RHS Class 1985 25th Reunion

     This is from the FaceBook Page for the RHS Class of 1985 25th Reunion:  

 

      RHS Class of 1985 Hello Friends: Elissa and I have just gotten off the phone and we are set for October 9, 2010! We’ve booked the Woodcliff Lake Hilton. Our reunion dinner and evening will not exceed $100 per person (this includes appetizers, dinner, dessert, and OPEN BAR!). The property has recently been redone and is lovely. There are lots of amenities including a pool, jogging track, tennis, etc. If you want to get away for the weekend, there is a lot to do! In addition to the hotel, the vicinity itself offers so many options (downtown Ridgewood to shop and catch-up with old friends). There are some nice spas in the area too. We have also reserved a room block for $129.00. The room block will go live next week and be listed under “Ridgewood High School Reunion-Class of 1985”. When it goes live, I will post a message and you can reserve your room. The initial block is 25 rooms. If we fill-up the block, we’ll increase it by another 25 rooms. Our theory here is: Open Bar, walk to room! As soon as I work out payment details, they will be posted here as well. Now you can make plans via plane, train or automobile! We look forward to seeing you all – as many as possible! Please let us know if you have any questions. Abby Emerson Gray & Elissa Viarango Blesch

The Gateway

By writing this blog I am training my memory to return to early childhood memories of peace and joy. Recapturing these events in my earlier life, in words and pictures, is helping me to discover I have more access to my past and its beginnings than I previously believed. I am in essence disciplining myself to become a retriever. Here I am, with my Dad's finger on the camera lens, getting ready to run in my first Varsity Track Meet in College. I wore spikes for the first time that day and easily won the 1/2 mile event. Unfortunately, my lack of familiarity with spikes caused me to come crashing down in a heap on my shoulder as I crossed the finish line. I learned you don't stop yourself the same way wearing spikes as you do with my more familiar flats. I went down like somebody had shot me and was lucky that I was winning by a heady margin or someone might have trampled me as I lay there helpless on the tartan track. Try this visualization which I replicate here from the Book of Runes: "Visualize yourself standing before a gateway on a hilltop. Your entire life lies out behind you and below. Before you step through the gateway, pause and review the past: the learning and the joys, the victories and the sorrows---everything it took to bring you here."

Baseball Tryouts

      This is a post dedicated to anybody who has tried to hold a wooden bat on a cold spring day. These events usually occurred during the tryouts for a "Major League" team in whatever league you were old enough to participate in. These memories I recall were long before today's ubiquitous use of batting gloves. During these contests which pitted boy versus the baseball, it didn't matter how much dirt we rubbed on our hands, the first contact between bat and ball in the early spring would leave your hands vibrating for a few minutes at least. Nothing could be done except to wait for the sting to go away. A second swing was usually ill-advised, unless someone had corrected the flaw in your first stroke or the next pitch was lobbed in ever so gently. There usually wasn't much time to consider the merits of taking a second swing, and to excuse yourself from taking a second swing would leave you looking weak in the eyes of prospective coaches. This sort of caution might even end your tryout early and would mean a year in the minors. 

      To most people, a year in the minors was the lessor of two evils, especially if you had received an unusually severe sting on your first misguided swing at the plate. Fielding balls at these tryouts in this early Spring weather was no picnic either. A bad hop grounder off your chest when one wasn't expecting it left more than one person I saw gasping for breath and writhing on the ground. There wasn't much we could do in those days as the fields were not quite as well manicured or drained as they are today in Ridgewood. We would usually just help the injured party off the field and continue our attempts to impress the onlookers with our rusty Baseball skills. You see, Baseball in my youth was one of those games which had to be played and practiced outside. Today there are indoor batting cages, at least at the High School level, where one can be reminded of the feel of a bat on ball long before the requisite first Spring tryouts. This is all not to say we didn't have some fun at these tryouts. If you made it through the first round of batting practice you were set for any other obstacles which might come your way, like shagging fly balls in a muddy outfield. These quagmires were loving called "creek mud" and one fellow actually acquired that as his nickname after one hilarious incident when he dared to try and catch a fly ball hit directly into the center of one of these soft miry lands. Nobody remembers if he caught the ball or not because the name stuck, just like the mud he come up covered in from head to toe.

Willard Reminiscences!

As the Ridgewood High School class of 1970 prepares for its 40th reunion, many Willard Elementary alumni have begun to reconnect here. There are quite a few memories being shared, along with the usual inside jokes, and a bunch of class pictures if you scroll to the bottom of the page. The reunion details are as follows: Welcome to the Ridgewood High School Class of 1970 40th reunion website! The Reunion will take place Columbus Day weekend, Oct 8-9, 2010 in and around Ridgewood, NJ. More information can be found here. You can contact my old neighbor Judy Schoneman Beirne for more details: jbeirne_308@yahoo.com They even have a logo which I hope they use to make some souvenirs from www.cafepress.com

Peter McNamara

It's funny how through the wonders of the Internet names which you haven't thought about in years can produce clear memories, ones compelling enough to write about. Peter McNamara, pictured on the far right, is one of these instances.

He lived with his family on Sherwood Road, one block away from our house, and close enough to Willard School that we would see each other often. He was two years older than I but he treated everyone well no matter their age.

Like most boys in the Willard schoolyard of the 60s and 70s, he played sports as they occurred in each season: football in the autumn, basketball in the winter, and baseball in the spring and summer. He was a well coordinated athlete who could be counted on to meet or exceed everyone's expectations for whatever position he was playing.

The thing which really stands out in my mind after all these years is the gentle, soft-spoken way in which he lead his life. He had no need to bully or brag to be noticed. Pete was simply a good guy that everyone liked to be around. He has been gone for 30 years now though he did leave a legacy which everyone who knew him will always cherish.

Signs of Spring

While growing up we could depend upon the crocus has a first harbinger of Spring. It didn't matter that a foot of snow might fall after it had sprouted, this was little deterrent to these early bloomers. They would eventually brush off the snow like nothing had happened and then have their day in the sun. Living where I do in NYC I have to search out the crocus this time of year. The daffodils and tulips are no trouble to spot but the crocus seems to make a concerted effort to hide, likely some form of self-defense mechanism which its cousins in the suburbs don't need to consider. I saw my first crocus while walking my dog this afternoon and this occasion, along with a look at the calendar, confirms the beginning of my favorite time of year: Spring. I enjoy Spring the most of all the seasons for many reasons, including that it marks the beginning of the baseball season. Other reasons to revel in the coming of Spring are the hopeful suggestions contained in the beauty of the flowers and trees as they make their entrances, and bloom in their usual order here in the northeast. All my life it really hasn't taken much more than baseball and blooming flowers to make my day and I'm glad I'm still able to retain this childlike simplicity, even as I make my way through the inevitability of middle age and beyond.

Fallen Trees

 

     It doesn't make you a "tree hugger" in the pejorative sense to feel badly for what went on Ridgewood during the last huge storm. These trees in the picture I'm told on are Hillcrest Road down near the horse stables. I must have walked and rode my bicycle by them hundreds of times while growing up. While I am aware that most things in town are going to change, I always have held out the hope that the countless trees which shaded me, provided me with leaves to rake, and places to hide behind during games of Hide-And-Go-Seek would remain unchanged during my lifetime. They were huge before I knew of their magnificence so it seemed logical to my youthful self that they could endure this way for a long time. The recent storm popped the air from that childhood fantasy of an idea. Fortunately, there are still plenty of trees and the Village of Ridgewood still takes great pride in the care they provide them so nobody is to blame, it is just one of those things which occur and make us grateful for the huge oaks, maples, and elms we have remaining.

The Magic of Ordinary Days

      I caught glimpse of these words on a Hallmark Channel commercial and immediately wrote them down knowing full well they would inspire me to write something. The magic of ordinary days I can now recall may not have felt very memorable to us when we were growing up and trying make use of the time we had outside each day with our friends. Discussions could be heated as to what we should play, and whether or not we had played that particular game or activity too much. It was especially difficult when inclement weather sequestered us inside and TVs were not so ubiquitous as they are today. We truly had to use our imaginations, and take into account where we were and who among us was capable of the activity. When we were outside we also had to beware of ponds of mud on playing fields and the activities of other groups of kids who might not look so kindly upon our intruding on their space. All in all these weren't so magical times to kids growing up and trying to mind the written and unwritten rules of the schoolyard or a friend's basement. Of course, looking back these are the most precious and magical times, especially when we filter them through our rose-colored glasses. I can return to any one of a number of ball fields in Ridgewood and clearly remember events which occurred, sometimes over 40 years ago. Most of these same fields have changed in some small way and are largely better cared for but I can still see through the mist of time the ball I hit or the throw a friend made, or a mad kick to the finish line. These are magical occurrences to me whenever I am on the spot, or feel these emotions recollected in tranquility as William Wordsworth would say. I am able to recall them vividly and with such appreciation, despite the fact that at another time we children might have felt them most ordinary, and nothing as extraordinary as my writing might lead some to infer.

Parallel Parking in Ridgewood

 

 

     Joe Farrell got off a good one liner in my post about Roger Sweeney teaching me the finer points of driving and about cars in the 70s being bigger and thus easier to parallel park, especially if you used the old standby calculation of 1 1/2 cars lengths to estimate your approach. When it came time for me to take my driver's test I had a choice between our "boat" of a Buick station wagon and this little Opel Manta Luxus, sans the young Molly Ahearn of course. Being young and wanting to show my prowess as a driver, I went with the small car which had the stick shift and passed with no troubles. The Opel had been purchased by my Dad when he had turned 50 and I sometimes wonder if there was some sort of mid-life change going on in his mind. Not a crisis but maybe a realization that life is short, and that if you can afford a small indulgence of a car like this one, then by all means go out and buy it. The rest of the family ultimately got much more use out of it then he ever did but that didn't seem to phase him, unless it was left dirty or without gas when he wanted to use it to go golfing on the weekends. On those occasions his temper would flare and pity the poor soul who forgot. He wasn't a violent man, and never once did he ever hit any of his, but you could expect a severe lecture and the loss of driving privileges until he had cooled down. Now that I am 50 I am beginning to see some of the changes that we all go through at this age, I wonder how this will all manifest itself. Living in NYC I don't have the garage space for a sports car, in addition to my tried and true Mazda. Though maybe a career change is in my future. I have spent the last 15 years working in IT and maybe there is some authentic next step which I ought to try and get in tune with. We'll see what changes lie in store. One thing for certain, you can count on me posting my observations here on this blog.

Roger Sweeney

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

      Roger Sweeney was a long-time football coach at RHS, who retired after the 1975 season. He didn't retire from coaching football at the same time as he eventually did from teaching and, I was lucky enough to spend many hours driving around with him and Rob Lane while he taught us the finer points of driving. He was a good instructor and the one lesson he wanted us to always remember about the blind spots in a driver's rear vision is something I practice to this day. It is drilled so deeply in my memory that I always cringe whenever I see people back up their cars by only using their mirrors and, never once checking their blind spots like Mr Sweeney recommended. Mr Sweeney also taught us how to parallel park like professionals in the Graydon Pool parking lot. To this day I can with a quick glance tell if someone trying to park will make it on the first try. I just use the simple formula we were taught of allowing yourself to be 1 1/2 cars lengths in front of the spot you are trying to parallel park into. This correct distance never fails me and usually shows whether or not a driver is from New Jersey. Whenever I see someone make a successful parallel park I am always tempted to ask them if they learned to drive in New Jersey.

St. Pat's Day

      Traditionally a day where one is supposed to cut skill and hop a train or bus to go see in the St. Patrick's Day Parade in New York City. I can't say that I ever did this, despite my Irish roots. When we are young it is often times the mere act of contemplating something as forbidden as honoring this holiday with a bold act, which makes for pleasant memories. St. Pats Day in NYC is a raucous day filled with high-spirited parade goers and plenty of alcohol. I have attended a few in my adulthood and they were more than colorful enough in terms of the acts/hijinxs done to honor the holiday. I am sure that kids today at RHS are going through the same thought process that generations before them did. Whether they actually do the deed of ditching school for the bright lights of Broadway is another story. What is important are the stories they tell to one another and tell of one another. These same stories will be told again throughout their lives whenever they get together with fellow alumni. As is usually the case the dramatic events will be in hindsight even more so, and the fear they felt about any potential punishment will be long forgotten, as it should be.

Chris Duflocq Update

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

     Tom Thurston pointed me to the correct spot on the Ridgewood Schools Web site where Chris Duflocq's picture and accomplishments can be found among the 2008 inductees. Here is an exerpt: "Chris DuFlocq (Class of 1977) made his mark in Ridgewood High School athletics in soccer. He was named to The Record’s All- Century Boys Soccer Team as a first-team goalkeeper. DuFlocq was the starting goalkeeper for the Maroons for the 1975-76 seasons. RHS won two NNJIL titles and a county championship with DuFlocq minding the nets. Ridgewood’s combined record for those two seasons was 34-6-1 with two wins in the county tournament being credited to his goalkeeping skills in penalty shootouts. DuFlocq recorded 27 shutouts in his career, including a heartbreaking overtime 0-0 decision to arch-rival Kearny in the 1975 state tournament that was then decided on corner kicks. In 41 matches for head coach Dick Bennett’s Maroons, DuFlocq gave up 22 goals for a 0.54 goals-against average. In 32 league matches during his career, DuFlocq recorded 23 shutouts and gave up a total of 13 goals for a 0.40 goals-against average. Ridgewood recorded an outstanding 28-3-1 league record during that time. He was named first team All-NNJIL and first team All-County in both 1975 and 1976. _ Jeff Yearing, who was an assistant coach to Bennett during DuFlocq’s career and is now Ridgewood High School’s girls soccer head coach, said, “In 36 years of coaching high school soccer, I have had the pleasure of coaching many incredible goalkeepers, both male and female. Chris DuFlocq still sets the standard by which I judge all others, and none have ever surpassed the complete talent that he possessed in so many different areas the position demands.” DuFlocq went on to an outstanding career at Glassboro State College (now Rowan University) and continued playing locally on many men’s club teams."

Chris Deflocq

     I'm a little late to the party but I did want to congratulate Chris Duflocq for being elected to the RHS Athletic Hall of Fame. He was part of the class of 2008 and joins fellow class of 1977 members Becky Deetz and Paul Ferraro. Unfortunately, if you follow the link you won't see Chris's photo or career highlights as the webmaster is even later to the party than I am. RHS is trying to provide a sense of the history of Ridgewood High School to their current students by efforts such as the Hall of Fame, and one other you won't find on their web site but will see if you ever visit RHS, that is, the Wall of Distinguished Alumni near the main entrance. This long overdue recognition really points out what everybody knows but doesn't always realize until they have graduated: brains and citizenship count just as much as athletics in the grand scheme of things, probably more so. It just doesn't seem that way with all the adulation we bestow upon our jocks, sometimes at the expense of people working quietly in the background to make things better for us all. 

 

Strange Names (North New Jersey's Got 'Em)

I wouldn't normally recycle an old post, but this one is coming up on two years old (have I been posting here that long?), and with the new traffic and Ridgewood Expats floating around, I thought it would be fun to resurrect a fun song.

Back in the early 80s, while a student at Clemson University in South Carolina, I got into a musician from Mississippi named Steve Forbert, who had a hit with Romeo's Tune. In the intervening years I forgot about him, but recently heard that he has a new song: Strange Names (North New Jersey's Got 'Em):