Desperately seeking...
....an idea. I will keep this short and sweet. I have to admit to failure, abject failure, in my efforts to keep up a steady drumbeat of commentaries about the old days at North Quincy High (many of which, mercifully, have been relegated to the Recycle Bin). I believed that my commentaries would act as a catalyst and draw 1964 classmates, and other former students at North, out. At some point I figured out that this was not to be the case and I resolved to push on anyway at the whim of whatever demons were driving me on. Now, frankly, I have run out of ideas. A recent re-reading of some of my commentaries has rubbed my face in that hard fact. Two themes in various guises have emerged from the work- the 'tragic' effects of my growing up poor in the land of plenty and the usual teenage longing for companionship and romance. Gee, those ideas have never been the subject of literary efforts before, right?
Okay, okay nobody asked me to volunteer to be the unpaid, self-appointed voice of the Class of 1964 and so I have only myself to blame. I swear I will get into a twelve-step program for the nostalgically-challenged just the minute I get out of the rehab program for political junkies. But in the meantime-help, or else. And what might that or else threat mean? I am desperate enough to steal someone Else's thunder from the general North Quincy High Message Board. Do you really want to hear me on the subject of Squaw Rock? Or how nasty so of our teachers were? Or the dark side of the North Quincy High School Band? Or ........go into back into that dreaded Recycle Bin? Think about it. Send an idea-quick.
***
Someone has suggested a comparison or contrast between Elvis and Jerry Lee Lewis along the lines of the Rolling Stones/Beatles (Class of 1964-Stones or Beatles) or Brenda Lee/Patsy Cline (Battle of The Sexes-Round 235) commentaries that I had done earlier this year. This does not count as a new idea for me because I have already written a commentary for a blog that I belong to reviewing Jerry Lee Lewis's 2006 documentary- Last Man Standing.
Of course, Jerry Lee was better than Elvis-that's a no-brainer. But it is an idea that will find its way into these pages soon. Meanwhile how about some North Quincy idea? I am ready to start writing about President John Adams if nothing better comes along. You have been forewarned.
Originally posted on Jul 27 2008 on Classmates
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Thursday, July 17, 2008
***White socks.....and white shorts- For James And John C., Class Of 1964
Click on the headline to link to a site that sells "real" gym shorts for comparison with our old white shorts and socks. Is nothing sacred anymore?
Al Johnson, Class Of 1964, comment:
Originally posted in July 2008 on Classmates
Okay, let us take stock. Over the past months in this space I have written a solemn tribute to my father. A heartfelt tribute to my senior English teacher Miss Enos, as well. I have inquired about gas prices in 1964. I have asked where you were on March 17th. I have been a "flak" on more than one occasion for my old classmate the great runner, Bill Cadger, in his quest for North Quincy Sports Hall of Fame immortality. I have taken more trips down memory lane that I can shake a stick at-from the steps of old North Quincy High to the Germantown projects. I have investigated school organizations high and low, including my prize scoop on the mysterious doings of Tri-Hi-Y. Logically then, the next subject that cries out for attention should be......white socks.
Well, that follows naturally, right? Okay, before you call up to have me placed in restraints for my own good, hold up! Let me explain. For those still in possession of their treasured "Manet" from 1964 please open to any page in the sports section. I will give you a hint. Look at the feet of virtually every boy in any group photo. White socks, right? Now we are getting somewhere. And what, pray tell, is the meaning of this sartorial display. I am, moreover, sure that it extended beyond athletics. I know, as a creature of habit at the time and one who desperately wanted to be 'in', that I too wore my 'whites'. But what kind of fashion statement were we trying to make at the time? I do not know about you but at some point 'white socks' meant only one thing- dweeb, nerd, outcast and not cool. I distinctly remember that term in reference to scientific and engineer-types. And we know they were not cool. As cool as we tried to be were we really all dweebs who did not get the message fast enough out in the 'sticks' of North Quincy?
Now I know that if I keep going on about white socks I will voluntarily go into those restraints mentioned above. Frankly, stretching the subject to a paragraph was a chore. So in order to add bulk to this little entry let us look at its companion subject. White shorts, naturally. On old gym days those sacred white socks were accompanied by mandatory white gym shorts and white tee shirts, as least for boys, or all hell would break loose. Rickson's law, you know.
I have seen, and I know you have too, many students pass through many portals of learning since our North days and I am here to say that I have never seen another pair of white shorts like the ones we were required to wear. In fact, I believe that today one would be hard pressed to find two students wearing the same kind of gym shorts of any description. And who would argue with the logic of that? Now here is the question I want to ponder. Did I, and maybe you, miss two revolutions? The one away from white socks as a fashion statement and the other away from mandatory white gym shorts. Damn, and I was ready to go to the barricades too.
Al Johnson, Class Of 1964, comment:
Originally posted in July 2008 on Classmates
Okay, let us take stock. Over the past months in this space I have written a solemn tribute to my father. A heartfelt tribute to my senior English teacher Miss Enos, as well. I have inquired about gas prices in 1964. I have asked where you were on March 17th. I have been a "flak" on more than one occasion for my old classmate the great runner, Bill Cadger, in his quest for North Quincy Sports Hall of Fame immortality. I have taken more trips down memory lane that I can shake a stick at-from the steps of old North Quincy High to the Germantown projects. I have investigated school organizations high and low, including my prize scoop on the mysterious doings of Tri-Hi-Y. Logically then, the next subject that cries out for attention should be......white socks.
Well, that follows naturally, right? Okay, before you call up to have me placed in restraints for my own good, hold up! Let me explain. For those still in possession of their treasured "Manet" from 1964 please open to any page in the sports section. I will give you a hint. Look at the feet of virtually every boy in any group photo. White socks, right? Now we are getting somewhere. And what, pray tell, is the meaning of this sartorial display. I am, moreover, sure that it extended beyond athletics. I know, as a creature of habit at the time and one who desperately wanted to be 'in', that I too wore my 'whites'. But what kind of fashion statement were we trying to make at the time? I do not know about you but at some point 'white socks' meant only one thing- dweeb, nerd, outcast and not cool. I distinctly remember that term in reference to scientific and engineer-types. And we know they were not cool. As cool as we tried to be were we really all dweebs who did not get the message fast enough out in the 'sticks' of North Quincy?
Now I know that if I keep going on about white socks I will voluntarily go into those restraints mentioned above. Frankly, stretching the subject to a paragraph was a chore. So in order to add bulk to this little entry let us look at its companion subject. White shorts, naturally. On old gym days those sacred white socks were accompanied by mandatory white gym shorts and white tee shirts, as least for boys, or all hell would break loose. Rickson's law, you know.
I have seen, and I know you have too, many students pass through many portals of learning since our North days and I am here to say that I have never seen another pair of white shorts like the ones we were required to wear. In fact, I believe that today one would be hard pressed to find two students wearing the same kind of gym shorts of any description. And who would argue with the logic of that? Now here is the question I want to ponder. Did I, and maybe you, miss two revolutions? The one away from white socks as a fashion statement and the other away from mandatory white gym shorts. Damn, and I was ready to go to the barricades too.
Friday, July 4, 2008
***An Atlantic Fourth Of July- For Arlene, Class Of 1965
Click on the headline to link to a "Wikipedia" entry for Fourth of July (Independence Day) celebrations.
Al Johnson, Class of 1964, comment:
Originally posted on "Classmates" June 24, 2008
No, today I will not mention the tattoo of marching drums. Nor will I go on and on about the finale of the Overture of 1812. And I will most assuredly not describe the seemingly supersonic fireworks that boom over the nighttime skyline of Boston. Today I want to go back the quieter streets around Welcome Young Field in the Atlantic section of North Quincy on the Independence Days of my youth in the 1950's.
Probably, like in your neighborhood in the old days, the local older guys and fathers would put together a kitty, collect contributions and seek donations from local merchants to put together a little 'time' for the kids on the 4th of July. The details of the organization of this extravaganza are beyond my knowledge but I can surely speak to the results. As these things go it was pretty straight forward, you know; foot races of varying lengths for various age groups, baby contests, beauty contest, some sort of parade, pony rides and so forth. But that is only the frame. Here is the real story of the day. Here is what any self-respecting kid lived and died for that day.
Tonic (you know, soda, pop) and ice cream. And not just one tonic or one ice cream but as much as you could hoard. Twice during the day (I think maybe about 10AM and 1PM) there would be what one can only describe as a free-for-all as we all scrambled to get as many bottles of tonic (you know, soda) and cups of ice cream as we could handle. But here is the secret to the success of my brothers and me in grabbing much more than our fair share of the bounty. Grandma lived right on the corner of Welcome Young Field on Young Street. So, we would sprint with one load of goods over to her house and then go back for more until we filled up the back refrigerator.
Boy, that was work as we panted away, bottles clanking in our pockets. But then, work completed, we could savor our one tonic and one ice cream cup that we showed for public consumption. There were other sounds of the day beyond the cheering, the panting and the hee-haws of the ponies. As the sun went day it went down to the strains of some local pick-up band of the era in the tennis court as the dancing started. But that was adult time. Our time was to think about our day 's work, our hoard and the next day's tonic (you know, soda) and ice cream. Ah....
*********************
Below is the traffic from "Classmates", unedited, giving other information about Atlantic Fourth of July celebrations.
(2) Welcome young 4th of July
Richard Maffie 1966 (view profile)
Posted: Jun 24 2008 03:17pm PST
In reply to Alfred Johnson 1964
It was organized by the guys at the Sagamore grill. They had a truck with a loud speaker that would go uo and down the streets and had some of the older kid (15 or 15 years old ) going door to door for donations. The day started at around 8:00 am and ended with the talent show in the tennis court. I think Mr Burke won everyyear that I can remember for his "crasylegs dancing. Joe Gill, who worked at Estrella"s market on Newbury Ave was part of the group that set the whole celebration up. The last one I remember was around 1975, because I had my oldest son there. I ran into Frankie Belloti, who was running for some school committee office and I realized that he had not gone to Quincy Public School. I don't know about now, but Quincy Public education was one of the best in the nation in the 50's and 60's.
(4) An Atlantic 4th
Alfred Johnson 1964
Posted: Jul 23 2008 09:19am PST
In reply to Richard Maffie 1966
This note was originally placed on the North Quincy Alumni site.
According to Richard Maffie, Class of 1966, in a reply message on the Classmates site (he is also on this site) this Welcome Young Field celebration was organized by the guys at the bar called The Sagamore Grille. They had a truck with a loud speaker that would go up and down the streets (I remember that-Al) and had some of the older kids (15 or 16 year olds) going door to door for donations. Richard further stated that the day started about 8 AM (that sounds right- Al) and ended with the Talent Show in the tennis court (not the same ones as the ones that are located there today-Al). He said that Mr. Burke (Does anyone know who that is?) won every year with his 'crazy legs' dancing (?). Joe Gill, who worked at Estrella’s Market on Newbury Avenue, was part of the group who set the whole celebration up. Finally, Richard said that the last one that he remembered attending was around 1975 because he had his oldest son there. Thanks for the information Richard. Anyone else have anything to add? Al.
I should note that the Joe Gill mentioned above lived, with his mother, directly across the street from my grandparents, Daniel and Anna Radley, on Young Street. That is the place where we stashed our loot (the tonic and ice cream). Joe, when he worked for Estrella's, would also take my grandfather, disabled from a stroke and a retired Quincy fireman, riding around with him when he delivered orders. My grandfather was a, to be kind, difficult man to deal with so Joe must have had some charm. My grandmother, house-bound as she got older due to having been crippled in an accident, was a saint. When things got tough at my family house over on Walnut Street (near the old Duggan Brothers Garage) I could always go over there, especially after my grandfather went into a nursing home, for a meal or just for refuge. Thanks- Grandma.
(5) Atlantic 4th . . .
Craig Warren 1957 (view profile)
Posted: Jul 30 2008 11:07am PST
In reply to Alfred Johnson 1964
Alfred 'n' others;
The earliest recollection I have of the July 4th festivities at Young Field was when I returned to Atlantic in July 1945 after being away for a couple years. I seem to remember that they had foot races and other activities. I remember running one of the races which was close between me and another kid. They declared the other kid the winner, but I threw a fit. I guess I hadn't yet learned to take a loss gracefully. Later, in the 50's maybe, I remember hearing a girl who sang like Theresa "Tessie" Brewer at the Young Field tennis courts. I think somebody said she was the sister of one Jim Baldwin (NQHS 1958) who later became one of North's best all-round athletes. That's all I remember of the Atlantic 4th celebrations, and I'm not totally sure of the accuracy of those memories. The years continue to cloud some memories.
Craig S. Warren NQHS 1957
(6) Re: Welcome young 4th of July
Arlene Devine 1965 (view profile)
Posted: Oct 08 2008 07:31pm PST
In reply to Richard Maffie 1966
Hi
I am one of the guilty one's out there that have read messages for a couple of years and not responded until this really sparked my interest. Back in the 50's the first 9 1/2 years of my life was on the top floor of a three decker on Sagamore St., and Welcome Young was were we spent every day. We all waited for the fourth. Richard is right about the truck My Grandfather George Kelley and my uncles would ride on the back of the flatbed truck going up and down the streets playing their musical instruments while others collected donations. We would throw change to the people collecting. On the big day we would line up early in the morning with our costumes on. Bud Chase and Elliot Thomas had a lot to do with getting everything together along with a lot of the guys from the Sagamore Grill. On our way down Sagamore Street from Newbury Ave heading to Welcome Young everyone would get a shiny quarter for marching. I do remember going to Wheaton's Varity Store (later owned by my Uncle Harold Kelley) for free ice cream and "tonic."
The rest of the day would be filled with games and shows, and yes the tennis court would be converted to a stage for the day and night.
My parents Joe and Hazel Devine owned the old Stenzel's Market for a couple of years back in the middle 50's. My Mother later went on to work at the Wheelhouse Diner for years, does anyone remember the "Wheelhouse?"
We later moved to Wollaston/Montclair but the best days were Sagamore St. I often wonder what happened to Chuckie Chase, Peter Thomas, Dick Guest, and Rhett Johnson. I was the tom boy of the group.
I remember nights at Ho Jo's, and 7 E's and Bucky the cop. Wollaston Beach between the Yacht Clubs was the place to be.
Tri-Hi-Y and the YMCA. "Up the Downs," between the "Neighborhhood and Bono's Drug Stores." Tony's for Subs. Joyce's Card Shop, The 5 & 10, Walsh's for special dinners, and WMEX's radio station. Gym Class with Ms. McCoy. Four years of Homeroom with Ms Savage. Walking home in the cold with everyone on Hancock Street when North won the Thanksgiving games.
We still go to Dr Yacubian as our Dentist, the model for the "Yakoo," (class of "58"). He knows more about North Quincy High School than anyone else and has been their biggest supporter.
Richard, didn't you live on the second floor of the Parker's house?
I am lucky that I have kept a lot of my friends from childhood but do miss my years growing up in Quincy.
(7) Re: Welcome young 4th of July
Christine Engrassia 1981 (view profile)
Posted: Oct 09 2008 12:04pm PST
In reply to Arlene Devine 1965
Hello,
I am a little younger then those who have posted on this subject but I can remember all of these things occuring in the 60's to maybe mid 70's.....the great dress-up parade at the beginning of the day, the doll carriage and bike decorating contests, pie eating contests......what great good old fashion fun it was !!!
(8) Re: Welcome young 4th of July
Michael Meleedy 1986
Posted: Oct 20 2008 07:23pm PST
In reply to Christine Engrassia 1981
I remember winning the blueberry pie eating contest for my age group as a 7 year old (1975) and running full speed to by Grandmother's house on E Squantum St.
Good times...
Al Johnson, Class of 1964, comment:
Originally posted on "Classmates" June 24, 2008
No, today I will not mention the tattoo of marching drums. Nor will I go on and on about the finale of the Overture of 1812. And I will most assuredly not describe the seemingly supersonic fireworks that boom over the nighttime skyline of Boston. Today I want to go back the quieter streets around Welcome Young Field in the Atlantic section of North Quincy on the Independence Days of my youth in the 1950's.
Probably, like in your neighborhood in the old days, the local older guys and fathers would put together a kitty, collect contributions and seek donations from local merchants to put together a little 'time' for the kids on the 4th of July. The details of the organization of this extravaganza are beyond my knowledge but I can surely speak to the results. As these things go it was pretty straight forward, you know; foot races of varying lengths for various age groups, baby contests, beauty contest, some sort of parade, pony rides and so forth. But that is only the frame. Here is the real story of the day. Here is what any self-respecting kid lived and died for that day.
Tonic (you know, soda, pop) and ice cream. And not just one tonic or one ice cream but as much as you could hoard. Twice during the day (I think maybe about 10AM and 1PM) there would be what one can only describe as a free-for-all as we all scrambled to get as many bottles of tonic (you know, soda) and cups of ice cream as we could handle. But here is the secret to the success of my brothers and me in grabbing much more than our fair share of the bounty. Grandma lived right on the corner of Welcome Young Field on Young Street. So, we would sprint with one load of goods over to her house and then go back for more until we filled up the back refrigerator.
Boy, that was work as we panted away, bottles clanking in our pockets. But then, work completed, we could savor our one tonic and one ice cream cup that we showed for public consumption. There were other sounds of the day beyond the cheering, the panting and the hee-haws of the ponies. As the sun went day it went down to the strains of some local pick-up band of the era in the tennis court as the dancing started. But that was adult time. Our time was to think about our day 's work, our hoard and the next day's tonic (you know, soda) and ice cream. Ah....
*********************
Below is the traffic from "Classmates", unedited, giving other information about Atlantic Fourth of July celebrations.
(2) Welcome young 4th of July
Richard Maffie 1966 (view profile)
Posted: Jun 24 2008 03:17pm PST
In reply to Alfred Johnson 1964
It was organized by the guys at the Sagamore grill. They had a truck with a loud speaker that would go uo and down the streets and had some of the older kid (15 or 15 years old ) going door to door for donations. The day started at around 8:00 am and ended with the talent show in the tennis court. I think Mr Burke won everyyear that I can remember for his "crasylegs dancing. Joe Gill, who worked at Estrella"s market on Newbury Ave was part of the group that set the whole celebration up. The last one I remember was around 1975, because I had my oldest son there. I ran into Frankie Belloti, who was running for some school committee office and I realized that he had not gone to Quincy Public School. I don't know about now, but Quincy Public education was one of the best in the nation in the 50's and 60's.
(4) An Atlantic 4th
Alfred Johnson 1964
Posted: Jul 23 2008 09:19am PST
In reply to Richard Maffie 1966
This note was originally placed on the North Quincy Alumni site.
According to Richard Maffie, Class of 1966, in a reply message on the Classmates site (he is also on this site) this Welcome Young Field celebration was organized by the guys at the bar called The Sagamore Grille. They had a truck with a loud speaker that would go up and down the streets (I remember that-Al) and had some of the older kids (15 or 16 year olds) going door to door for donations. Richard further stated that the day started about 8 AM (that sounds right- Al) and ended with the Talent Show in the tennis court (not the same ones as the ones that are located there today-Al). He said that Mr. Burke (Does anyone know who that is?) won every year with his 'crazy legs' dancing (?). Joe Gill, who worked at Estrella’s Market on Newbury Avenue, was part of the group who set the whole celebration up. Finally, Richard said that the last one that he remembered attending was around 1975 because he had his oldest son there. Thanks for the information Richard. Anyone else have anything to add? Al.
I should note that the Joe Gill mentioned above lived, with his mother, directly across the street from my grandparents, Daniel and Anna Radley, on Young Street. That is the place where we stashed our loot (the tonic and ice cream). Joe, when he worked for Estrella's, would also take my grandfather, disabled from a stroke and a retired Quincy fireman, riding around with him when he delivered orders. My grandfather was a, to be kind, difficult man to deal with so Joe must have had some charm. My grandmother, house-bound as she got older due to having been crippled in an accident, was a saint. When things got tough at my family house over on Walnut Street (near the old Duggan Brothers Garage) I could always go over there, especially after my grandfather went into a nursing home, for a meal or just for refuge. Thanks- Grandma.
(5) Atlantic 4th . . .
Craig Warren 1957 (view profile)
Posted: Jul 30 2008 11:07am PST
In reply to Alfred Johnson 1964
Alfred 'n' others;
The earliest recollection I have of the July 4th festivities at Young Field was when I returned to Atlantic in July 1945 after being away for a couple years. I seem to remember that they had foot races and other activities. I remember running one of the races which was close between me and another kid. They declared the other kid the winner, but I threw a fit. I guess I hadn't yet learned to take a loss gracefully. Later, in the 50's maybe, I remember hearing a girl who sang like Theresa "Tessie" Brewer at the Young Field tennis courts. I think somebody said she was the sister of one Jim Baldwin (NQHS 1958) who later became one of North's best all-round athletes. That's all I remember of the Atlantic 4th celebrations, and I'm not totally sure of the accuracy of those memories. The years continue to cloud some memories.
Craig S. Warren NQHS 1957
(6) Re: Welcome young 4th of July
Arlene Devine 1965 (view profile)
Posted: Oct 08 2008 07:31pm PST
In reply to Richard Maffie 1966
Hi
I am one of the guilty one's out there that have read messages for a couple of years and not responded until this really sparked my interest. Back in the 50's the first 9 1/2 years of my life was on the top floor of a three decker on Sagamore St., and Welcome Young was were we spent every day. We all waited for the fourth. Richard is right about the truck My Grandfather George Kelley and my uncles would ride on the back of the flatbed truck going up and down the streets playing their musical instruments while others collected donations. We would throw change to the people collecting. On the big day we would line up early in the morning with our costumes on. Bud Chase and Elliot Thomas had a lot to do with getting everything together along with a lot of the guys from the Sagamore Grill. On our way down Sagamore Street from Newbury Ave heading to Welcome Young everyone would get a shiny quarter for marching. I do remember going to Wheaton's Varity Store (later owned by my Uncle Harold Kelley) for free ice cream and "tonic."
The rest of the day would be filled with games and shows, and yes the tennis court would be converted to a stage for the day and night.
My parents Joe and Hazel Devine owned the old Stenzel's Market for a couple of years back in the middle 50's. My Mother later went on to work at the Wheelhouse Diner for years, does anyone remember the "Wheelhouse?"
We later moved to Wollaston/Montclair but the best days were Sagamore St. I often wonder what happened to Chuckie Chase, Peter Thomas, Dick Guest, and Rhett Johnson. I was the tom boy of the group.
I remember nights at Ho Jo's, and 7 E's and Bucky the cop. Wollaston Beach between the Yacht Clubs was the place to be.
Tri-Hi-Y and the YMCA. "Up the Downs," between the "Neighborhhood and Bono's Drug Stores." Tony's for Subs. Joyce's Card Shop, The 5 & 10, Walsh's for special dinners, and WMEX's radio station. Gym Class with Ms. McCoy. Four years of Homeroom with Ms Savage. Walking home in the cold with everyone on Hancock Street when North won the Thanksgiving games.
We still go to Dr Yacubian as our Dentist, the model for the "Yakoo," (class of "58"). He knows more about North Quincy High School than anyone else and has been their biggest supporter.
Richard, didn't you live on the second floor of the Parker's house?
I am lucky that I have kept a lot of my friends from childhood but do miss my years growing up in Quincy.
(7) Re: Welcome young 4th of July
Christine Engrassia 1981 (view profile)
Posted: Oct 09 2008 12:04pm PST
In reply to Arlene Devine 1965
Hello,
I am a little younger then those who have posted on this subject but I can remember all of these things occuring in the 60's to maybe mid 70's.....the great dress-up parade at the beginning of the day, the doll carriage and bike decorating contests, pie eating contests......what great good old fashion fun it was !!!
(8) Re: Welcome young 4th of July
Michael Meleedy 1986
Posted: Oct 20 2008 07:23pm PST
In reply to Christine Engrassia 1981
I remember winning the blueberry pie eating contest for my age group as a 7 year old (1975) and running full speed to by Grandmother's house on E Squantum St.
Good times...
Sunday, June 15, 2008
***I Hear My Father's Voice....I hear an early morning front door slam
Click on the headline to link to a "Wikipedia" entry for the Guadalcanal Campaign, a campaign my father participated in, during World War II.
Al Johnson, Class Of 1964, comment:
This was originally posted in June 2008.
In honor of Preston Johnson, 1920-1985, PFC United States Marine Corps, World War II, and, perhaps, other North Quincy fathers.
Some of you, I am sure, are warm-heartedly preparing to put some little gift together for the 'greatest dad in the world'. Others of you are preparing to do that same task for dear old dad, although with your teeth grinding. In this writer's family we never even got that far and so today the subject is a little cyberspace message in honor of a man who, as it turns out, deeply formed who I am- for the better. We had been estranged for many years. I do not want to go into the details of that fact, just call them ugly, as this is not about my trials and tribulations in the world, but his.
He was a man who came out of the foothills of Kentucky- Hazard, Harlan County, coal mining country famous in story and song- the poorest of the poor of white Appalachia-the 'hillbillies'. At the start of World War II he joined the Marines, fought his fair share of battles and by the vagaries of fate eventually was stationed in Hingham. While stationed there he met my mother (NQHS Class of 1943), married, had three sons and the rest is history. Well, not quite. He was also a man who never drew a break, not at work, not through his sons, not in anything.
My father was a good man, he was a hard working man when he had work, and he was a devoted family man. But go back to that last paragraph about where he was from. He was also an uneducated man with no skills for the Boston labor market. There was no call for a coal miner's skills in Boston after World War II so he was reduced to unskilled, last hired, first fired jobs. This is not a pretty fate for a man with hungry mouths to feed. And stuck in the old Germantown housing project, to boot. To get out from under my mother also worked, scraped a few pennies together to buy an old, small rundown house, on the wrong side of the tracks, on Walnut Street and we thus came back to the North Quincy of her youth. But who knows what toll that inability to be the sole breadwinner (no big deal now- but important for a man of his generation) took on the man's pride.
And it never really got better from there as his three boys grew to manhood and caused him more than his fair share of heartache. He never said much about it though. Why? Damn, they were his boys and although they broke his heart they were his boys. That is all that mattered to him and so that, in the end, is how I know he must have forgiven us.
To go on in this vain would be rather maudlin. The old Marine Corps slogan held true in his case though- Semper Fi- "always faithful". Yes, that is a good way to end. Except to say something that should have been shouted from the rooftops long ago- thanks Dad, you did the best you could.
Al Johnson, Class Of 1964, comment:
This was originally posted in June 2008.
In honor of Preston Johnson, 1920-1985, PFC United States Marine Corps, World War II, and, perhaps, other North Quincy fathers.
Some of you, I am sure, are warm-heartedly preparing to put some little gift together for the 'greatest dad in the world'. Others of you are preparing to do that same task for dear old dad, although with your teeth grinding. In this writer's family we never even got that far and so today the subject is a little cyberspace message in honor of a man who, as it turns out, deeply formed who I am- for the better. We had been estranged for many years. I do not want to go into the details of that fact, just call them ugly, as this is not about my trials and tribulations in the world, but his.
He was a man who came out of the foothills of Kentucky- Hazard, Harlan County, coal mining country famous in story and song- the poorest of the poor of white Appalachia-the 'hillbillies'. At the start of World War II he joined the Marines, fought his fair share of battles and by the vagaries of fate eventually was stationed in Hingham. While stationed there he met my mother (NQHS Class of 1943), married, had three sons and the rest is history. Well, not quite. He was also a man who never drew a break, not at work, not through his sons, not in anything.
My father was a good man, he was a hard working man when he had work, and he was a devoted family man. But go back to that last paragraph about where he was from. He was also an uneducated man with no skills for the Boston labor market. There was no call for a coal miner's skills in Boston after World War II so he was reduced to unskilled, last hired, first fired jobs. This is not a pretty fate for a man with hungry mouths to feed. And stuck in the old Germantown housing project, to boot. To get out from under my mother also worked, scraped a few pennies together to buy an old, small rundown house, on the wrong side of the tracks, on Walnut Street and we thus came back to the North Quincy of her youth. But who knows what toll that inability to be the sole breadwinner (no big deal now- but important for a man of his generation) took on the man's pride.
And it never really got better from there as his three boys grew to manhood and caused him more than his fair share of heartache. He never said much about it though. Why? Damn, they were his boys and although they broke his heart they were his boys. That is all that mattered to him and so that, in the end, is how I know he must have forgiven us.
To go on in this vain would be rather maudlin. The old Marine Corps slogan held true in his case though- Semper Fi- "always faithful". Yes, that is a good way to end. Except to say something that should have been shouted from the rooftops long ago- thanks Dad, you did the best you could.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
***A Coming Of Age Story- For the Snug Harbor Elementary School Class Of 1958
Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Bill Haley and the Comets performing Rock Around The Clock.
Al Johnson, Class of 1964, comment:
Originally posted June 2008.
I have my history hat on again today. For those who can stand to know this information the members of the Class of 1964 this year are celebrating the 50th Anniversary of our graduation from elementary school. What better way to celebrate that milestone on the rocky road to surviving childhood than to take a trip down memory lane. Those days were filled with memorable incidents, good and bad, but I have one that I have not forgotten to this day. I note that I graduated from Snug Harbor Elementary School in Quincy and am a product of the Germantown housing project.
At some point in elementary school a boy is inevitably suppose to learn to do two intertwined socially-oriented tasks- the basics of some kind of dancing and to be paired off with, dare I say it, a girl in that activity. I can already hear your gasps, dear reader, as I present this scenario. In my case the dancing part turned out to be the basics of square dancing (go figure, for a city boy, right?). Not only did this clumsy ten-year-old boy have to do the basic 'swing your partner' but I also had to do it while I was paired, for this occasion, with a girl that I had a 'crush' on. That girl, moreover, was not from 'the projects' but from one of the new single-family homes that the up and coming middle class were moving into up the road. I will not describe her here; although I could do so even today, but let us leave it that her name was Rosalind. Enchanting name, right? Nothing special about the story so far, though. Just your average one of the stages of coming of age story. I wish.
Well, the long and short of it was that we were practicing this square dancing to demonstrate our prowess before our parents in the school gym. Nothing unusual there either. After all there is no sense in doing this type of activity unless one can impress one's parents. I forget all the details of the setup of the space for demonstration day and things like that but it was a big deal. To honor the occasion, as this was my big moment to impress Rosalind, I had, earlier in the day, cut up my dungarees to give myself an authentic square dancer look.
I thought I looked pretty good. That is until my mother saw what I had done to the pants. In a second she got up from her seat, marched over to me and started yelling about my disrespect for my father's and her efforts to clothe me and about the fact that since I only had a couple of pairs of pants how could I do such a thing. In short, airing the family troubles in public for all to hear. That went on for what seemed like an eternity. Thereafter I was unceremoniously taken home and placed on restriction for a week. Needless to say my father heard about it when he got home, and I heard about it for weeks afterward. Needless to say I also blew my 'chances' with dear, sweet Rosalind.
Now is this a tale of the hard lessons of the nature of class society that I am always more than willing to put in a word about? Surely, not. Is this a sad tale of young love thwarted by the vagaries of fate? A little. Is this a tale about respect for the little we had in my family? Perhaps. Was my mother, despite her rage, right? Well, yes. Did I learn something about being poor in the world? Damn right. That is the point. .......But, oh, Rosalind.
Rock Around The Clock Song Lyrics from Bill Haley
One, two, three o'clock, four o'clock, rock,
Five, six, seven o'clock, eight o'clock, rock,
Nine, ten, eleven o'clock, twelve o'clock, rock,
We're gonna rock around the clock tonight.
Put your glad rags on and join me, hon,
We'll have some fun when the clock strikes one,
We're gonna rock around the clock tonight,
We're gonna rock, rock, rock, 'til broad daylight.
We're gonna rock, gonna rock, around the clock tonight.
When the clock strikes two, three and four,
If the band slows down we'll yell for more,
We're gonna rock around the clock tonight,
We're gonna rock, rock, rock, 'til broad daylight.
We're gonna rock, gonna rock, around the clock tonight.
When the chimes ring five, six and seven,
We'll be right in seventh heaven.
We're gonna rock around the clock tonight,
We're gonna rock, rock, rock, 'til broad daylight.
We're gonna rock, gonna rock, around the clock tonight.
When it's eight, nine, ten, eleven too,
I'll be goin' strong and so will you.
We're gonna rock around the clock tonight,
We're gonna rock, rock, rock, 'til broad daylight.
We're gonna rock, gonna rock, around the clock tonight.
When the clock strikes twelve, we'll cool off then,
Start a rockin' round the clock again.
We're gonna rock around the clock tonight,
We're gonna rock, rock, rock, 'til broad daylight.
We're gonna rock, gonna rock, around the clock tonight.
Al Johnson, Class of 1964, comment:
Originally posted June 2008.
I have my history hat on again today. For those who can stand to know this information the members of the Class of 1964 this year are celebrating the 50th Anniversary of our graduation from elementary school. What better way to celebrate that milestone on the rocky road to surviving childhood than to take a trip down memory lane. Those days were filled with memorable incidents, good and bad, but I have one that I have not forgotten to this day. I note that I graduated from Snug Harbor Elementary School in Quincy and am a product of the Germantown housing project.
At some point in elementary school a boy is inevitably suppose to learn to do two intertwined socially-oriented tasks- the basics of some kind of dancing and to be paired off with, dare I say it, a girl in that activity. I can already hear your gasps, dear reader, as I present this scenario. In my case the dancing part turned out to be the basics of square dancing (go figure, for a city boy, right?). Not only did this clumsy ten-year-old boy have to do the basic 'swing your partner' but I also had to do it while I was paired, for this occasion, with a girl that I had a 'crush' on. That girl, moreover, was not from 'the projects' but from one of the new single-family homes that the up and coming middle class were moving into up the road. I will not describe her here; although I could do so even today, but let us leave it that her name was Rosalind. Enchanting name, right? Nothing special about the story so far, though. Just your average one of the stages of coming of age story. I wish.
Well, the long and short of it was that we were practicing this square dancing to demonstrate our prowess before our parents in the school gym. Nothing unusual there either. After all there is no sense in doing this type of activity unless one can impress one's parents. I forget all the details of the setup of the space for demonstration day and things like that but it was a big deal. To honor the occasion, as this was my big moment to impress Rosalind, I had, earlier in the day, cut up my dungarees to give myself an authentic square dancer look.
I thought I looked pretty good. That is until my mother saw what I had done to the pants. In a second she got up from her seat, marched over to me and started yelling about my disrespect for my father's and her efforts to clothe me and about the fact that since I only had a couple of pairs of pants how could I do such a thing. In short, airing the family troubles in public for all to hear. That went on for what seemed like an eternity. Thereafter I was unceremoniously taken home and placed on restriction for a week. Needless to say my father heard about it when he got home, and I heard about it for weeks afterward. Needless to say I also blew my 'chances' with dear, sweet Rosalind.
Now is this a tale of the hard lessons of the nature of class society that I am always more than willing to put in a word about? Surely, not. Is this a sad tale of young love thwarted by the vagaries of fate? A little. Is this a tale about respect for the little we had in my family? Perhaps. Was my mother, despite her rage, right? Well, yes. Did I learn something about being poor in the world? Damn right. That is the point. .......But, oh, Rosalind.
Rock Around The Clock Song Lyrics from Bill Haley
One, two, three o'clock, four o'clock, rock,
Five, six, seven o'clock, eight o'clock, rock,
Nine, ten, eleven o'clock, twelve o'clock, rock,
We're gonna rock around the clock tonight.
Put your glad rags on and join me, hon,
We'll have some fun when the clock strikes one,
We're gonna rock around the clock tonight,
We're gonna rock, rock, rock, 'til broad daylight.
We're gonna rock, gonna rock, around the clock tonight.
When the clock strikes two, three and four,
If the band slows down we'll yell for more,
We're gonna rock around the clock tonight,
We're gonna rock, rock, rock, 'til broad daylight.
We're gonna rock, gonna rock, around the clock tonight.
When the chimes ring five, six and seven,
We'll be right in seventh heaven.
We're gonna rock around the clock tonight,
We're gonna rock, rock, rock, 'til broad daylight.
We're gonna rock, gonna rock, around the clock tonight.
When it's eight, nine, ten, eleven too,
I'll be goin' strong and so will you.
We're gonna rock around the clock tonight,
We're gonna rock, rock, rock, 'til broad daylight.
We're gonna rock, gonna rock, around the clock tonight.
When the clock strikes twelve, we'll cool off then,
Start a rockin' round the clock again.
We're gonna rock around the clock tonight,
We're gonna rock, rock, rock, 'til broad daylight.
We're gonna rock, gonna rock, around the clock tonight.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
***A Class Website Of One's Own, For The Class Of 1964
Click on headline to link to Class of 1965 and THEIR Website as referred to in this entry.
Markin, Class Of 1964, comment:
I was surfing the Classmate site looking at the class message boards of the classes at North just before and after us and found that Richard Goldstein had made an announcement that the Class of 1965 has its own website hosted by its own webmaster. Correct me if I am wrong but didn't the Class of 1964 have several members who went to MIT or other scientific or technically- oriented schools who could take on such a task?
Actually, these days doesn't someone have an eight-year-old grandchild who could serve in that Webmaster capacity? In either case, isn't there someone who can take on this chore so that we get to see all the photos of children and grandchildren, the family dogs and cats, the aging children of the Class of 1964, and whatever else cyberspace will accept. I am on a crusade, fellow classmates.
Now I have not always been a technie fan. In fact in the past I have been something of a technological Luddite (if you do not know who a Luddite is go to "Wikipedia"). During most of my life I have consciously kept a few too many steps behind the latest technology, at times from a political prospective and at others from a desire not to get too much clutter in my space. Now, however, although cyberspace does not necessarily bring us the golden age of the global community that I have long hankered for, it does permit those of us from the Class of 1964 to take a stroll down memory lane.
I know there is someone out there who, with evil intent in his or her heart, says " Well, why doesn't old Johnson take on this task?" Fair enough. However, as this is a confessional age, I must come clean here. While I appreciate and can certainly use the Internet when the deal goes down and I get into technological trouble or have to upgrade, etc. I must call in my "significant other" to rescues me. When I say, Cindy, the #*& computer just went kaput she comes to the rescue. Moreover, if the truth were known I also still use a CD player when I go for my walks. In the age of the iPod how yesterday, right? I, however, would be more than happy to write a little something for our website. But we need a Webmaster extraordinaire to get us up and running. So, as this is also an age that is addicted to sports metaphors- who will step up to the plate?
Markin, Class Of 1964, comment:
I was surfing the Classmate site looking at the class message boards of the classes at North just before and after us and found that Richard Goldstein had made an announcement that the Class of 1965 has its own website hosted by its own webmaster. Correct me if I am wrong but didn't the Class of 1964 have several members who went to MIT or other scientific or technically- oriented schools who could take on such a task?
Actually, these days doesn't someone have an eight-year-old grandchild who could serve in that Webmaster capacity? In either case, isn't there someone who can take on this chore so that we get to see all the photos of children and grandchildren, the family dogs and cats, the aging children of the Class of 1964, and whatever else cyberspace will accept. I am on a crusade, fellow classmates.
Now I have not always been a technie fan. In fact in the past I have been something of a technological Luddite (if you do not know who a Luddite is go to "Wikipedia"). During most of my life I have consciously kept a few too many steps behind the latest technology, at times from a political prospective and at others from a desire not to get too much clutter in my space. Now, however, although cyberspace does not necessarily bring us the golden age of the global community that I have long hankered for, it does permit those of us from the Class of 1964 to take a stroll down memory lane.
I know there is someone out there who, with evil intent in his or her heart, says " Well, why doesn't old Johnson take on this task?" Fair enough. However, as this is a confessional age, I must come clean here. While I appreciate and can certainly use the Internet when the deal goes down and I get into technological trouble or have to upgrade, etc. I must call in my "significant other" to rescues me. When I say, Cindy, the #*& computer just went kaput she comes to the rescue. Moreover, if the truth were known I also still use a CD player when I go for my walks. In the age of the iPod how yesterday, right? I, however, would be more than happy to write a little something for our website. But we need a Webmaster extraordinaire to get us up and running. So, as this is also an age that is addicted to sports metaphors- who will step up to the plate?
Saturday, May 17, 2008
***In Honor Of Miss (Ms.) Rose Enos,North Quincy High English Department, Circa 1964
Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Ellen Terry reciting Portia's mercy speech from The Merchant of Venice. Fitting right?
Al Johnson, Class of 1964, comment:
Originally posted in May 2008 on Classmates
"The quality of mercy is not strained. It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven, Upon the place beneath" lines from Portia's speech to the court in William Shakespeare's "Merchant of Venice"
No, I did not have to look those sentences up. (Okay, I will confess, I did look up to see if there was one or two p's in droppeth) I know those lines and more from the master by heart. Although I am not a fan of rote recital, as was the fashion in my schoolboy days and in earlier times (the great American playwright Eugene O' Neill's father was said to be the master of such Shakespearean recital in the 19th century), it does serve to bring up my point. Literature matters. Words matter. I have, on more occasions than I care to remember, honored those ideas more in the breech than the observance but I have tried to be guided by them. And did those pieces of wisdom just spring forth from the depths of my mind? Hell no, they were planted there by the person whom I wish to honor in this commentary- Ms. Rose Enos, my senior year English teacher.
I have recently come into possession of a friend's copy of our 1964 yearbook (Bill Cadger, the great cross country runner and track man) and in thumbing through the pages I came upon a group picture of the English Department, including Ms. Enos. That brought many things to mind in a hurry. First, and foremost, dread. Dread that I would not be prepared for her weekly ten vocabulary words. Dread that I had not memorized my Shakespeare. Dread that I was not prepared for my book report. You get the picture, right? Dread. And that ain't no lie.
So, that being the case, why is Ms. Enos being honored here today forty-four years after the event? Well, go back to that first paragraph. I was not close to Ms. Enos, certainly not her "pet". Perhaps she did not even know who I was. I do not know about today but back then the classes were very large and there were many minds to feed. I know from my own later experiences that such things occur. So it is possible. Perhaps she did not even like me. That too is possible. I did not display my better side, the "better angel of my nature", in those days. However, I know two things about her-literature matters, words matter. That more than balances things out, don't you think? Miss (Ms.)Rose Enos, wherever you are-thanks.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXX
The following, unedited, is the traffic in response to my post on Classmates
I recently received an e-mail on the Classmates site from James Connolly, Class of 1964, who was in English class with me in senior year. James is now a Xavierian Brother- that is a Catholic religious order. He, presumably, has no reason to lie, not that he need to on this occasion. Brother James told me that he too was in dread of Ms. Enos in those days. He also told me that Ms. Enos, among others, had helped him immensely in preparation for his vocation. Enough said.
Replies 5 messages
(2) In memory of Miss Rose Enos . . .
Craig Warren 1957 (view profile)
Posted: Jul 23 2008 11:10am PST
In reply to Alfred Johnson 1964
Alfred;
Miss Enos was my 10th grade English Teacher for the 1954-55 school year. It often struck me as somewhat cruel, but some kids used to say it looked like she applied her makeup with a trowel. I struggled in her class, but so did many others. When we had to write our own poems, I wrote something to the effect that "If I had an airplane, I would fly. . . " I didn't think it was on a par with something by Frost or Longfellow, but one of the guys a year behind me said Miss Enos read my poem to their class the following year. Maybe saying "This is how not to write a poem." Who knows?
When I had the mumps that wiped out my 1955 spring track season, I missed a book report in Miss Enos' class. When I returned after missing 2 weeks of school, she let me choose one of the many books she had in her closet. I think it was called "Merril's Marauders" and it was quite interesting. I had to read that book in one night and write 2 facts about each chapter. I squeaked by with a "C" in her class. I think the spelling/vocabulary tests were what saved me. I just wasn't very good at writing things up in those days. I finally did get a "B" in English in my senior year, probably because I was no longer in the "College Prep" program. When I graduated in 1957, I "fled" into the Navy with no intention of ever going to college. Ironically, I spent nearly all of my first year in the Navy in school. I took the Honorable Discharge in 1967 and started college in 1974, graduating with a Bachelor of Science in Civil Engineering in 1982 from the University of Texas in El Paso. I guess some of us take a bit longer to get with the program. I feel that most, if not all, of the English teachers I had at NQHS made a positive impression, including Miss Rose Enos. That was in spite of my not getting the best of grades. Dave Meaney once asked if I was having problems at home, but I fibbed and told him there were no problems. Anyway, thanks should go out to the teachers who put up with us those many years ago.
Craig S. Warren
(3) Miss Enos
Alfred Johnson 1964
Posted: Jul 23 2008 01:31pm PST
In reply to Craig Warren 1957
I am posting the information below that I had originally placed with my commentary to prod Brother James Connolly (and others) to come up with their own Miss Enos stories like the one above by Craig Warren.
"I recently received an e-mail on the Classmates site from James Connolly, Class of 1964, who was in English class with me in senior year. James is now a Xavierian Brother- that is a Catholic religious order. He, presumably, has no reason to lie, not that he needs to on this occasion. Brother James told me that he too was in dread of Ms. Enos in those days. He also told me that Ms. Enos, among others, had helped him immensely in preparation for his vocation. Enough said."
(4) Literary ambitions . . . ?
Craig Warren 1957 (view profile)
Posted: Jul 24 2008 11:01am PST
In reply to Alfred Johnson 1964
Alfred;
My average for the three English classes I had in 10th, 11th and 12th grades was about a middle "C." 10th-C, 11th-L, 12th-B. Miss Enos may have been the teacher who planted the seed of writing in me, but it probably didn't begin to germinate till I started college in 1974, 17 years after graduating from North. I received three "A's" and a solid "B" for the 4 English classes I took in college and was encouraged by the professors to write more. I also did reasonably well writing up the lab reports for experiments in engineering or science classes. More recently, I have started a fictional "narrative." So far it's reached 142 pages in Spanish. I asked a former NQHS classmate if I should write a parallel English version. She told me it would probably be better to finish the Spanish version first. I don't know when that will be, if ever. I know; "don't give up on anything." The Spanish was probably started at NQHS with the two years of Latin with Louise Fifield and one year of Spanish with Roberta Webstersmith, who was usually a French teacher. After all is said and done, unless we slept through high school, all of the teachers and coaches had some influence on us. Some, of course, more than others. Rose Enos was one of those who may have been somewhat intimidating to many, but that's how good teachers are.
My late wife Elvia, who retired in 1990 after 28 years of teaching primary school for the State of Chihuahua, was that kind of teacher. She was tough on her students, and some of them later thanked her for being so tough, because it made secondary school and beyond less difficult.
Craig S. Warren-1957
(5) Yes, Literary Ambitions....
Alfred Johnson 1964
Posted: Aug 12 2008 01:18pm PST
In reply to Craig Warren 1957
Craig- Thanks for answering my question about whether Ms. Enos (or any other teacher) sparked any literary ambitions in you. In the interest of getting your 15 minutes of fame (or more) I guess you better keep on writing your autobiography (oops) fictional 'narrative'. Good luck. The reason that I asked you that question in my e-mail is that someone last spring asked me that same question. I answered her with an entry in this space that I subsequently deleted. I have reposted here to give you an idea about my 'literary' ambitions.
*****
A Writer's Monologue
Why is this writer writing all these damn commentaries on these message boards?
I have recently received an e-mail asking this very question, although it was more politely put. I hope. Well, if one reads my answer on the canned Q&A section on my profile page (since deleted, AJ) provided by this site one answer is to network with the old gang. Another is the fact that some of us are still standing and that is in itself a cause for wonder. In earlier ages (there he goes again with that history stuff) people of a certain age (that means us) would be considered old. Can you believe that? So, partially I am also celebrating that fact. Furthermore, a recent series of events in my life have made me aware of my mortality and I, frankly, feel a need to get back to my roots. Fair enough?
Those reasons listed above are all good and sufficient but I will now present the real reason, a confession if you will. I have always liked to write, and I have an inordinate respect for those who do it well. If for one minute I could write like Ernest Hemingway with that sparse, functional language that gets to the bone of social existence I would give much gold. Or if I could write in the savage sardonic style of the late Doctor Hunter S. Thompson (Doctor Gonzo) I would add diamonds to the pile.
So mix this love of writing with all of the others. Then put them together with the glorious possibilities of the information superhighway that gives me a targeted audience and here we are. And the best part is that you can read or not read these screeds without any fuss, muss or bother. Nice, right?
(6) Literary ambitions . . . ?
Craig Warren 1957 (view profile)
Posted: Sep 13 2008 11:17pm PST
In reply to Alfred Johnson 1964
Al;
Haven't seen any of your commentaries for a while. Have you continued teaching? Anyway, I hope all's as well as can be with you.
Whenever anyone asks me, "How have you been?," my usual answer is, "In spight of everything, . . . well."
I have done little writing lately, but have done quite a bit of reading. One of my favorite writers is a lady from Chile who has been living in Marin County in Califorfnia for some years with her San Francisco Lawyer Husband. Her name is Isabel Allende, and she has published a goodly number of books, beginning in the early 1980's. She didn't consider herself a writer until she had published two books and begun to write her third. A word she likes to use to describe her writing as well as most of her life is "passion." You seem to feel that a sense of humor is a necesary quality for a writer, and you're quite right in most cases. Ms. Allende definitely has a sense of humor which is evident in most of her books. She writes in Spanish and most of her books have been translated to as many as 40 other languages, including English. Her life has been somewhat of a "roller-coaster," which you and I seem to have experienced to some degree. Maybe that's what is needed to be a credible writer.
I also recently saw a video of a speech Ms. Allende gave to a group of scholars in Monterey, California a year or so ago. She has an accent in English, but not too heavy. No worse than a Boston accent. Again, her sense of humor and passion were evident. Oh, yeah. One of her books, "The House of Spirits," was also made into a movie in the late 1980's or early 1990's. She is, or could be, an inspiration for me, if I would just get off my duff and back to bashing the keys.
That's all for now. I often say to my son and grandson that if they really like to do something, they should "stay with it." Maybe it's time I followed my own advice.
Craig, NQHS 1957
Al Johnson, Class of 1964, comment:
Originally posted in May 2008 on Classmates
"The quality of mercy is not strained. It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven, Upon the place beneath" lines from Portia's speech to the court in William Shakespeare's "Merchant of Venice"
No, I did not have to look those sentences up. (Okay, I will confess, I did look up to see if there was one or two p's in droppeth) I know those lines and more from the master by heart. Although I am not a fan of rote recital, as was the fashion in my schoolboy days and in earlier times (the great American playwright Eugene O' Neill's father was said to be the master of such Shakespearean recital in the 19th century), it does serve to bring up my point. Literature matters. Words matter. I have, on more occasions than I care to remember, honored those ideas more in the breech than the observance but I have tried to be guided by them. And did those pieces of wisdom just spring forth from the depths of my mind? Hell no, they were planted there by the person whom I wish to honor in this commentary- Ms. Rose Enos, my senior year English teacher.
I have recently come into possession of a friend's copy of our 1964 yearbook (Bill Cadger, the great cross country runner and track man) and in thumbing through the pages I came upon a group picture of the English Department, including Ms. Enos. That brought many things to mind in a hurry. First, and foremost, dread. Dread that I would not be prepared for her weekly ten vocabulary words. Dread that I had not memorized my Shakespeare. Dread that I was not prepared for my book report. You get the picture, right? Dread. And that ain't no lie.
So, that being the case, why is Ms. Enos being honored here today forty-four years after the event? Well, go back to that first paragraph. I was not close to Ms. Enos, certainly not her "pet". Perhaps she did not even know who I was. I do not know about today but back then the classes were very large and there were many minds to feed. I know from my own later experiences that such things occur. So it is possible. Perhaps she did not even like me. That too is possible. I did not display my better side, the "better angel of my nature", in those days. However, I know two things about her-literature matters, words matter. That more than balances things out, don't you think? Miss (Ms.)Rose Enos, wherever you are-thanks.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXX
The following, unedited, is the traffic in response to my post on Classmates
I recently received an e-mail on the Classmates site from James Connolly, Class of 1964, who was in English class with me in senior year. James is now a Xavierian Brother- that is a Catholic religious order. He, presumably, has no reason to lie, not that he need to on this occasion. Brother James told me that he too was in dread of Ms. Enos in those days. He also told me that Ms. Enos, among others, had helped him immensely in preparation for his vocation. Enough said.
Replies 5 messages
(2) In memory of Miss Rose Enos . . .
Craig Warren 1957 (view profile)
Posted: Jul 23 2008 11:10am PST
In reply to Alfred Johnson 1964
Alfred;
Miss Enos was my 10th grade English Teacher for the 1954-55 school year. It often struck me as somewhat cruel, but some kids used to say it looked like she applied her makeup with a trowel. I struggled in her class, but so did many others. When we had to write our own poems, I wrote something to the effect that "If I had an airplane, I would fly. . . " I didn't think it was on a par with something by Frost or Longfellow, but one of the guys a year behind me said Miss Enos read my poem to their class the following year. Maybe saying "This is how not to write a poem." Who knows?
When I had the mumps that wiped out my 1955 spring track season, I missed a book report in Miss Enos' class. When I returned after missing 2 weeks of school, she let me choose one of the many books she had in her closet. I think it was called "Merril's Marauders" and it was quite interesting. I had to read that book in one night and write 2 facts about each chapter. I squeaked by with a "C" in her class. I think the spelling/vocabulary tests were what saved me. I just wasn't very good at writing things up in those days. I finally did get a "B" in English in my senior year, probably because I was no longer in the "College Prep" program. When I graduated in 1957, I "fled" into the Navy with no intention of ever going to college. Ironically, I spent nearly all of my first year in the Navy in school. I took the Honorable Discharge in 1967 and started college in 1974, graduating with a Bachelor of Science in Civil Engineering in 1982 from the University of Texas in El Paso. I guess some of us take a bit longer to get with the program. I feel that most, if not all, of the English teachers I had at NQHS made a positive impression, including Miss Rose Enos. That was in spite of my not getting the best of grades. Dave Meaney once asked if I was having problems at home, but I fibbed and told him there were no problems. Anyway, thanks should go out to the teachers who put up with us those many years ago.
Craig S. Warren
(3) Miss Enos
Alfred Johnson 1964
Posted: Jul 23 2008 01:31pm PST
In reply to Craig Warren 1957
I am posting the information below that I had originally placed with my commentary to prod Brother James Connolly (and others) to come up with their own Miss Enos stories like the one above by Craig Warren.
"I recently received an e-mail on the Classmates site from James Connolly, Class of 1964, who was in English class with me in senior year. James is now a Xavierian Brother- that is a Catholic religious order. He, presumably, has no reason to lie, not that he needs to on this occasion. Brother James told me that he too was in dread of Ms. Enos in those days. He also told me that Ms. Enos, among others, had helped him immensely in preparation for his vocation. Enough said."
(4) Literary ambitions . . . ?
Craig Warren 1957 (view profile)
Posted: Jul 24 2008 11:01am PST
In reply to Alfred Johnson 1964
Alfred;
My average for the three English classes I had in 10th, 11th and 12th grades was about a middle "C." 10th-C, 11th-L, 12th-B. Miss Enos may have been the teacher who planted the seed of writing in me, but it probably didn't begin to germinate till I started college in 1974, 17 years after graduating from North. I received three "A's" and a solid "B" for the 4 English classes I took in college and was encouraged by the professors to write more. I also did reasonably well writing up the lab reports for experiments in engineering or science classes. More recently, I have started a fictional "narrative." So far it's reached 142 pages in Spanish. I asked a former NQHS classmate if I should write a parallel English version. She told me it would probably be better to finish the Spanish version first. I don't know when that will be, if ever. I know; "don't give up on anything." The Spanish was probably started at NQHS with the two years of Latin with Louise Fifield and one year of Spanish with Roberta Webstersmith, who was usually a French teacher. After all is said and done, unless we slept through high school, all of the teachers and coaches had some influence on us. Some, of course, more than others. Rose Enos was one of those who may have been somewhat intimidating to many, but that's how good teachers are.
My late wife Elvia, who retired in 1990 after 28 years of teaching primary school for the State of Chihuahua, was that kind of teacher. She was tough on her students, and some of them later thanked her for being so tough, because it made secondary school and beyond less difficult.
Craig S. Warren-1957
(5) Yes, Literary Ambitions....
Alfred Johnson 1964
Posted: Aug 12 2008 01:18pm PST
In reply to Craig Warren 1957
Craig- Thanks for answering my question about whether Ms. Enos (or any other teacher) sparked any literary ambitions in you. In the interest of getting your 15 minutes of fame (or more) I guess you better keep on writing your autobiography (oops) fictional 'narrative'. Good luck. The reason that I asked you that question in my e-mail is that someone last spring asked me that same question. I answered her with an entry in this space that I subsequently deleted. I have reposted here to give you an idea about my 'literary' ambitions.
*****
A Writer's Monologue
Why is this writer writing all these damn commentaries on these message boards?
I have recently received an e-mail asking this very question, although it was more politely put. I hope. Well, if one reads my answer on the canned Q&A section on my profile page (since deleted, AJ) provided by this site one answer is to network with the old gang. Another is the fact that some of us are still standing and that is in itself a cause for wonder. In earlier ages (there he goes again with that history stuff) people of a certain age (that means us) would be considered old. Can you believe that? So, partially I am also celebrating that fact. Furthermore, a recent series of events in my life have made me aware of my mortality and I, frankly, feel a need to get back to my roots. Fair enough?
Those reasons listed above are all good and sufficient but I will now present the real reason, a confession if you will. I have always liked to write, and I have an inordinate respect for those who do it well. If for one minute I could write like Ernest Hemingway with that sparse, functional language that gets to the bone of social existence I would give much gold. Or if I could write in the savage sardonic style of the late Doctor Hunter S. Thompson (Doctor Gonzo) I would add diamonds to the pile.
So mix this love of writing with all of the others. Then put them together with the glorious possibilities of the information superhighway that gives me a targeted audience and here we are. And the best part is that you can read or not read these screeds without any fuss, muss or bother. Nice, right?
(6) Literary ambitions . . . ?
Craig Warren 1957 (view profile)
Posted: Sep 13 2008 11:17pm PST
In reply to Alfred Johnson 1964
Al;
Haven't seen any of your commentaries for a while. Have you continued teaching? Anyway, I hope all's as well as can be with you.
Whenever anyone asks me, "How have you been?," my usual answer is, "In spight of everything, . . . well."
I have done little writing lately, but have done quite a bit of reading. One of my favorite writers is a lady from Chile who has been living in Marin County in Califorfnia for some years with her San Francisco Lawyer Husband. Her name is Isabel Allende, and she has published a goodly number of books, beginning in the early 1980's. She didn't consider herself a writer until she had published two books and begun to write her third. A word she likes to use to describe her writing as well as most of her life is "passion." You seem to feel that a sense of humor is a necesary quality for a writer, and you're quite right in most cases. Ms. Allende definitely has a sense of humor which is evident in most of her books. She writes in Spanish and most of her books have been translated to as many as 40 other languages, including English. Her life has been somewhat of a "roller-coaster," which you and I seem to have experienced to some degree. Maybe that's what is needed to be a credible writer.
I also recently saw a video of a speech Ms. Allende gave to a group of scholars in Monterey, California a year or so ago. She has an accent in English, but not too heavy. No worse than a Boston accent. Again, her sense of humor and passion were evident. Oh, yeah. One of her books, "The House of Spirits," was also made into a movie in the late 1980's or early 1990's. She is, or could be, an inspiration for me, if I would just get off my duff and back to bashing the keys.
That's all for now. I often say to my son and grandson that if they really like to do something, they should "stay with it." Maybe it's time I followed my own advice.
Craig, NQHS 1957
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