was at the stove stirring an unmeasured amount of oats in less measured boiling water over a flame that mimicked the North-South game bonfire. As the teacher (Miss Brennan?) walked around to each kitchen unit to oversee our progress, we all stood smiling as Bea stood quietly burning, as the oatmeal began to boil over. Then, rather than (logically) lowering the flame, Bea thought fast, just dumped the overspill into her apron pockets, and stood her ground grinning with the rest of us. Can't eat oatmeal to this day without remembering that particular morning.
From Allen Moss: Well, here goes Denny -- some more memories from the good old days. Great idea, too. Hope other classmates contribute their recollections.
Wherever Mr. Seaman, senior year chemistry teacher, resides, I send apologies from one of the students that made your life HELL for a year. Do my classmates remember the first year high school teacher who looked like Ichabod Crane, with a voice that frequently cracked when he was under pressure -- which was most of the time because we showed him absolutely NO respect! He continually was fumbling and dropping the chalk and eraser. And he was absolutely inept with a simple bunsen burner and test tubes. He was verbally pelted with our incredible derogatory remarks and sniggers while he was trying to teach the class. He was literally putty in our hands, because he did not exactly come across as the most confident and secure instructor, and we took advantage of it. And to top it all off, his last name was the CONSTANT target of our adolescent verbal abuses!
On the other hand, one of my most treasured memories was the anticipation of Toni Rea's class. I actually looked forward to it ALL of the time. I know many of you share my feelings about her and her incredible love and commitment to her field. It was so GREAT to see her at the last reunion, and I hope we will see her again next year. And it certainly is not a coincidence that one of my two majors in college was English. My love of writing and my part-time free lance job now can be traced directly back to those hours in the classroom when I was encouraged, supported, and mentored.
And now for some quickies:
Friday nights at "Marty's" by the Gibson train station with Bobby Friedman, Steven Boughner, and many others downing quarter beers until we couldn't see straight.
Bob Fiveson, Jay Turk, and I in our ill-fated fishing expedition in Jay's "putt-putt." Almost immediately hitting Long Island Sound, we were caught in our own version of the "Perfect Storm." Totally unprotected in an incredible summer squall, we were bailing our butts off and totally soaked to the skin. Needless to say -- no fish that day!
Cruising around Woodmere and environs with Elliot Weinger and Barnet Kellman in the Weinger family "wheels," an absolutely beautiful 1964 Ford Sunliner -- always with the top down, and always the shouts of "shotgun" or "radio." We rarely picked up any girls, but we certainly had to been given a "A" for our efforts -- we kept trying! And Elliot, if you are reading this, I am a lover of vintage cars (I owned a 1950 Buick convertible for 8 years when I was in Chicago). You don't want to know how much your beautiful ragtop is worth now!
On occasional Friday nights staggering around the corner of Kalmia and Brentwood Lanes in Green Acres with Greg Kaplan and Neil Guberman polishing off the last of either bottles of Ripple, Thunderbird, or Boones Farm. We never got carded when Greg was buying the booze! Invariably, we ran up against the dreaded "chick gang" comprised of Stu Kandel's little sister Marsha and her friends Robin Seader, Leslie Weinberg, and Sherrie Tepper.
And one last memory -- for you Dennis -- and that is of how gracious, warm, and friendly I remembered your Mom being to me on the few occasions when I was at your house. And correct me if I am wrong: didn't you own a great old 1957 Ford Country Squire station wagon with the wood trim? Idiot Savant Moss on old cars -- thank you very much!
Best Wishes to all.
Finally, another letter from my world-traveling friend Melody Myles Eckart: I began my search for something different to do back in February, when I sat next to a friend’s sister on a plane out of Chiang Mai to Bangkok. Connie had worked in Asia for over 30 years. I was a true neophyte and had been here about 6 months. She told me about this organization called The Consortium that, among other projects, teaches English to refugees. OK, I teach English; maybe I could be of some help? That was how I found myself on a plane flying to Mae Sot in June, when four months before I did not even know what a Mae Sot was.
My experiences in the refugee camps were an education in living, in teaching, and in politics. I will tell you about the first two because the people are what mattered to me, not the politics of why they are there, how they got there, or how much longer they will be there.
Armed with a good pair of heavy-duty sandals, my granola bars, my fanny pack which contained my life (passport, credit card, phone and money) and my sense of humor (a necessity), off I went the first day to Umpiem camp. I worked in three camps. One is to the north about an hour away, called Mae La. It stretches for about 6 km along the road and is set in a beautiful valley with a huge mountain range for a backdrop. There are approximately 40,000 people who live there. Umpiem is south, about an hour-and-a-half of the most carsick, winding, mountainous road I have ever traveled. It is on a hillside and has about 20,000 refugees. Noh Poe (pronounced nupo) is south of Umpiem another hour-and-a-half of more of the same carsick, winding, mountainous road. The only redemptive factor is that the scenery is so breathtakingly beautiful. I could not get over the rich lime greens of the rice paddies, which were just being planted as I arrived; the local people traveling on the songtaws, a form of taxi/truck, loaded with as many as 20 people, some hanging off the back; the motorcycles carrying whole families (I saw one lady feeding her baby a bottle); and the cows in the middle of the road that would look at you as if you were in the wrong place. Also, the dogs sleeping in the roads always added so much color and diversion, who could think about the bad ride?
The camps are virtually concentration camps with armed military guards. The refugees are allowed out to work, but they have no papers and no passports. If they try to run away, they will just be picked up by the authorities and brought back. They are from Myanmar (Burma), but Thailand has offered them a place to stay while waiting for a resolution to this military conflict. I promised not to discuss politics, but that is the situation in a nutshell. No permanent structures are permitted, so all of the houses are made of bamboo -- floors, walls, ceilings, and steps. The windows are skylights in the ceilings, with plastic covering up the holes.
The homes are clean, but sparse. The Karen use very little furniture: no beds, chairs, or couches. People sleep on mats and sit on mats. These roll up nicely to create an open space. The cooking is simple, with rice being the staple food, and most Karen eat it three times a day. Because they are refugees, they are given rations of charcoal, cooking oil, rice, and soybeans. Of course, the rations are never enough to last the whole month. Anything else, they must pay for, which is why some of them go to work in the surrounding fields.
The grounds around the camp are dirt and mud. Nothing is paved. Sometimes stairs on the hillsides are made with bamboo sticks. The chickens and goats run with the children, and the children play games with seeds, strings, and dirt. The paths between the buildings are trodden down, and if it doesn’t rain, your chances of not falling are much better. The mud on the roads constantly threatens to swallow trucks whole.
I wrote in a diary, faithfully, for the entire month I was there, but I will spare you all the detail. I would like to share some of the more poignant experiences with, and about, the people.
The first person I would like you to meet is Paw Yu Lee, whose name means "July flower." She is a graduate of an advanced English Immersion Program (EIP), in Umpiem camp run by two incredible young adults who built the curriculum. To interview for this intensive program, Patrick and Brooke asked the candidates to just “tell them a story.” Paw Yu Lee told about one of the times that her village was burned by the opposing military, and she stood outside one of the bamboo huts and listened to her best friend screaming because the fire was all around, and she was trapped with no way to get out. She experienced her village being burned three times before moving to Umpiem when she was 20.
Kalu Paw, whose name means "angel flower," told about how the people in her village never slept in their houses for fear of the burnings, so they dug holes outside, and the whole family slept in them. If the enemy came, it was easier to run to the forest to get away. One time after a raid, two young girls were found burned with their father, who could not run away because he had a leg amputated after an accident from a land mine.
The last person is Kate, a teacher from Noh Poe camp. She is 30 years old with 13 years teaching experience. I walked into her class the first day and knew immediately she was a great teacher. Her students were noisy, in groups, working and having a terrific time. They weren’t just sitting being robots spewing forth what they had been taught. You can just tell she has a knack for teaching because she cares about those kids. She took me on a walk the first day I was there. What should I have said in response to her statement: “If I could have gone to college, I would be in a city teaching and making a decent wage. My goal is to have my degree by the time I am forty.” There is also a possibility that she may have breast cancer. She has a lump in her breast, and the medics have given her antibiotics.
Personally, this was the hardest thing I have ever done. I slept one night listening to a rat scratch and chew just beyond where I was sleeping. I was so hungry another night I almost cried. I will never forget tutoring a group of orphans one night without electricity. We were like puppies, all huddled together around a tiny candle, working on math and science and reading. Then we had to walk back to the “dorm” in the dark, over rocks, crossing a rickety bamboo bridge in the rain, with only flashlights. I was terrified I would fall. And how can I ever forget the delighted squeals of all those little kids gawking at me and laughing and loving having their picture taken?
On my last day there, I mentioned to one of the young men (a Karen Thai, but not a refugee) who reviews the new teachers that I felt like I had not done very much at the camps. I felt like I was simply given credit for breathing and being born a native English-speaking person. He looked at me and said, “But you never know how much of a difference, sometimes, one person can make.”
The entire experience surely made a difference for me.
Rich
Update 8-17-04
Hi,
First, Florida storm news:
From Barbara Blitfield Pech: Just to let you know that Miami was safely out of range from today's hurricane, although the most recent TV news is horrifically reminiscent of Andrew and its wrath and destruction in Miami 12 years ago. I will immediately try to reach Bea Massa Brown, a long-time Port Charlotte resident, to offer anything I can, and to give her any sense of "hope" after the evil she has gone through in this storm. As you must know, Charley hit land at 11:00 AM this morning, going into the center of Port Charlotte and destroying the entire town. Again, as an Andrew survivor, there is no way to understand the loss of everything familiar unless, God forbid, you have been there. Sadly, Bea is now. I will keep you, and all, advised on her well being.
Then from Linda Greenberg Zucker: I just spoke with Bea Massa Brown. She lives in Port Charlotte and stayed through the hurricane. They are fine, although the house sustained damage. I just wanted to let everyone know that she is OK.
Back to Barbara: I did get Bea's voice mail this AM, but then our phones went out, so the day was lost. I also remember that Janet Hernandez is in the Ft. Myers area. Has anyone let you know about her? Please pass on my regards, concerns, and best wishes to Bea and Roger, and tell them my voice mail phone offer of a week at the "Pech Palace" is still "valid." Big big thanks.
And from Janet Hernandez: Just to let everyone know that I am now in the Richmond, Virginia area. I was living in the Tampa Bay area and am still in the process of moving. My house is sold, and we'll have a closing on it soon. Meanwhile, I'm staying with my sister and family.
Yes, Hurricane Charley was supposed to hit the Tampa Bay area, but it stopped further south and went into the Ft. Myers area. I live about one hour north of the Tampa/St. Petersburg area, but my home was also less than two miles away from the Gulf of Mexico. I am very thankful it is all right just now, but we should think of those who lost homes, and there were some deaths as well as property damage. Still, this is hurricane season, so there will be more to come. I will be going down to Holiday, Florida soon, for the closing, and to get my stuff -- boxes mostly -- out of the house.
More from Barbara: Wow, that's kinda eerie. I just happen to mention two names, and you have ready replies from both ... seems like a good time to use this "power" for something more lucrative. OK, fast, think of six lottery numbers.
Seriously, I'm glad to know that all is well, and that a few gusts of wind -- or as we "natives" refer to it, the big b.j. -- can't get in the way of our good lives! Best regards to all.
[Rich -- No, Barbara, I wrote Janet at your suggestion -- as I wrote, or tried to write, several other friends in Florida. Though the message from Linda about Bea was coincidence.]
Again from Barbara: Ah, so, basically, you are really telling me that you have no special powers to predict winning lottery numbers. But seriously, it was very nice of you to contact Janet. I did leave a voice mail on Bea's cell phone early Saturday AM, as the first news came in, and I will give them another call sometime in the next days to touch base. Even with minimal damage, the physical and mental stress, and just what they are seeing out their windows, is a living hell that only gets worse as the days, weeks, and months go on. Everything you expect to see in daily travels is just not there, or is so twisted or blown away that it all has the appearance of a bad horror movie storm. To have this thrown in your face at every turn and to have friends and family displaced is just unnerving to say the very least. It took us months, and Miami years, to rebuild and recover from Andrew, an experience I never want, or need, to go through again.
[Rich -- from one of my college friends, Pat Ashton, in Naples, just south of Ft. Myers: Greetings from devastated southwest Florida. Things are horrible north of here, but we survived. Have a huge tree uprooted, that our three-story building is holding up. Lots of debris, but no flood or tidal surge here. And we actually got our power back after about fourteen hours, but most of Naples is still without, including my mom's home, where they have now been without power almost twenty-four hours. Really unpleasant when it is in the ninety degree range and ninety percent humidity! Our friend Doug, who lives just north of us, brought over the contents of his freezer and refrigerator to put in ours. Pics of Punta Gorda and the north Ft. Myers area are unreal. We rode out the storm at friends Paul and Susan's. We watched videos on their mini DVD player in the dark -- four of us plus all six dogs wedged on a sofa. We pretended we were on an airplane.
From another college friend, Steve Ragusea: Regarding Charley in the Keys: At 7:45 PM, I was out swimming in the backyard. The sky, which had been clear blue all day, had turned cloudy an hour-or-so before. As the sun began to set around 8:00, the clouds turned a bright red, then the sky suddenly cleared, again revealing blue sky above. In the south, toward the coming storm, a rainbow appeared across the southern sky. It was windless and lovely.
Now we await gale force winds and heavy rains that will last around twelve hours. The eye appears to be passing about 80-to-90 miles west of our position. Our hurricane shutters are up all around the house, so we can't see much outside, and it's quite dark indoors. If the storm takes out the electric plant in Key West, it'll get a lot darker here for a while. I wonder if it's still lovely outside.
From a third friend, David Addington, in coastal South Carolina: Hardly noticed it. Somehow it passed us by completely.]
Forwarded storm humor from one of these friends: Based on our experiences with Hurricane Andrew in 1992, we recommend that you follow this simple three-step hurricane preparedness plan:
Step 1. Buy enough food and bottled water to last your family for at least three days.
Step 2. Put these supplies into your car.
Step 3. Drive to Nebraska.
Next, another high school memory from Dennis Pizzimenti: An entry in the category of positive group experiences. During the spring, we hitchhiked to Long Beach from East Rockaway Road. We always got there, but it wasn't dependable transportation. Until we came up with "The Signs."
We hitched in pairs. The first guy held a sign that stated "STOP AT JOE'S." The second guy stood about 50 feet behind, holding his thumb out and displaying a sign that said, "HI, I'M JOE."
People loved it. The rides came quickly. We passed the signs to the next pair. The last two brought them to the beach for the ride home. We quickly realized that the signs were so good that we could pick our ride to the beach. By the third Saturday, we'd only flash the signs for convertibles or air-conditioned cars.
[Rich -- And another one from me: Bill Brady, Charlie Gleichman, and I were working backstage during afternoon study hall senior year. Bill and Charlie were trying to do something to rewire the dimmer board, when suddenly there was a loud "Crack!" and the screwdriver they were using flew 20 feet across the stage, its tip melted down. Plus, the dimmer board was dead. After making sure they were both OK, and that no one else had heard the noise, the three of us slipped back to study hall, swearing to say nothing. Later, we learned that we'd not only blown a foot-long fuse -- that had to be replaced by a janitor in a room I never knew existed in South's basement -- we also discovered the dimmer board wasn't the only thing on that circuit. The fuse protected the school elevator, which almost no one was allowed to use. Except Mr. Bergen, who'd been trapped for several hours.]
Further political humor from Donald Faber: Here's a companion piece to my earlier e-link:
http://homepage.mac.com/krousen/Bush%20site/index.html
Finally, homework -- an excerpt from Monopoly or Democracy? an article by Ted Turner. It was first published on Friday, May 30, 2003 in The Washington Post and recently has been making the Internet rounds: On Monday the Federal Communications Commission is expected to adopt dramatic rule changes that will extend the market dominance of the five media corporations that control most of what Americans read, see, and hear. I am a major shareholder in the largest of those five corporations, yet -- speaking only for myself and not for AOL Time Warner -- I oppose these rules. They will stifle debate, inhibit new ideas, and shut out smaller businesses trying to compete. If these rules had been in place in 1970, it would have been virtually impossible for me to start Turner Broadcasting or, 10 years later, to launch CNN.
If a young media entrepreneur were trying to get started today under these proposed rules, he or she wouldn't be able to buy a UHF station, as I did. They're all bought up. But even if someone did manage to buy a TV station, that wouldn't be enough. To compete, you have to have good programming and good distribution. Today both are owned by conglomerates that keep the best for themselves and leave the worst for you -- if they sell anything to you at all ...
Why should the country care? When you lose small businesses, you lose big ideas. People who own their own businesses are their own bosses. They are independent thinkers. They know they can't compete by imitating the big guys; they have to innovate. So they are less obsessed with earnings than they are with ideas. They're willing to take risks ... Large media corporations are far more profit-focused and risk-averse ... They kill local programming because it's expensive, and they push national programming because it's cheap -- even if it runs counter to local interests and community values.
The full article at: http://www.commondreams.org/views03/0530-08.htm
Rich
Hi,
First, Florida storm news:
From Barbara Blitfield Pech: Just to let you know that Miami was safely out of range from today's hurricane, although the most recent TV news is horrifically reminiscent of Andrew and its wrath and destruction in Miami 12 years ago. I will immediately try to reach Bea Massa Brown, a long-time Port Charlotte resident, to offer anything I can, and to give her any sense of "hope" after the evil she has gone through in this storm. As you must know, Charley hit land at 11:00 AM this morning, going into the center of Port Charlotte and destroying the entire town. Again, as an Andrew survivor, there is no way to understand the loss of everything familiar unless, God forbid, you have been there. Sadly, Bea is now. I will keep you, and all, advised on her well being.
Then from Linda Greenberg Zucker: I just spoke with Bea Massa Brown. She lives in Port Charlotte and stayed through the hurricane. They are fine, although the house sustained damage. I just wanted to let everyone know that she is OK.
Back to Barbara: I did get Bea's voice mail this AM, but then our phones went out, so the day was lost. I also remember that Janet Hernandez is in the Ft. Myers area. Has anyone let you know about her? Please pass on my regards, concerns, and best wishes to Bea and Roger, and tell them my voice mail phone offer of a week at the "Pech Palace" is still "valid." Big big thanks.
And from Janet Hernandez: Just to let everyone know that I am now in the Richmond, Virginia area. I was living in the Tampa Bay area and am still in the process of moving. My house is sold, and we'll have a closing on it soon. Meanwhile, I'm staying with my sister and family.
Yes, Hurricane Charley was supposed to hit the Tampa Bay area, but it stopped further south and went into the Ft. Myers area. I live about one hour north of the Tampa/St. Petersburg area, but my home was also less than two miles away from the Gulf of Mexico. I am very thankful it is all right just now, but we should think of those who lost homes, and there were some deaths as well as property damage. Still, this is hurricane season, so there will be more to come. I will be going down to Holiday, Florida soon, for the closing, and to get my stuff -- boxes mostly -- out of the house.
More from Barbara: Wow, that's kinda eerie. I just happen to mention two names, and you have ready replies from both ... seems like a good time to use this "power" for something more lucrative. OK, fast, think of six lottery numbers.
Seriously, I'm glad to know that all is well, and that a few gusts of wind -- or as we "natives" refer to it, the big b.j. -- can't get in the way of our good lives! Best regards to all.
[Rich -- No, Barbara, I wrote Janet at your suggestion -- as I wrote, or tried to write, several other friends in Florida. Though the message from Linda about Bea was coincidence.]
Again from Barbara: Ah, so, basically, you are really telling me that you have no special powers to predict winning lottery numbers. But seriously, it was very nice of you to contact Janet. I did leave a voice mail on Bea's cell phone early Saturday AM, as the first news came in, and I will give them another call sometime in the next days to touch base. Even with minimal damage, the physical and mental stress, and just what they are seeing out their windows, is a living hell that only gets worse as the days, weeks, and months go on. Everything you expect to see in daily travels is just not there, or is so twisted or blown away that it all has the appearance of a bad horror movie storm. To have this thrown in your face at every turn and to have friends and family displaced is just unnerving to say the very least. It took us months, and Miami years, to rebuild and recover from Andrew, an experience I never want, or need, to go through again.
[Rich -- from one of my college friends, Pat Ashton, in Naples, just south of Ft. Myers: Greetings from devastated southwest Florida. Things are horrible north of here, but we survived. Have a huge tree uprooted, that our three-story building is holding up. Lots of debris, but no flood or tidal surge here. And we actually got our power back after about fourteen hours, but most of Naples is still without, including my mom's home, where they have now been without power almost twenty-four hours. Really unpleasant when it is in the ninety degree range and ninety percent humidity! Our friend Doug, who lives just north of us, brought over the contents of his freezer and refrigerator to put in ours. Pics of Punta Gorda and the north Ft. Myers area are unreal. We rode out the storm at friends Paul and Susan's. We watched videos on their mini DVD player in the dark -- four of us plus all six dogs wedged on a sofa. We pretended we were on an airplane.
From another college friend, Steve Ragusea: Regarding Charley in the Keys: At 7:45 PM, I was out swimming in the backyard. The sky, which had been clear blue all day, had turned cloudy an hour-or-so before. As the sun began to set around 8:00, the clouds turned a bright red, then the sky suddenly cleared, again revealing blue sky above. In the south, toward the coming storm, a rainbow appeared across the southern sky. It was windless and lovely.
Now we await gale force winds and heavy rains that will last around twelve hours. The eye appears to be passing about 80-to-90 miles west of our position. Our hurricane shutters are up all around the house, so we can't see much outside, and it's quite dark indoors. If the storm takes out the electric plant in Key West, it'll get a lot darker here for a while. I wonder if it's still lovely outside.
From a third friend, David Addington, in coastal South Carolina: Hardly noticed it. Somehow it passed us by completely.]
Forwarded storm humor from one of these friends: Based on our experiences with Hurricane Andrew in 1992, we recommend that you follow this simple three-step hurricane preparedness plan:
Step 1. Buy enough food and bottled water to last your family for at least three days.
Step 2. Put these supplies into your car.
Step 3. Drive to Nebraska.
Next, another high school memory from Dennis Pizzimenti: An entry in the category of positive group experiences. During the spring, we hitchhiked to Long Beach from East Rockaway Road. We always got there, but it wasn't dependable transportation. Until we came up with "The Signs."
We hitched in pairs. The first guy held a sign that stated "STOP AT JOE'S." The second guy stood about 50 feet behind, holding his thumb out and displaying a sign that said, "HI, I'M JOE."
People loved it. The rides came quickly. We passed the signs to the next pair. The last two brought them to the beach for the ride home. We quickly realized that the signs were so good that we could pick our ride to the beach. By the third Saturday, we'd only flash the signs for convertibles or air-conditioned cars.
[Rich -- And another one from me: Bill Brady, Charlie Gleichman, and I were working backstage during afternoon study hall senior year. Bill and Charlie were trying to do something to rewire the dimmer board, when suddenly there was a loud "Crack!" and the screwdriver they were using flew 20 feet across the stage, its tip melted down. Plus, the dimmer board was dead. After making sure they were both OK, and that no one else had heard the noise, the three of us slipped back to study hall, swearing to say nothing. Later, we learned that we'd not only blown a foot-long fuse -- that had to be replaced by a janitor in a room I never knew existed in South's basement -- we also discovered the dimmer board wasn't the only thing on that circuit. The fuse protected the school elevator, which almost no one was allowed to use. Except Mr. Bergen, who'd been trapped for several hours.]
Further political humor from Donald Faber: Here's a companion piece to my earlier e-link:
http://homepage.mac.com/krousen/Bush%20site/index.html
Finally, homework -- an excerpt from Monopoly or Democracy? an article by Ted Turner. It was first published on Friday, May 30, 2003 in The Washington Post and recently has been making the Internet rounds: On Monday the Federal Communications Commission is expected to adopt dramatic rule changes that will extend the market dominance of the five media corporations that control most of what Americans read, see, and hear. I am a major shareholder in the largest of those five corporations, yet -- speaking only for myself and not for AOL Time Warner -- I oppose these rules. They will stifle debate, inhibit new ideas, and shut out smaller businesses trying to compete. If these rules had been in place in 1970, it would have been virtually impossible for me to start Turner Broadcasting or, 10 years later, to launch CNN.
If a young media entrepreneur were trying to get started today under these proposed rules, he or she wouldn't be able to buy a UHF station, as I did. They're all bought up. But even if someone did manage to buy a TV station, that wouldn't be enough. To compete, you have to have good programming and good distribution. Today both are owned by conglomerates that keep the best for themselves and leave the worst for you -- if they sell anything to you at all ...
Why should the country care? When you lose small businesses, you lose big ideas. People who own their own businesses are their own bosses. They are independent thinkers. They know they can't compete by imitating the big guys; they have to innovate. So they are less obsessed with earnings than they are with ideas. They're willing to take risks ... Large media corporations are far more profit-focused and risk-averse ... They kill local programming because it's expensive, and they push national programming because it's cheap -- even if it runs counter to local interests and community values.
The full article at: http://www.commondreams.org/views03/0530-08.htm
Rich
Update 8-10-04
Hi,
Something for everyone.
First, from Ira Mitzner: here's why I would have liked to get to know Mr. O'Connor better. I was terrible in physics. I had an excellent teacher in Mr. O'Connor, and the support of a trusty lab partner (Ellen Nudelman), but I was teetering on the brink of failure. I went to Mr. O'Connor after school and explained that I wanted to go to law school, would probably never take a science course again, and if I failed physics it would really hurt my chances of getting into my preferred colleges. He listened to me and gave me words of comfort (but not commitment) in his soothing New England accent. When the final grades arrived, I had passed physics -- by one point. (I will always wonder whether my plea swayed him.) When the yearbooks were distributed, we all took them around to our favorite teachers for signing. He seemed pleased that I approached him (understandably, given my poor showing). He took out his pen, and, when he returned the book to me, he had written, "Even lawyers need physics." This is a guy I should have gotten to know better.
Next, from Booker Gibson: Here are some thoughts on Alma Maters like "Valiant Falcons." I think the parody was a playful reaction to that "mean" music teacher who made all his classes memorize the original. In the past, I believe I mentioned that I went up to Potsdam, New York for Music-Ed. (By the way, that little community has about four synagogues now.) When we students first heard the Alma Mater "On The Banks Of Raquette River," we thought it was the corniest and dumbest song. Compared to it, "Valiant Falcons" is pretty sophisticated. Still, "On The Banks Of Raquette River" came to mean much more later on. Last February, there was an annual fundraiser for the college held in New York City in a huge church for an interdenominational crowd. Two of the hostesses and featured singers were Renee Fleming, a Potsdam grad, and another lady who was the star of Phantom of the Opera on the West and East coasts and also a Potsdam grad. At the very beginning of the concert, Renee asked everyone to stand, and we all sang "On The Banks Of Raquette River" -- in four part harmony. With four-thousand people singing, it was a very moving experience. If Hiram Rosov or I were still teaching, we could tell you how BIG Renee Fleming is!
[Rich -- even some of us who don't like opera probably know who Renee Fleming is. Honest. But thanks for the tutoring offer.]
Finally, an article Barnet Kellman forwarded from Newsday, written by a man who was a year-or-two behind us in school and is now a columnist and member of Newsday's editorial board:
One School Shows How Integration Serves Long Island Students Well
Newsday, Tuesday, April 6, 2004
By Lawrence C. Levy
My old neighborhood school never looked so good -- or so different. Early last fall, as an old friend and I drove to the Mill Brook section of Valley Stream for the building's 50th anniversary, the hedges were thicker and better groomed than when we swarms of little Baby Boomers bounced through them to go from house to welcoming house. And Forest Road School, our safe haven within a haven for refugees from New York City, looked as fresh and inviting as it did the day we entered kindergarten a year after it was built. But, as familiar as it all seemed, the school and neighborhood right on the Queens line had changed in ways that would have been unimaginable -- and, yes, frightening -- to my parents and playmates a generation ago. A dynamic demographic makeover has turned the school and neighborhood into a cornucopia of racial and ethnic diversity. And more: as an increasing number of Long Island communities see moving vans pull up with black-and brown-skinned families, this neighborhood has become a test case of character not only for many who now live there but for all of Long Island.
Do whites flee before the now unstoppable wave of new arrivals (whose parents were blocked from coming a generation ago), even if many are solidly middle class? Do whites run and hide in fewer and fewer enclaves of privilege, denying both white and black children a better chance (as I was denied) to prepare for living and working in a multicultural world? Do whites continue to consign minority children to schools that don't have the political support or money to deliver a quality education, even if it means producing a future workforce less able to help the region prosper? Or do they welcome the newcomers and make the inevitable changes work for everyone's selfish best interests? Right now, with test scores high and the neighborhood a gem, there really wouldn't be many good reasons for a white family with school-age kids to leave or not consider buying there. When we were growing up, the neighborhood was called Green Acres. The new split-levels and ranches were the first houses most of our parents ever lived in, much less owned. They were city kids themselves, raised in the crowded Jewish ghettos of New York City. It was a place of generational dreams. But even with the government loans earned against the armies of fascism and communism, the cost of buying there -- from $14,000 to $21,000 -- also made this a place of sacrifice. Now, at upwards of $400,000, this is still a neighborhood of sweat and striving for another wave of suburban settlers.
On the day of the school's silver anniversary celebration, I stood next to Booker T. Gibson, who had been the only black teacher in my high school for decades. And he was stunned. As he scanned the faces in the crowd of parents and students, he said sardonically, "I see an awful lot of 'blood' in this 'hood." And so there was. A school that had been all-white and nearly all-Jewish still had a prosperous, high-performing student population, but one that now was black and yellow and shades of brown -- and less than half white. Mill Brook has become that rarity of among rarities in America's most segregated suburb -- a truly integrated neighborhood with a great school and growing property values. It is at once a vivid snapshot of Long Island's past and its future.
Along with the elderly remnants of my parents' circle and young white families still moving here, the houses now are filled with families, many of them including professionals, from India, Pakistan, Korea, China, Jamaica, Guyana, El Salvador and dozens of other countries. This was proudly evident last month when I returned for the food and pageantry of the school's first international diversity fair. The younger the grade on stage, the fewer the whites. The little blond girl who sang a ballad, wearing a green dress covered with shamrocks, stood out like a minority child would have in my day -- had there had been any. Annette Miller, who is white, acknowledges that she and her husband thought of leaving. "So many of our friends just fled," she said. "But I've met people from so many other countries. I'm thrilled for myself and for my children. It's a wonderful way for them to grow up."
"I'm really hoping that it stays a mixed community," Dwight Edwards, a Jamaican-American, told me after he watched his son do an Israeli folk dance on the tiny stage. "My kids really enjoy the blend. But it's really up to the whites to decide if they want to stay and accept the change." That is an open question. For every long--time resident like Connie Schwartz, whose son Ira was my classmate and who says she loves the way the newcomers have livened up her block, there are others who leave or quietly express their displeasure. And it has turned Mill Brook into a challenge for the people who live there -- and who might live there -- to overcome racial, ethnic and social fears. "Lots and lots of play dates," said attorney and international night organizer Theodora Egeonu--Egbuchulam when I asked her how Mill Brook can preserve its racial balance. "A Jewish mom just sent her son to play at my home with my Nigerian--American son. Another mom had Greek, Filipino, and Nigerian kids over to make Chinese pencil dolls." No doubt it will take more than that. The authorities will have to ensure that realtors don't engage in blockbusting or racial steering. Police must see that the community remains safe, in reputation and reality. And school officials must make sure that the district continues to get a fair share of funding.
Understand this: there's no reason a school or community must have whites to be successful. But the reality is that minorities who attend integrated schools perform better than those in segregated ones. And that overwhelmingly minority communities tend to be poorer and less politically potent. In cases where a community is majority white but the school system is not, the old guard without children in the classroom often doesn't approve adequate funding. Then everything starts to fall apart. And that could be a disaster -- for all of Long Island. That's because more and more schools and neighborhoods will face the challenge of Forest Road as both poor and middle-class minorities pursue their dreams to Long Island in far greater numbers than whites. Putting aside the moral argument, if these schools lag for lack of resources that were plentiful when whites filled the desks and if the kids can't read, write and compute up to snuff, then who will do the high tech jobs to keep the economy thriving? The children of Forest Road must be made ready, just as they were -- as I was -- in a blissfully easier and more ignorant time.
Rich
Hi,
Something for everyone.
First, from Ira Mitzner: here's why I would have liked to get to know Mr. O'Connor better. I was terrible in physics. I had an excellent teacher in Mr. O'Connor, and the support of a trusty lab partner (Ellen Nudelman), but I was teetering on the brink of failure. I went to Mr. O'Connor after school and explained that I wanted to go to law school, would probably never take a science course again, and if I failed physics it would really hurt my chances of getting into my preferred colleges. He listened to me and gave me words of comfort (but not commitment) in his soothing New England accent. When the final grades arrived, I had passed physics -- by one point. (I will always wonder whether my plea swayed him.) When the yearbooks were distributed, we all took them around to our favorite teachers for signing. He seemed pleased that I approached him (understandably, given my poor showing). He took out his pen, and, when he returned the book to me, he had written, "Even lawyers need physics." This is a guy I should have gotten to know better.
Next, from Booker Gibson: Here are some thoughts on Alma Maters like "Valiant Falcons." I think the parody was a playful reaction to that "mean" music teacher who made all his classes memorize the original. In the past, I believe I mentioned that I went up to Potsdam, New York for Music-Ed. (By the way, that little community has about four synagogues now.) When we students first heard the Alma Mater "On The Banks Of Raquette River," we thought it was the corniest and dumbest song. Compared to it, "Valiant Falcons" is pretty sophisticated. Still, "On The Banks Of Raquette River" came to mean much more later on. Last February, there was an annual fundraiser for the college held in New York City in a huge church for an interdenominational crowd. Two of the hostesses and featured singers were Renee Fleming, a Potsdam grad, and another lady who was the star of Phantom of the Opera on the West and East coasts and also a Potsdam grad. At the very beginning of the concert, Renee asked everyone to stand, and we all sang "On The Banks Of Raquette River" -- in four part harmony. With four-thousand people singing, it was a very moving experience. If Hiram Rosov or I were still teaching, we could tell you how BIG Renee Fleming is!
[Rich -- even some of us who don't like opera probably know who Renee Fleming is. Honest. But thanks for the tutoring offer.]
Finally, an article Barnet Kellman forwarded from Newsday, written by a man who was a year-or-two behind us in school and is now a columnist and member of Newsday's editorial board:
One School Shows How Integration Serves Long Island Students Well
Newsday, Tuesday, April 6, 2004
By Lawrence C. Levy
My old neighborhood school never looked so good -- or so different. Early last fall, as an old friend and I drove to the Mill Brook section of Valley Stream for the building's 50th anniversary, the hedges were thicker and better groomed than when we swarms of little Baby Boomers bounced through them to go from house to welcoming house. And Forest Road School, our safe haven within a haven for refugees from New York City, looked as fresh and inviting as it did the day we entered kindergarten a year after it was built. But, as familiar as it all seemed, the school and neighborhood right on the Queens line had changed in ways that would have been unimaginable -- and, yes, frightening -- to my parents and playmates a generation ago. A dynamic demographic makeover has turned the school and neighborhood into a cornucopia of racial and ethnic diversity. And more: as an increasing number of Long Island communities see moving vans pull up with black-and brown-skinned families, this neighborhood has become a test case of character not only for many who now live there but for all of Long Island.
Do whites flee before the now unstoppable wave of new arrivals (whose parents were blocked from coming a generation ago), even if many are solidly middle class? Do whites run and hide in fewer and fewer enclaves of privilege, denying both white and black children a better chance (as I was denied) to prepare for living and working in a multicultural world? Do whites continue to consign minority children to schools that don't have the political support or money to deliver a quality education, even if it means producing a future workforce less able to help the region prosper? Or do they welcome the newcomers and make the inevitable changes work for everyone's selfish best interests? Right now, with test scores high and the neighborhood a gem, there really wouldn't be many good reasons for a white family with school-age kids to leave or not consider buying there. When we were growing up, the neighborhood was called Green Acres. The new split-levels and ranches were the first houses most of our parents ever lived in, much less owned. They were city kids themselves, raised in the crowded Jewish ghettos of New York City. It was a place of generational dreams. But even with the government loans earned against the armies of fascism and communism, the cost of buying there -- from $14,000 to $21,000 -- also made this a place of sacrifice. Now, at upwards of $400,000, this is still a neighborhood of sweat and striving for another wave of suburban settlers.
On the day of the school's silver anniversary celebration, I stood next to Booker T. Gibson, who had been the only black teacher in my high school for decades. And he was stunned. As he scanned the faces in the crowd of parents and students, he said sardonically, "I see an awful lot of 'blood' in this 'hood." And so there was. A school that had been all-white and nearly all-Jewish still had a prosperous, high-performing student population, but one that now was black and yellow and shades of brown -- and less than half white. Mill Brook has become that rarity of among rarities in America's most segregated suburb -- a truly integrated neighborhood with a great school and growing property values. It is at once a vivid snapshot of Long Island's past and its future.
Along with the elderly remnants of my parents' circle and young white families still moving here, the houses now are filled with families, many of them including professionals, from India, Pakistan, Korea, China, Jamaica, Guyana, El Salvador and dozens of other countries. This was proudly evident last month when I returned for the food and pageantry of the school's first international diversity fair. The younger the grade on stage, the fewer the whites. The little blond girl who sang a ballad, wearing a green dress covered with shamrocks, stood out like a minority child would have in my day -- had there had been any. Annette Miller, who is white, acknowledges that she and her husband thought of leaving. "So many of our friends just fled," she said. "But I've met people from so many other countries. I'm thrilled for myself and for my children. It's a wonderful way for them to grow up."
"I'm really hoping that it stays a mixed community," Dwight Edwards, a Jamaican-American, told me after he watched his son do an Israeli folk dance on the tiny stage. "My kids really enjoy the blend. But it's really up to the whites to decide if they want to stay and accept the change." That is an open question. For every long--time resident like Connie Schwartz, whose son Ira was my classmate and who says she loves the way the newcomers have livened up her block, there are others who leave or quietly express their displeasure. And it has turned Mill Brook into a challenge for the people who live there -- and who might live there -- to overcome racial, ethnic and social fears. "Lots and lots of play dates," said attorney and international night organizer Theodora Egeonu--Egbuchulam when I asked her how Mill Brook can preserve its racial balance. "A Jewish mom just sent her son to play at my home with my Nigerian--American son. Another mom had Greek, Filipino, and Nigerian kids over to make Chinese pencil dolls." No doubt it will take more than that. The authorities will have to ensure that realtors don't engage in blockbusting or racial steering. Police must see that the community remains safe, in reputation and reality. And school officials must make sure that the district continues to get a fair share of funding.
Understand this: there's no reason a school or community must have whites to be successful. But the reality is that minorities who attend integrated schools perform better than those in segregated ones. And that overwhelmingly minority communities tend to be poorer and less politically potent. In cases where a community is majority white but the school system is not, the old guard without children in the classroom often doesn't approve adequate funding. Then everything starts to fall apart. And that could be a disaster -- for all of Long Island. That's because more and more schools and neighborhoods will face the challenge of Forest Road as both poor and middle-class minorities pursue their dreams to Long Island in far greater numbers than whites. Putting aside the moral argument, if these schools lag for lack of resources that were plentiful when whites filled the desks and if the kids can't read, write and compute up to snuff, then who will do the high tech jobs to keep the economy thriving? The children of Forest Road must be made ready, just as they were -- as I was -- in a blissfully easier and more ignorant time.
Rich
Update 8-3-04
All right,
Some answers for Dennis:
From Linda Cohen Greenseid: First, you might want to put out a reminder to our class about the Class of 1964 Reunion, which is in the same place that we had ours, but on the weekend of September 10th, 2004. They are still looking for missing class members, such as Amalia Frango, and I'm sure Denise could help with that. If anyone is interested, the e-mail address for the '64 reunion planners is: thomas.mcpartland2@verizon.net
Next, to answer Dennis Pizzimenti's request about memories: I remember sitting next to Kenny Brown in Mr. Hartman's English class. Kenny wasn't terribly interested in Macbeth, so I helped him with it in exchange for lessons in how to "talk" Donald Duck. My grandchildren thank him for that, as they enjoy it immensely.
From Mary Sipp-Green: Hi. Everyone. Does anyone remember the art teacher Mr. Jocknowitz? I wish I had gotten to know him better and to have spent more time in his art class. A graduate of Cooper Union, he was unusually creative, soft spoken, and very inspiring. I think he taught at South for only one year. I was fortunate to be in his class at that time.
I also have very fond memories of the art teacher Mr. Donohue. I loved the art room at South, even if the period was so terribly short. Now I have my own "art room," where I work most days 4-5 hours or more. My next exhibition opens on Sunday August 8th at the Granary Gallery on Martha's Vineyard. If, by some chance, you're on the island then, stop by. The opening reception is that Sunday from 5-7 PM.
Please let me know if you have any information about Mr. Jocknowitz -- or any of your own recollections about this memorable artist/teacher. Thanks. My best regards to all. I hope you're having a wonderful summer. PS How's that Dennis?
From Steve Gootzeit: I liked Dennis Pizzimenti's suggestion of offering topics that relate to our high school days. Here's my answer to the teacher I would have most liked to know better: Herta Apfel, who, ironically, I had more in-class exposure to than any other teacher at South (five years of German). Our relationship never went beyond the lessons, and that is something I have regretted. She wrote this in my year book: "Lieber Freund, viel Gluck in allem was sie untersuchen." Translation: "Dear Friend, good luck in everything that you undertake." I never forgot that. (To those German speakers: Sorry I could not insert the umlauts.)
[Rich -- I've always told this story about Bill Brady, and I've used it a lot, teaching. But thinking about it now, I've a feeling it's something Richard Sternhell told me, about someone in his class. In any case, we were reading "The Odyssey" out loud in English, going turn-by-turn, and we got up to the Cyclops. Ulysses said his name was "No Man," so after he poked the creature's eye out, he couldn't be identified. So Ulysses poked and ran, and the little cyclops followers hurried up to their leader, shouting, "Who did this?" "Who did this to you?" And Bill the Cyclops, having a little trouble reading, bellowed out, "NORMAN!"]
Some other mail:
From Barbara Blitfield Pech: Two "quick" Zelda responses while online: First, the only Atkins-friendly Krispy Kreme recipe that I can equate (no pun intended) would be: invite Sue Atkins to share it with you (Sorry, it's very early in the morning and sans coffee ... even decaf!) Next, if I can recall the "exact" words, Robert Fiveson punditly referred to his years in California: "Seasons -- there are 2 -- green and brown." 'NUFF SAID ... for now.
From Allen Moss: See, Rich ... it didn't hurt much did it? Just a nice "thank you" in response to Zelda's compliment. Who knows ... in time you may get to actually LIKE hearing those comments! Also, to RoseMarie, Don, and all the rest ... regarding the www.jibjab.com website ... if you surf on it a bit, you will find another hilarious video featuring good ole Gov. "Ahnold."
Well, if any of you remember my little speech several years ago regarding our beloved television icons, namely Roy Rogers, Ramar, Annie Oakley and the like, I am anxiously awaiting the mailperson, who will bring me two full-length movies featuring "Rocky Jones, Space Ranger" from 1954! I had been toying with the idea of purchasing a few tapes just to relive those golden moments (and, I am sure, have myself a laughing fit), but the prices were a bit prohibitive. However, I have found a wonderful resource in half.com, an offshoot of e-Bay. They are like a cut-rate Amazon.com, featuring brand new items at discounts of anywhere from 10 to 60%. At $4.00 apiece for brand new videos, I couldn't go wrong, even if they turn out to be awful. And speaking of awful, I just saw the newly-transferred DVD print of Robot Monster, that 1953 sci-fi classic featuring the alien dressed in a diver's helmet on top of a gorilla suit! Does anyone remember seeing that routinely on TV in the mid-fifties? Without a doubt, it is absolutely the WORST sci-fi movie ever made, easily beating out Plan Nine from Outer Space in my humble opinion. My brother-in-law had never seen it, so you can imagine my delight in watching his facial expressions of both awe and disbelief as the movie unfolded. I have to say that even I did not remember how bad it really was. And ... did we enjoy it? You bet we did! A classic stinker in the true sense of the word. And dig that advanced alien technology in the form of a pair of television rabbit ears and a bubble-making machine! It just DOESN'T get any better than this! Hope all of you are well and having a great summer. Looking forward to next April!
Speaking of Denise Frango Baxter -- just a note from her: If you have not seen Fahrenheit 9/11, go! It was an eye-opener.
And from Zelda White Nichols: This site was just sent to me, and I'm sharing it. It's a terrific reference site. Check out http://www.webstrider.com/
Finally, from Hiram Rosov: To those who only remember the alternate wording to "Valiant Falcons," you have my sympathy and condolences. I arrived at South in September 1959 and retired in 1985. In all those years, especially my first twenty, the experiences, friendships, and participation in school activities were most rewarding and a treasured experience. I knew Bud McMullen and Ted Topol and can't believe that either one was responsible for this insulting parody on the original verses. Seeing it in print gave me a feeling of revulsion.
[Rich -- as I just wrote Hy: Jeez, it was only a song, written by an unknown kid more than 40 years ago. I thought it was funny when I was 14, maybe because I liked Mad magazine and Tom Leher, so when we were digging for high school memories, it came up. And knowing Buddy McMullen, he could easily have written it, 'cause some of the stuff he sang pissed off even Vince Tampio, who had a high obscenity tolerance. But don't blame Buddy, or anyone else, because I really have no idea who wrote it. It's just part of something I learned in high school.]
Rich
All right,
Some answers for Dennis:
From Linda Cohen Greenseid: First, you might want to put out a reminder to our class about the Class of 1964 Reunion, which is in the same place that we had ours, but on the weekend of September 10th, 2004. They are still looking for missing class members, such as Amalia Frango, and I'm sure Denise could help with that. If anyone is interested, the e-mail address for the '64 reunion planners is: thomas.mcpartland2@verizon.net
Next, to answer Dennis Pizzimenti's request about memories: I remember sitting next to Kenny Brown in Mr. Hartman's English class. Kenny wasn't terribly interested in Macbeth, so I helped him with it in exchange for lessons in how to "talk" Donald Duck. My grandchildren thank him for that, as they enjoy it immensely.
From Mary Sipp-Green: Hi. Everyone. Does anyone remember the art teacher Mr. Jocknowitz? I wish I had gotten to know him better and to have spent more time in his art class. A graduate of Cooper Union, he was unusually creative, soft spoken, and very inspiring. I think he taught at South for only one year. I was fortunate to be in his class at that time.
I also have very fond memories of the art teacher Mr. Donohue. I loved the art room at South, even if the period was so terribly short. Now I have my own "art room," where I work most days 4-5 hours or more. My next exhibition opens on Sunday August 8th at the Granary Gallery on Martha's Vineyard. If, by some chance, you're on the island then, stop by. The opening reception is that Sunday from 5-7 PM.
Please let me know if you have any information about Mr. Jocknowitz -- or any of your own recollections about this memorable artist/teacher. Thanks. My best regards to all. I hope you're having a wonderful summer. PS How's that Dennis?
From Steve Gootzeit: I liked Dennis Pizzimenti's suggestion of offering topics that relate to our high school days. Here's my answer to the teacher I would have most liked to know better: Herta Apfel, who, ironically, I had more in-class exposure to than any other teacher at South (five years of German). Our relationship never went beyond the lessons, and that is something I have regretted. She wrote this in my year book: "Lieber Freund, viel Gluck in allem was sie untersuchen." Translation: "Dear Friend, good luck in everything that you undertake." I never forgot that. (To those German speakers: Sorry I could not insert the umlauts.)
[Rich -- I've always told this story about Bill Brady, and I've used it a lot, teaching. But thinking about it now, I've a feeling it's something Richard Sternhell told me, about someone in his class. In any case, we were reading "The Odyssey" out loud in English, going turn-by-turn, and we got up to the Cyclops. Ulysses said his name was "No Man," so after he poked the creature's eye out, he couldn't be identified. So Ulysses poked and ran, and the little cyclops followers hurried up to their leader, shouting, "Who did this?" "Who did this to you?" And Bill the Cyclops, having a little trouble reading, bellowed out, "NORMAN!"]
Some other mail:
From Barbara Blitfield Pech: Two "quick" Zelda responses while online: First, the only Atkins-friendly Krispy Kreme recipe that I can equate (no pun intended) would be: invite Sue Atkins to share it with you (Sorry, it's very early in the morning and sans coffee ... even decaf!) Next, if I can recall the "exact" words, Robert Fiveson punditly referred to his years in California: "Seasons -- there are 2 -- green and brown." 'NUFF SAID ... for now.
From Allen Moss: See, Rich ... it didn't hurt much did it? Just a nice "thank you" in response to Zelda's compliment. Who knows ... in time you may get to actually LIKE hearing those comments! Also, to RoseMarie, Don, and all the rest ... regarding the www.jibjab.com website ... if you surf on it a bit, you will find another hilarious video featuring good ole Gov. "Ahnold."
Well, if any of you remember my little speech several years ago regarding our beloved television icons, namely Roy Rogers, Ramar, Annie Oakley and the like, I am anxiously awaiting the mailperson, who will bring me two full-length movies featuring "Rocky Jones, Space Ranger" from 1954! I had been toying with the idea of purchasing a few tapes just to relive those golden moments (and, I am sure, have myself a laughing fit), but the prices were a bit prohibitive. However, I have found a wonderful resource in half.com, an offshoot of e-Bay. They are like a cut-rate Amazon.com, featuring brand new items at discounts of anywhere from 10 to 60%. At $4.00 apiece for brand new videos, I couldn't go wrong, even if they turn out to be awful. And speaking of awful, I just saw the newly-transferred DVD print of Robot Monster, that 1953 sci-fi classic featuring the alien dressed in a diver's helmet on top of a gorilla suit! Does anyone remember seeing that routinely on TV in the mid-fifties? Without a doubt, it is absolutely the WORST sci-fi movie ever made, easily beating out Plan Nine from Outer Space in my humble opinion. My brother-in-law had never seen it, so you can imagine my delight in watching his facial expressions of both awe and disbelief as the movie unfolded. I have to say that even I did not remember how bad it really was. And ... did we enjoy it? You bet we did! A classic stinker in the true sense of the word. And dig that advanced alien technology in the form of a pair of television rabbit ears and a bubble-making machine! It just DOESN'T get any better than this! Hope all of you are well and having a great summer. Looking forward to next April!
Speaking of Denise Frango Baxter -- just a note from her: If you have not seen Fahrenheit 9/11, go! It was an eye-opener.
And from Zelda White Nichols: This site was just sent to me, and I'm sharing it. It's a terrific reference site. Check out http://www.webstrider.com/
Finally, from Hiram Rosov: To those who only remember the alternate wording to "Valiant Falcons," you have my sympathy and condolences. I arrived at South in September 1959 and retired in 1985. In all those years, especially my first twenty, the experiences, friendships, and participation in school activities were most rewarding and a treasured experience. I knew Bud McMullen and Ted Topol and can't believe that either one was responsible for this insulting parody on the original verses. Seeing it in print gave me a feeling of revulsion.
[Rich -- as I just wrote Hy: Jeez, it was only a song, written by an unknown kid more than 40 years ago. I thought it was funny when I was 14, maybe because I liked Mad magazine and Tom Leher, so when we were digging for high school memories, it came up. And knowing Buddy McMullen, he could easily have written it, 'cause some of the stuff he sang pissed off even Vince Tampio, who had a high obscenity tolerance. But don't blame Buddy, or anyone else, because I really have no idea who wrote it. It's just part of something I learned in high school.]
Rich
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