Elton John

This shot of Elton and John Lennon was taken on November 28th 1974. A day probably didn't go by in the 1970s when you could go an hour and not hear an Elton John tune being broadcast on the radio. He was at the top of his game and the hits looked like they would never stop. Of course, things eventually settled down as they usually do. Though for someone growing up in the 1970s Elton John songs served as a comfortable soundtrack to our young lives.

The story behind this photo was that Lennon supposedly said he would play live with Elton if his solo album produced a #1 hit. As luck would have it the song "Whatever Gets You Thru The Night" reached number one on November 16th, and Lennon was good to his word. He joined Elton on stage at New York's Madison Square Garden during Elton's Thanksgiving Day concert there.

Thanksgiving Television

We always watched the football games on Thanksgiving Day, between playing football if the weather permitted and eating turkey. We still do the same thing, except for the playing of football. Though there is still a crew that does still participate in an annual Turkey Bowl game and if we are lucky they will post some photos on FaceBook.

My first memory of TV watching on Thanksgiving wasn't of football, it was the Victor Herbert classic, Babes in Toyland starring Laurel and Hardy.

Remember Silas Barnaby and how scary he appeared in the old black and white versions?
Not as scary in the colorized version, or maybe we just outgrow these things. ;-)

Though even to this day the site of the Wooden Soldiers coming to the rescue fills my heart with joy. Good triumphs over evil and the guy gets the girl. This has always been a fine way to start this day, even if we only happen upon the movie these days. As a child it was a certainty and one that could always produce a "I can't look" sort of feeling no matter how many times you had seen it.

Happy Thanksgiving. It's time to see the show!

The Days Before Thanksgiving

I easily recall that these were times filled with great anticipation, not the least because of the long weekend which the holiday afforded us.

There was always a bit of a nip in the air but usually no snow to complain about. We would see plenty of snow in the coming months so November didn't need to add to our burden. There were always still leaves on the trees and on the ground, which if we had strong backs and not too many callouses on our hands we could turn into some spending money.

Thanksgiving was always a holiday with few pressures, as the most important part was to show up at the table at the appointed hour with clean hands and a big appetite. This was not much of a challenge for us kids growing up, especially if we were able to sneak in a football game in the morning with our pals.

Sometimes we had relatives at our table and this always kept us on our best behavior. Though table manners were a custom we were all well drilled in and all it took was a look from my Mom or Dad if we acted out to rein in our youthful energies. These had no place at the dinner table and to this day I always appreciate a host or hostess who makes this clear to their children when I am so honored to have a place at their table.

I hope you all enjoy the holiday. My job this year is to make the pumpkin pies and whip the cream which serves as garnish. I like to do the entire meal but if left to only one task it will always be the dessert that I will select.


Peace.

November Leaves

We saw piles of leaves on Glenwood Road as we were growing up. One year they were piled so high that it was twice the size of the machine designed to bring them to the compost pile. Of course, as kids we saw this as an opportunity to climb to the top and try and throw our friends from the top of the heap.

This only lasted until the "Big Machines" from the village came and eliminated these piles. But until they did the leaf piles were ours to play within. These were some of the best times which I can remember from my Ridgewood days because the leaves were so soft  and our bones were so malleable.

November

This was always the month of the year when each day was an adventure for athletes; sometimes hot and sometimes cold. Up until Thanksgiving  this really didn't matter to us runners or football players (tackle or touch). We glorified in running in the rain or playing football in the mud. Though for obvious reasons the warm days were always more pleasant to compete in.

Enduring both the heat and the cold were realities which were part of the deal we made with ourselves and our coaches. I have written before about the monsoon our 1976 Cross Country ran through in the Eastern States Finals at Van Cortland Park in the Bronx. From the moment we stepped off the bus we were drenched and even more so once we removed our sweats to go warmed up. It is hard to imagine we were very warm at any point, and a glance at our coach, Larry Coyle, showed that his glasses were completely fogged up from the rain. This meant of course that there was no turning back, if the coach could do it we could too.

We did well that day despite the heavy November rain and mud. The team received numerous medals for enduring this maelstrom and no one who ran the race will ever forget it. Among the medals I received and the memories which have endured to this day the Eastern States is among the best. This was partly due to the fact that this was the end of the era for us Seniors; the Juniors and Sophomores knew it was now their turn to succeed us. It was also simply gratifying to say we survived the race because some of our competitors didn't, one boy broke his leg when he slipped in the mud. The scream he let out could be heard all over the park.

As the American poet T.S. Eliot once wrote, "April is the cruelest month.." At times during my youthful, more athletic days, this could have been said about November. I suppose one can always use their memory in hindsight to block out the cold and the rain, to give what was once a test of one's endurance a lighter tone and feel. With any luck this produces the end result of the warm glow which can sustain us through many a cold autumn night.

(Thanks for anonymous who pointed out that in "The Wasteland" it was April which was the cruelest month.)

Halloween

Halloween is a wonderful holiday. Kids get to explore their neighborhoods and grownups give them candy when they knock of their door. It's a good deal for all concerned and it also is a learning lesson for kids. At some point each child has to decide whether or not they are too old to make the candy tour. It's not that they don't want the treats it is just a sign, which they can always choose to ignore, that they need to make a decision about whether or not they are a kid or a teenager. Of course, this is how I remember it in my day.

These days Halloween is celebrated by people of all ages, and grownups go to great lengths to make costumes which reveal their inner selves. I have not been one to dress up since the day I decided I was too old to go out for Tricks or Treats. I have stood by the decision made in the 8th grade and I have never looked back and longed for ringing doorbells and shouting "tricks or treats" or dressing myself for an adult party. To each his own is my thinking.

It is curious to remember that my friends and I used to dress up as hobos, and the complete time it took to fashion our costumes was usually no more than a few minutes. All it took was some old cloths, one of my Dad's old hats, and a bit a charcoal applied to our faces. Maybe a few dry leaves stuffed inside our pockets to add to the desired effect. It was acceptable to dress as a hobo in those days, inexpensive, and required nobody to ruminate as to whether it was politically correct.

I now prefer to celebrate the holiday in more subtle ways, like picking out pumpkins which, in the words of Linus of Peanuts fame, that are sincere. These pumpkins have found a place on my window sill for many years and are never carved or painted. These "sincere pumpkins" stand on their own and need no special treatment. They are sort of like our old hobo costumes, they need no explanation.

RHS 1977 Class Gathering 26 Nov 2010

Many of the class of 1977 received this email from Bill Nolan so I thought it appropriate to re-post it:


"Guys:  I don't know if any of you will be in Ridgewood over the Thanksgiving weekend.  If you are, why don't we get together at Smith Brothers on Friday, Nov. 26th around 7:00ish.  We could grab dinner, or just have a few cold ones.  Fuzzy, please send this out to all the boys.  I lost half of my addresses a few weeks ago when I switched to a new computer.  Cindy Neidig is going to send an e-mail out as well.  Please feel free to send to other class of '77 people.  I hope to see many of you in Nov.  Fuzz, is Ridgewood home on Thanksgiving?  Willie"

The Road Not Taken

My favorite American Poet, Robert Frost, made a timeless observation about the choices we make in his 1920 poem, The Road Not Taken. When I first heard it elementary school I was the young fellow of the poem's first four stanzas. I'm not sure when I became the older person of the closing stanza but I am sure that is me now.

The choices I have made regarding my friends, career, and where I have chosen to live have made a difference, as they do for everybody. I suppose some people consider these choices more than others, and for some they are just agony. This makes me fairly lucky as I have no regrets about the life paths I didn't take, or where I stand in life at the moment. I have seen many stories far sadder than anything I could conjure up and this keeps me honest about what I am doing and where I want to be going.

We all have many times in our lives when there are two roads before us and we need to choose one. I guess one of those roads, ala the Frost poem, I saved for another day was the option to live in Ridgewood. In fact, I have saved it for so long it is no longer a reasonable option, or even one I would consider. This is not to denigrate the town or its inhabitants. We all just grow up differently and cherish different things. I like to remember how Ridgewood was in the 1960s and 1970s and try to keep these memories alive via this blog. It gives me the chance to ponder at length the road not taken. It has also made me realize that for me this has made all the difference.



                                                   The Road Not Taken

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;	5
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,	10
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.	15
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

RHS Class of 1970 40th Reunion

Now only days away. Very excited. Here’s what is new. 

·          Record turnout expected. Ticket sales for the Main Event on Sat have now topped 155. We expect more during the week, and some walk ups at the event. We also believe that the turnout at the Elks Club on Fri night will be even greater (since some classmates will attend only the Elks but not the Main Event). Very exciting.

·         Share your photos of the reunion – As you know, we will have a photographer to take photos. We also expect that many of you will bring your own digital cameras. We will set up a photo sharing site after the reunion, and we will let you know how to post your photos to the site. Should be fun.

·         Pick up your “Reunion Weekend Info Sheet” – We are putting together a sheet with important info about the weekend (e.g. events and timeline, last minute updates, key contacts, transportation) and a list of attendees. You should be given one when you check in at the DoubleTree or Super8. We will also hand them out at the Elks Club on Fri night, and the Main Event on Sat night. Make sure you pick one up.

·         Want a tour of Ridge Elementary School? – Classmate, and Ridge alum, Nancy Kandoian, has arranged for a tour on Fri afternoon Oct 8, 3:30 – 4:00. If you are interested contact Nancy at nak04574@gmail.com, or cell phone, 201-888-1246. Nancy is also the coordinator for the Ridge din ner on Fri at MacMurphy’s in Ridgewood, 6:00 – 8:00.

·         Dress code for Main Event on Sat. Men should wear ties. Women should wear cocktail party/semi formal evening wear.

·         Make sure you are registered for the Main Event – If you purchased tickets over the reunion web site, or sent Irene Nagy a check in the mail, you should have received back from Irene a confirming email, and your name should be shown as having ‘Purchased Tickets” on the “Who’s Coming” page of the reunion web site. If there is any confusion, pls contact Irene at gardendesign@bellsouth.net or 678-467-7795.

·         Main Event ticket sales at the door – Tickets are $125, cash only. Price includes: cash bar for 2 hours (7:00 – 9:00), meal, DJ and dancing, reunion CD.

·         Timeline for the weekend – You will find more details on the reunion web site (www.rhs70.myevent.com), but we have made some changes. For your planning purposes, here is a recap:

• Friday Oct 8

·         3:30 – 4:00 Tours of Ridge School and Willard School

·         6:00 – 8:00 Elementary School dinners (check web site for exact times & locations)

·         8:00 – 12:00 Elks Club Icebreaker

• Saturday Oct 9

·         8:00 – 11:00 Breakfast at DoubleTree Hotel

·         Noon – 1:30 Lunch at the Fireplace

·         2:00 – 4:30   Football game at RHS

·         3:00 – 3:30   Tour of RHS (at half time of game)

·         4:00 – 6:00   Warm up for the evening at DoubleTree

·         7:00 – 12:00 Main Event at DoubleTree

• Sunday Oct 10

·         8:00 – 11:00 Breakfast at DoubleTree Hotel

Safe travels to Ridgewood. See you this weekend.

RHS ’70 Reunion Committee:

Brian Corcoran

Irene Nagy

Rick Bowe

Don Christensen's New Business

According to Don, the new business is called Restaurant Services of Michigan.  

"The services and systems we offer were designed to help small restaurants compete with "the chain operations" and are robust enough to keep up with your growth. Although we provide 3 services, we are only in one business - helping locally owned restaurants compete with "big company" tools and methods."

"Helping Small Business Run Big"

RSM was formed to provide restaurants with new tools to increase sales and delight their customers. The company began with providing online ordering services for carryout and delivered foods in 2001 and continues to successfully expand this business as consumers opt for this service more and more. “It became very clear, early on, that small and locally owned restaurants were attempting to compete with big corporate chains without the same tools and methods.” said company founder George Ryder.

 “Our web based Point Of Sale system will help restaurants manage their business and help reduce their costs like the “Big Guys” do.”, said partner Don Christensen.

Managing Partners Ryder & Christensen both spent many years working in engineering and manufacturing sectors and are quick to point out that “There are hundreds of very valuable procedures and methods that we have learned in the these segments that we fully intend to bring our locally owned restaurants”, said Christensen

 Restaurant Services of Michigan, Inc.

Tyler Clementi

It was not a quiet week in my old home town, Ridgewood. Tyler Clementi, RHS 2010, reportedly jumped to his death from the George Washington Bridge following the release of a sex tape on the Internet. According to reports,  Police recovered a man's body Wednesday afternoon just north of the bridge, and authorities were trying to determine whether it was Clementi's. Check the story out here: Tyler Clementi

It would be foolish to say there were no gay people living in Ridgewood during the 1960s and 1970s. There most certainly were and are now, but then they were not as well organized or disposed to let their neighbors know.

Being gay is not right or wrong. It is not a life choice; it's just what some of my friends are and I have no problems with it.

I do have problems with people who would deny them equal status in the eyes of the law. I have problems with any state which has one set of rules for men and women who are married, and another set of rules for men who want to marry men or women who want to marry women. There is no difference in my eyes as long as they are law abiding, hard-working, and paying taxes.

When I was growing up this sort of argument was not acceptable among people living in Ridgewood. What's more, it was not offered by anyone unless they wanted a lot of needless trouble on their hands. Thankfully, times have changed and we can all openly mourn the passing of a young man who didn't know how to handle his feelings, and might only have needed an intervention in order for him to still be among us today.

It is all very sad and I hope we all learn something from this incident which just leaves me numb when I think about it.

Peace.

The Places You Go

I'm referring to places you go after graduating from high school. Some people travel the globe, while others are content to stay close to surroundings they know and love. Most people have no choice and end up somewhere else after graduation because their parents have emptied the nest and sold the house. It's hard to blame these parents as the lawn still needs to be cut, the leaves raked, and the sidewalks shoveled. Besides, they no longer have us close by to fret about to their friends, and sometimes directly to us.

The places I visited after graduation from RHS are easily categorized as being North American-centric. I took this path for 20 years and then settled back in northern NJ as a bachelor pursuing a new career as a network engineer. Shortly thereafter I met my wife and we moved into NYC. I consider my time away from my roots well spent but the return to my roots has provided me with more tangible and intangibles than my time spent away from the area I call home.

I suppose this is all entirely natural, and seems so to me. Enjoy the time in the places you go, and if you are lucky like me, revel in your return. Not a day goes by when I am not glad to be back, near to places I know, and to surroundings which helped make me the man I am today.

Make Way For Tomorrow

I believe it is good form for those making High School graduation speeches to include some sort of heartfelt advice. I can't say I remember any of the advice from my High School or College graduation speakers, but if I was given the chance to speak, I would talk on the subject of "Making Way For Tomorrow."

It is likely an easier subject to contemplate for graduates than the usual subject they are prompted to consider by their esteemed graduation speakers. As I vaguely recall they speak of the many years that lie ahead and that they have the choice to strive to fill them with promise for a better world. The graduates are reminded also that we are sure this promise is an essential part of the DNA, and has been nurtured by all the time they have spent in institutions of higher learning. This all sounds good and of course, it should be uttered at moments like these when friends and family are all wishing them well.

My only additional word of advice would be to include a reminder that they can do one thing before they begin the next step in life's journey, and that is to make way for the generation which is following right behind them. Make a gesture, however slight, which shows you fully accept the fact that your day in the sun on these high school grounds has come and gone. By acknowledging that you are no longer part of the social scene I believe will speed up the next generation's recognition that it is time for them to shine. I would encourage every graduating class to do the same thing. What's more, if they have the time, and can pass along some wisdom they have acquired about the next phase of life, then all the better. The point here is to communicate and to not dominate. I believe with the tools we now have this could be built into every curriculum. Why disenfranchise those alumni who have insights worthy of passing on to the next generation?

I ultimately advocate open communication between graduating classes and those who follow in their footsteps. I also realize the recent graduates don't have much time, but any small gesture during those care free moments in September of Freshman year at college could go a long way towards making sure that they current Seniors are making the appropriate decisions based upon the wisdom of their "forefather." Please correct me if I am wrong but I believe that is what made this country great.

RHS Class of 1976 35th Reunion

From my pal Mitch Morrison:

So far, the following classmates have paid for the RHS Class of '76 Reunion which will be held from July 15th-17th 2011; Barbara Bird Schneider, Ann Brogan Barbi, Kathy Belleza Gabrielle, Mitch Morrison, Mark Moscarello, Cheryl Roelke Finger and Liz Rubenstein Fuentes. Please send your $100/person check asap (made out to Kathy Gabrielle) to: Kathy Gabrielle; 396 Frances Place, Wyckoff, NJ 07481 Thanks!! Mitch

Willard Class of 1964 Reunion Reception

Willard Class of '64 Reunion Reception

Location:
Home of Judy Hall Saydah
228 Hamilton Ave.
Glen Rock, NJ US

When:
Friday, October 8, 4:00PM to 8:00PM

Phone: 201-447-6158

The Willard Reunion Team invites YOU to join your Willard classmates for an INFORMAL DINNER BUFFET prior to the RHS '70 gathering at the Elk's Club.
$25.00 per person will be collected at the door. It will cover the cost of food, beer, wine and soft drinks. You may bring additional beverages if you so choose. A tour of Willard is also being made available from 3:00 - 4:00 pm. We are hoping to arrange rides from the Double Tree in Mahwah, to Willard, on to Judy's, the Elks' Club and back to Double Tree. Your favor of a reply for dinner as well as for the Willard tour is requested!

Questions or RSVP to Judy Hall Saydah, rejj21@optonline.net or Susan Main, Susan@ramscoinc.com.

Labor Day

It used to be a part of our lives that school (K-12) began after Labor Day. This was a common experience no matter where you grew up in these United States.


Now it is the norm for school (K-12) to start before Labor Day in order to allow for Snow Days and for Religious holidays which fall in early September. There is nothing wrong with this change as it's just a sign of the times.

The last days of August and those before Labor Day were always times of great confusion. We knew we would be seeing our friends soon on the first day of school, though we didn't have the communications networks that we have now. To pick up a phone was a moment, for both boys and girls, filled with great trepidation. We usually just waited the days out and enjoyed the quiet in our neighborhood. An occasional BBQ with friends of the family was always on the schedule, though it felt like a stopgap and the real action began with the start of the new school year.

Kids today start (K-12) ((not to mention College)) before Labor Day and then have a break which I cannot fathom. To me, it only increases their anxiety, as there is another gap in the schedule. To reduce anxiety it might be better to keep the old way of opening school. We had snow days and religious holidays to account for in my day, but we had greater continuity and a timetable which allowed for the re-establishment of face-to-face friendships. Maybe this all doesn't matter in age where communication is omnipresent. This is just my 2 cents. 

RHS 1977 Reunion

A casual gathering, over this coming Thanksgiving weekend, at Smith Brothers in Ridgewood is how this was announced by Cindy Neidig Myer on Facebook a few days ago. Stay tuned for more details.

Joe Antonacci, Top 100 RHS Teacher of the 20th Century

Whenever an homage to a teacher comes across my desk I like to post it, even if I never knew the person or can't remember them. I realize that there were easily more than 100 people worthy of this distinction but not every teacher has a Boswell willing to put their observations into print.

I should probable call this "100 Most Inspirational RHS teachers of the 20th Century." good teachers inspire something inside of each of us which will prepare us for the life ahead.  As a former teacher of 40 years, Dorothy Rich, once said about what makes a good teacher, "It's about relationships between people, hopes and dreams, and about a future we can't even envision."

If teaching were just about tests and reading books then we would need inspiration all the more from our teachers. Thankfully, I grew up in an era were it was common to say, "go ask your teacher for the answer." Instead of in the current era where kids are told to use Google.

My teachers gave us tests and compelled us to read but also they were figures of authority and respect. Most could silence a room by raising an eyebrow, and if that didn't work they would just raise there voices. Once they had our attention they might add how disappointed they were with us for not paying attention immediately. This tactic the good teachers would use just often enough to teach us to be ashamed of ourselves for not giving the respect a teacher deserves. Though not too often as to make for a classroom devoid of fun.

This Top 100 Teacher was sent by current Ridgewood resident and class of 1977 graduate Tom Thurston.

You will have many well qualified and beloved teachers "nominated" for your Top 100. I would offer Joe Antonacci my 6th Grade teacher at the old Somerville Annex. Mr. Antonacci was the personification of the tough love male teacher of that era. He pushed and demanded you try your best. He was organized and disciplined and demanded the same from his students. But everyone in his class knew how much he cared. His teaching methods were innovative and he really made learning fun. When I look back at my years in the Ridgewood School System his name is right there with some of the other great teachers I had.

A couple of years ago Paul Ferraro and I had the pleasure of visiting with him when Paul was in town to play the Jets. It was great to see him (he hasn't changed a bit) and we talked very fondly of our "Somerville Days." Just a great guy and a great teacher.

Tom 

Late August Days

This used to be a quiet time in our lives. We had lost momentary contact with our friends due to different vacation schedules and the endlessness of summer days that typifies late August. College and K-12 didn't start until after Labor Day so we were left to our own devices as to how to best spend our time.

Given the chance now there isn't a reader among us who couldn't think of 10 or 15 things they would do with their time if offered another chance. Though back in those days we didn't have the Internet , Cable TV, or discretionary income, so we had to make our fun outdoors.

Of course, a backyard BBQ with our parents friends and families usually helped fill the void if we weren't on vacation as a family ourselves. During the BBQ we would play badminton, drink far too much soda, eat watermelon, and then hunt for fireflies. It was a routine we savored as it couldn't be duplicated at any other time of the year except late August.

I suppose we should all be so lucky as to be able to summon such quiet thoughts. Especially when it's easy enough to give a concerted look at the world around us now and be so easily reminded that our present lives are so very unlike the late August days we knew growing up.

RHS 1970 Reunion Update #4

The Oct 8-9 reunion is now 7 weeks away, and we are cranking. As we get closer, we will send more emails. Also keep checking what is new on the reunion web site (www.rhs70.myevent.com).

·         Tickets are now on sale! You can buy them with a credit card via the web site, or sending a check to Irene Nagy. Details on the “Purchase Tickets” page of the reunion site. Please purchase your ticket(s) ASAP. This enables us to plan, and ensures that you will have your custom name tag. Tickets to the Fri night Oct 8 event at the Elks Club will payable at the door. Cash bar. Price is still TBD, but will be modest.

·         Make your hotel reservations: The Main Event (and the center of other activities) is at the DoubleTree Hotel, Route 17, Mahwah, NJ. We have reserved a block of rooms at a special $99 rate for Fri Oct 8 and Sat Oct 9. The $99 DoubleTree rate (and guaranteed availability) expires Sept 8. So act now(201) 529-5880). Another hotel option: Super 8. This hotel is right next to the DoubleTree. It is less fancy, and it is cheaper. We have reserved a block of rooms for Fri Oct 8 and Sat Oct 9, rate is $65 single, $75 double. Offer expires Sept 8 ((201) 512-0800).

·         Attendance is strong. As of 8/16, 109 classmates have RSVP’d that they plan to attend (with spouses etc. total attendance tops 150!). Again, thanks. This helps us plan, and builds excitement. The response is greater than expected. If you have not RSVP’d, pls do.

·         Committees: Sally Rodman heads the Hospitality Committee. Kathy Lauerman leads the Decorations Committee. Those of you who volunteered will be notified shortly. Thanks for volunteering. We will let you know if we need additional volunteers.

·         Reunion Book: Wes Jenkins reports that he has received photos and/or update info from 241 classmates. Thanks for this. If you have not yet, pls send it to Wes wjenkins5@austin.rr.com.

·         We need a photographer – In addition to the digital cameras that most of us will bring to the reunion, we want an experienced photographer to take group and individual photos. If you are interested in taking photos on Friday and/or Sat nights, pls contact Irene Nagy (gardendesign@bellsouth.net). Thanks.

·         Calling campaign – This campaign to call all our classmates is still on, but has slipped (until we figured out some things). Those of you who volunteered to make calls, thank you. We will be in touch in time to start making the calls very soon..

·         Reunion web site has been updated for:

1.       Missing Classmates - Thanks to you, we continue to make progress finding classmates: down to 75 missing (from over 150 when we started!). Pls keep the help coming til we find everybody.( http://www.rhs70.myevent.com/3/miscellaneous5.htm)

2.       Classmates who have passed – Over the past six weeks we have added 3 more classmates: Donald Haring, Michalene Ryan, and Bruce Hillman. (http://www.rhs70.myevent.com/3/memorials.htm)

 

That’s all for now. Buy those tickets. Make hotel reservations.

 

RHS ’70 Reunion Committee:

Brian Corcoran

Irene Nagy

Rick Bowe

Website address: http://rhs70.myevent.com

Gene Ricci

If you attended Willard School between 1964 and 1979, you know who Gene Ricci (pronounced "Ritchie") is in all his glory. They held an annual flower sale for many years in his honor after he died and the front walk way to Willard is filled with flowers and trees that he would have appreciated.

If you were a guy then you probably felt his ring on the top of you head, never too hard as he had a soft touch, but hard enough to get your attention. This sort of behavior would be considered child abuse today but Gene Ricci got away with it because he would smile and rib the hurt if necessary. He was from another era, and one I like to reflect upon and which makes up the essence of this blog.

Thanks to Jim Schoneman for the picture.

Endless Summer Memories

The number of images of summers past, which I carry around in my head, is seemingly endless. I think there are so many because summer is such a lively time and more time is spent outdoors than in any other season.

When you are outdoors as a kid that is when things, good and bad, happen. This process is always what creates the abundance of memories. They can range from the feel of the morning dew on your bare feet, to the intensity of the midday sun, to the sight of the first fireflies of the early evening. As we grow older there are fewer opportunities to go barefoot, the midday sun we now avoid by staying close to air conditioners, and fireflies are not something we catch in glass jars anymore. Maybe we notice the fireflies from time to time, and recall the fun we used to have collecting them. Though the simple joy we used to feel when we caught our first is not something readily repeatable by middle age types. We can only hope to see a younger generation engage in the same sort of activities we did. Hopefully, we'll catch the same familiar glint of happiness in their eyes that we had after running through pure, dew covered grass in the morning, or when we found a shady spot in which to wait out an afternoon sun, or best of all in my mind seeing young children chasing fireflies in the evening dusk.

The squeals of delight from children when they catch one is easily discernible to me on summer evenings when I am out for a stroll. The memory of my own chases after these intermittent, blinking lights makes me believe that these new firefly pursuers are creating their own endless supply of summer memories.

Did You Play?

A tip of the cap to the Watching The Game blog for the inspiration for this post.
http://watchingthegame.typepad.com/my-blog/2010/07/did-you-play-1.html

The answer to the question is yes. Probably I participated in thousands of hardball, softball, wiffle ball and stick ball games, most never finished because of time or the desire to play on when the score became too one-sided. We played with whomever was available and sometimes due to our numbers half the outfield would be foul territory. You literally had to "call your field" when you stepped to the plate to bat. It wasn't as fun as being able to hit to all fields but it at least satisfied our desire to play the game, no matter the self-imposed limits.

When you were younger than the assembled crowd of ball players it was a right of passage to be asked to play. The invitation was usually extended so a full complement of players could be fielded on both sides. Sometimes this meant right field, but in my case I learned early to tell them I would pitch. Now this was a somewhat dangerous position given the strength and size of some of the players I was pitching the softball to and because of the short distance between pitcher and batter. You were either quick or lucky when you pitched in those games, and for the most part when I was young, I was both.

By the time I assumed the status of the older boys I still liked pitching, even though I could have chosen a spot in the outfield based on seniority. The infield was largely off limits because I am left-handed, though at one time or another I did play every position on the diamond, and once toward the end of my playing days, I played center field with a right-handed glove. This effort took some guile and an effortless looking throwing style. I did field one fly ball that day and a couple of grounders. It was just my usual good luck that nobody on the other team knew that my arm was far less than the cannon one would usually expect from a center fielder. Yes, I played and still enjoy reflecting back on those blissful days in the sun.

RHS 1970 Reunion Update

The count down to the Oct 8-9 reunion is now 10 weeks away, and we have started to step it up. As we get closer, we will send more emails. Also keep checking what is new on the reunion web site (www.rhs70.myevent.com).

·         Ticket pricing:  $99. Tickets to the Main Event at the DoubleTree Hotel on Sat night Oct 9 are $99 (if purchased by Sept 30 via the web site, $119 at the door (cash only)). Price includes: Dinner, open bar (for 2 hours), DJ, photographer, Wes Jenkins’ memory book. Tickets go on sale via the reunion web site in mid-August. Tickets to the Fri night Oct 8 event at the Elks Club will payable at the door. Cash bar. Price is still TBD, but will be modest.

·         Map of your classmates. Check out this link, pretty amazing. http://www.batchgeo.com/map/c083263a9a290e9394de079cd6c3724a  Here is where all 578 of your classmates live (street addresses intentionally are not included). Click around, zoom in. See if there is a classmate near you. If you want to contact a classmate, contact Irene Nagy (gardendesign@bellsouth.net) and she will be the go-between.

·         Need Volunteers for Reunion Committees. We are putting together the following committees to prepare for and conduct the reunion weekend. We need volunteers. Pls email Irene (gardendesign@bellsouth.net)  if you are interested in participating on a committee.

1.       Decoration Committee – In charge of decorations for Main Event on Sat night. Has a sizeable budget. Need 4 people.

2.       Welcoming Committee – Check people in at Elks Club on Fri, and Main Event on Sat. Produce welcome packets. Need 3 people.

3.       Event Committee – Brian Corcoran heads this group. In charge of all logistics for Main Event. Brian could use 1 more person.

4.       Calling Campaign – As you may know, we are calling all classmates in August to remind, encourage, re-connect, and improve our contact database. 8 of you have already volunteered. Thank you. (See “Calling Campaign” below for update.)

·         Memory Book. We are taking a different tack with the incredible ‘Memory Book” that Wes Jenkins is creating. In order to capture reunion photos and updates from all classmates at the reunion, we have decided to not complete and deliver the Memory Book until after the reunion. At the Main Event on Sat night Oct 9, we will be gathering input from attendees. We will mail a Memory Book, on CD, to all who attend the reunion and provide us with update info. We will make it easy to do at the Main Event. The cost of the Memory Book is included in the $99 price of the Main Event. We will also sell Memory Book CD’s to classmates who are unable to attend the reunion. Details to foll ow. In the meantime, if you can, pls send Wes a bio, blurb, photos. wjenkins5@austin.rr.com. See details on the reunion web site (http://www.rhs70.myevent.com/3/miscellaneous3.htm).

·         Calling campaign – This campaign to call all our classmates is still on, but has slipped into August. Those of you who volunteered to make calls, thank you. We will be in touch in time to start making the calls the first week in Aug.

·         Attendance. As of 7/20, 97 classmates have RSVP’d that they plan to attend (with spouses etc. total attendance tops 150!). Again, thanks. This helps us plan, and builds excitement. The response is greater than expected. If you have not RSVP’d, pls do.

·         Missing Classmates - Thanks to you, we continue to make progress finding classmates: down to 75 missing (from over 150 when we started!). Pls keep the help coming til we find everybody.( http://www.rhs70.myevent.com/3/miscellaneous5.htm)

·         Transportation in an around Ridgewood – If the expense of renting a car is a major concern for you, our hope is that that many of you will team up with your friends/classmates who will have cars, and that classmates will step up to the need.  We are arranging to have a taxi service on standby as needed, and hope to provide a reasonably priced van service to/from Newark Airport to the DoubleTree Hotel. We will let you know what we come up with.

 

That’s all for now. Keep in touch. Next update in mid-August.

 

RHS ’70 Reunion Committee:

Brian Corcoran

Irene Nagy

Rick Bowe

Website address: http://rhs70.myevent.com

Carl Albano, RHS Top 100 Teacher of the 20th Century

Many thanks to Chris Stella, class of 1973, for this moving tribute to 20th Century RHS Teacher, Carl Albano. It is admittedly long for a blog, but worth the time to read.

As a gentle reminder, one of the goals of this blog is to offer praise for individuals who positively influenced people's lives in the 1960s and 70s in Ridgewood, NJ.  Please feel free to forward me your ideas. I am trying to establish a site which acknowledges the contributions of the 100 Best Teachers in the Ridgewood Public School system over the last 100 years. It is a lofty ambition, but I am not above making the effort with the assistance of people who read this blog. Here is the first entry in what I hope is a continuing series of long overdue expressions of gratitude to the people who made us what we are today.

Well, just looking at him, he didn’t quite fit the picture of the high-impact RHS teacher, that is for sure. He had this near spherical head and face, stuck on an ovoid body. His brown hair was slicked straight back, held in position by some sort of lustrous substance, distinctly unfashionable among the young of Ridgewood in 1972.

He taught Health, and Driver Ed, but not Physical Ed. And, his presence wasn’t like any of the RHS pedagogue stars: He didn’t have the tweedy, genial sense of  learned excellence suggested by a Harry Ahearn, or the muscular, rigorous intellectualism of a Milo Okkema. Both the subject matter, and teacher might have seemed a bit, well, shall we say, Less Academic.

To complete the picture, his brother was one of those show wrestlers, Lou Albano, later a huge WWF star as Captain Lou Albano. Our teacher did not make TOO big a deal of this, though he was often willing to make predictions on the results of his brother’s bouts. These predictions were accurate to a degree not suggested possible by statistical variability.

Since my time with him in the classroom and automobile, where he taught me Health and how to drive a car, I have come to see him as a true genius.
He made people who were not in the habit of thinking, think. “Okay, today, we’re going to talk about Drugs”. Certain facts would follow. Then, he would pick a student carefully, approach that student, and pull a small clear glass bottle with a black screw-top out of his valise. Inside the bottle was a few ounces of a clear, but obscurely and unusually colored liquid.

“Frank, “Mr. Albano would genially say to the student he had picked, “Please unscrew the cap, and swallow the liquid.”

“Oh, come on, it will be fine. I promise. “ Mr. Albano would say.

“No”, Frank would again say.

At this point Frank’s so-called buddies would begin to egg him on, urging him to drink the liquid, in a way that severely suggested that they were a lot more interested in the evolving spectacle, than in Frank’s well-being.

“Frank. This won’t hurt you. I promise. It’s Okay”, Albano would continue.

“I’m not drinkin’ that shit !!!“


(Laughter.)

Albano would smile and ask, “Why not?”

Desperate, Frank would say, “’Cause I don’t what kinda shit’s in there !!”


(More laughter.)


Albano would take a step back, put the bottle back in the valise, and smile again.

“Frank. I’m your teacher. You know me. It is my job to see that you are safe here, and that no harm comes to you while you are in school. I’ll get in a lot of trouble if I don’t. After all, a good lawyer can make black seem like white, right?”

Albano would then continue, in a sensible and kind way:

“Frank, if you aren’t willing to take this stuff into your body when I say it is okay and your friends are here, why would you be willing to take other stuff given to you by other people who you DON’T know, and who don’t care about you AT ALL?”

Well, this seemed clever in real time, but there was a whole less obvious layer of teacherly smarts at work here, which only recently occurred to me. Albano had picked his mark well. There were florid risk-takers in the class who would have called Albano’s bluff instantaneously, and quaffed the mysterious liquid in a gulp.

But, although “Frank” tried to play the role of the uncooperative rebel, he was actually a nervous wannabe. He was someone on the periphery, someone who Albano knew would perform as desired and refuse to drink the Kool-Aid, and refuse in a squeamish way, either out of general anxiety, or latent good sense, hard to say which.

The first year of Health was taught in an all-male class of over fifty students, as high anxiety, high-potential-for-disruptive-behavior stuff was presented, topic after topic.

Albano controlled the class effortlessly:

“Hey you, yes, you in the back talking. Stand up. What’s ya name, I don’t know ya name, what is it?”

Duh, Uh,…Stella.

“Oh. Very nice. Stella. Italian, no? Italian, yes, Stella?”

Duh, Uh, yeah, Italian.


(Laughter)


“Oh, Stella, Italian, very nice, very very nice.

“Now, Stella: SHUT YA MOUTH, SHUT YA MOUTH, STELLA.”

“Now, sit down, Stella.”

(Laughter, Cascading.)


And the classroom discussion of the picture of the syphilitic genital chancre would go on:

“Now, like you can see it really looks like bad news, but funny thing is, it doesn’t hurt too bad at all. But if you see it, you got to go see the doctor, because if you don’t get this taken care of it can ruin the rest of your life. But, the medicine, it isn’t too bad, so if this happens, you have to go to the doctor.”

Again, brilliant, visceral, teacherly smarts. He could have yelled, screamed, tossed people out, or just given up, we had seen all of that, elsewhere. But, his technique was radically different. He seemed to be saying:

“Okay Mister Cut-Up, I know your type, maybe I was one myself, maybe I still am, a bit. I know you want attention, so I’m going to let you have some. I’m going to let you be half of my comedy act, for a few seconds. People will get a kick out of this, I guarantee it. But then you have to sit down and cooperate, because I have a lot of stuff important to your well-being that you need to know.”

Senior Year Health Class, time for the discussion of Abortion. Some neutrally presented facts were described, followed by a general class discussion on the topic, with Albano as moderator:

“Now, when we talk, you can say anything you want about abortion, but I’m not going to tell you what I believe, unless you ask, at the end.” In the discussion that followed, Albano skillfully brought out all the issues from the students themselves, his own views remaining opaque. And at the end of the class, someone did ask him what he thought on the topic. And Mr. Albano said, again with an affable smile,  “Oh, well, I am a really strict Catholic, and so, I don’t believe in abortion under any circumstances. Now, I really love my wife, if her life was ever in danger, I don’t know; but, for me, abortion is not okay.”

I thought his ability to be respectful of everyone’s opinion was wonderful, as was the straightforward and persuasive statement of his own faith, as well as the acknowledgment of his own humanity, and potential for weakness.

I was lucky enough to have him for Driver Ed, Practical Portion, in a real Auto, behind the wheel.

“We start in the Graydon Parking lot, but don’t put me into the Ho-Ho-Kus Brook, please.“

During my final evaluation drive, I was in the driver’s seat, he in the passenger seat. The Driver Ed car was new, with an automatic transmission. The only modification was an auxiliary brake pedal on Albano’s side. I tooled tentatively about the Village of Ridgewood.

“The Driving, it looks pretty good, Stella. Pretty good. Who you got for your other classes?”

I told him I had Mr. Okkema for History. “Oh, he’s a very, very smart man, one of the best! You’re really lucky, Stella.” This was all true, but I wasn’t so sure that the academic stars at RHS would return such compliments to Albano.

The cut-up in his Health class when surrounded by other kids was shy and awkward with him, when one on one, just us in the Driver Ed car. I tried to steer the conversation to general topics. I told him that on weekends, I liked to go hiking and camping with friends. Did he ever do this sort of thing?

Again, the bemused but transparent warm tone. “Oh, no, never!! When I go away, I gotta be attended to, hand and foot!’ A bemused quarter turn of the head, another bemused smile, his rotund frame turned a bit, “Look at me Stella, hand and foot!”
“The Driving looks pretty good, Stella.”

I relaxed a bit. It was time to return to the RHS parking lot. At the T–intersection of Oak Street and Linwood Avenue, there was, and still is, a red flashing blinker, where the plan was for me to turn right, back towards the school.

I came to a full stop, as was proper before making the right turn at the T-intersection with the flashing red light. I looked right, all clear. I did not look left. I pushed the accelerator down with my foot.

The engine growled harshly, as if being subjected to some unusual load. The car did not move, even an inch. I heard Mr. Albano speak the single word “No”, in a factual, stressless and non-judgmental tone.

Then, I looked left. There was a large panel truck speeding towards us, real close. Had Albano not had his foot on the auxiliary brake, our car would have entered the intersection. This truck would have impacted the driver side of the RHS Driver Ed Auto, which at that particular point in its history, happened to contain, me.

“The Driving. The Driving, it looks pretty good, Stella, but ya gotta look both left and right at the flashing red lights, Stella. Now, let’s get back to the school.”

Well, I’m not SURE he saved my life, but I AM sure he gets credit, yet again, for knowing his student. No doubt there were kids who after such an event needed to be chewed out, flunked out, or both, but he knew that I was not one of them. He knew that in my heart of hearts I wanted to please him, and he also knew that if he was nice to me after I had made such a terrible mistake, I would want to please him even more, and would therefore be more careful in the future.

All of this has come to pass, my subsequent behavior at T-intersections has been exemplary.


II.
About seven years later, I had another experience with him.

I was halfway through Med School, in New York City. It was August, and the re-radiated infrared heat from the City buildings had become intolerable. The plan was for me and my girlfriend to drive across the George Washington Bridge, and use my parents continued residence in Ridgewood to somehow get into Graydon Pool. The plan was completely successful, the only surprise being, seeing Mr. Albano bobbing stresslessly in the shallow waters of Graydon.

I introduced myself, and my friend, to him. Maybe he remembered me, maybe he didn’t. It didn’t seem to matter, the even-toned good nature would have been there, either way.

I told him eagerly how much I had enjoyed his influence, but I don’t remember reminding him of the RHS Driver Ed auto incident.

I also told him that I was making a career out of health care. There might have been a bit of less innocent, Darth Vaderish, Now-I-am-the-Master stuff in this part of the conversation, on my part.

More Stressless Graydon Bobbing on the part of my old RHS Health teacher Mr. Albano. The body that I had always thought of as chubby, was in fact quite muscular.

He showed great and obvious pleasure in the direction my professional life had taken. A period of extended, pleasant conversation followed.

Then he said something else that I won’t forget. He had that bemused, familiar, regretless tone.

“Stella, you know, I majored in Biology and also did very well, and I applied to Medical School too, and I could have gone.”

“But, our family, it was really big, and teaching was a way I could make pretty good money right away, to help out.”

“And my teaching, it looked pretty good, so that’s what I did.”

Well, hearing that, I felt the same way as I had felt after he had saved me from Something Really Bad in the Driver Ed auto. His words had the same strong but honest and sensible character that it had on that important day in the car, seven years prior. Once again, he was able to gracefully stake out his own moral position, making my own mistake clear in a firm but gentle way, a way that only made me like him and respect him, even more.

I am now an academic sort of person, and Carl Albano taught subjects thought of as non-academic, at least while I was a student at Ridgewood High School. But as you can see, I now think he was among the best teachers I’ve known, and a great deal of his teaching and deportment remains influential for me.

Ham Radios in Ridgewood (circa 1960-70)

This was sent by Chris Stella. class of 1973.

“Ham” Radio, in Ridgewood

“Now, listen my Children, and you shall hear
Of when Ne’er a Cell phone was raised to an ear
If you wanted
Your words to project
It was the land-line,
Or an epistle,
Upon which to carefully reflect.”

--C.S., with apologies to Longfellow

Actually, there was one other method that a few of us knew about. It was called
Amateur Radio. Those of us who were licensed to do this, could project their
voice and signal all over the country, and world. The transmitter equipment
needed to do so was often home built from a “Heathkit”. If you couldn’t afford
the relatively safe Heath Power Pack, then the parts needed to construct an
(extremely dangerous) 1000 volt supply that allowed the development of the 200
watt signal needed to keep your set competitive, could be liberated from an older,
nonfunctional obsolete television set.

This in turn could often be had for the asking from a TV Repair shop, such as
Terhune’s, located north of Ridgewood. Technical advice, general mentoring, and license proctoring was provided by my wonderful Electronics Teacher at RHS, Mr. John Keeley. He helped me
send away to the FCC to get the license forms, and he gently administered the
Government test, and within a few weeks I was duly licensed as Amateur Radio Station WN2.

There were many hundreds of these stations scattered through Ridgewood and
the surrounding towns. The most elaborate ones could be identified by these
huge Yagi “Beam” antennas, suspended over residential roofs, much to the
detriment of neighborly relations, local television reception, and the property
value of adjacent real estate parcels.

I had nothing like this. A Heathkit HW-101 transceiver in Kit Form, cost $259.
A Saturday of work at The Ridgewood Auto Wash yielded $20, with the “tips”
exactly counterbalancing the “Social Security”, an unanticipated deduction which
I was inaccurately told would be returned to me at the time of my Retirement.
Accoringly, exactly 14 weeks later I had my transceiver soldered and assembled,
and it worked very well after I designed and constructed the potentially death-
dealing 1000 volt supply mentioned above. My antenna was a simple wire
precisely tuned to 7.100 megahertz, it was slung between two oak trees outside
of my bedroom window. A smaller, 21.200 megahertz wire was suspended from
the eaves of our house.

Using this simple setup, I “worked” stations routinely all over America.
Whatever educational value I gained from doing this was at least partially
negated by the knowledge that the best time to communicate with Europe with
my little Heathkit was at about 10:00 a.m., Eastern Time. Thus, a “stomachache
health emergency” had to be declared, when openings to Europe were expected,
if I was to participate. My Gastrointestinal health during mr RHS years, was
actually a lot better than my parents knew.

The most wonderful thing of all about this hobby was, the knowledge that when
you pressed your Morse Code Key, your signal, through the obscure action-
at – a-distance of Electromagnetic waves, was inducing discernable electrical
information in every metallic object in the Eastern United States, and Beyond.
This was a wonderful mystery, that you could affect the world, in this way.
I still have the Heathkit HW-101 Transceiver that I built as a Sophomore at RHS,
and I still use it. But, it is hard to find a younger person on the air. A cell phone
call is also at least Semi-Amateur Radio, though few see fit to dwell on the
miraculous things that are occurring, when you put that tiny device to your ear.

Summer Rains

I watched a summer rain today and recalled how these downpours used to fill up the outfield at Willard School during the dry months of summer. The outfield of the big baseball diamond had patches of grass and some areas where no grass would grow because of the foot traffic from school children. A summer rain would create shallow puddles as there was no drainage system, other than the parched grass and weeds. These puddles made playing the outfield a comic ballet at best and treacherous sometimes to say the least. I was a pitcher and could only empathize with my teammates who had to play in the muck and mire.

It's comforting to me now that because of The Internet and sites like FaceBook I am now in touch with most of the summer softball team I played with during the Summer of 1973. They are a joy to remember because for two years we were undefeated. They would all understand very clearly what I say about the old outfield at Willard. It was literally "creekmud" at times for the outfielders like my brother Don, who patrolled Center Field and was credited with the final out of our 2nd consecutive Championship season.

Statistics and headlines were not a part of our games in those days. If a couple dozen people showed up to  watch we felt honored. I compare this to the current scene where RHS Football games are filmed and broadcast on Cable Television. Our games remain only in our memories, and thank goodness a mere summer rain can make me reflect upon those games, which were free of secondary complications like how handsome we would appear on TV. This is not to say our field would not have been telegenic, despite the patches of grass in the outfield. Before the home games at Willard, during our undefeated Championship reign (14-0) in 1972-73, we would lime the base paths, rake the infield, and plant the American flag in deep center field. This all took hours of effort which only made the victories that much more sweet. I have no regrets that no pictures exist of this time because I saw it all again today in my mind after the summer rain had stopped and the sun began to shine.

Dr. Armand Stella DDS

Chris Stella of the RHS class of 1973 was kind enough to send this photo of his Dad along with some history about my old orthodontist. "He was quite well known in Ridgewood, and because his practice only involved Orthodontics, essentially all of his patients were young people." Hopefully Chris will send more photos and stories.


"Here is a picture of my Dad, Armand Stella, DDS, who you tell me was your orthodontist. For many years he was one of only two orthodontists in town, the other being Dr. Mario Ferraro. Quite a few Ridgewood kids sported his "appliances", as they were properly and ALWAYS called, in our house.

I took this photograph of him myself in our backyard, using an old YashicaMat roll film camera. He was about 75 years old here, and it captures his nature quite well, I think. He died in 2003, of an aggressive dementia, but was active and athletic and a good tennis player at Upper Ridgewood until only about two years prior to his passing."

Running Through Sprinklers

Before swimming pools became a ubiquitous part of the landscape, and on days we didn't go to Graydon Pool, we often cooled ourselves on a hot day by simply running through and around a portable lawn sprinkler. There were mostly two types in those days, before automated lawn irrigation systems sent the manual kinds to the back of the garage or the garbage can. There was the oscillating sprinkler that featured an oscillating spray bar which evenly douses a rectangular area.

There was also the spike which shot water in a circle.

In the case of both of these stalwarts of the irrigation industry the the initial intent was to get wet slowly by dodging the direct spray when it came your way. Eventually we would tire of this running around and simply let either a wave or a direct blast cool us off.

We also used to drink from the hose which was connected to the sprinklers, without a thought in the world as to the quality of the water. Lucky for us in Ridgewood this wasn't an issue but I would be hard pressed to want to do the same today. The bottled water industry has done its work too well and I either drink from plastic or from a filtered tap. I've also been scared away from water fountains, both inside and outside varieties. Its funny to think we used to line up as kids to drink at these fountains, and to no doubt share germs good and bad with one another.

Such pleasures as I am describing make me wonder at what point they lost their appeal and became work instead of a form of play. If I had to guess the moment, it probably occurred the first time I was asked to move one of the sprinklers in our yard by one of my parents. Play usually happens when no force exists to urge you to do something. Work is comprised of those activities you are being directed to do. Even the ones you once did gladly to cool your heals, and to hear yourself and your friends squeal in delight at the first drops of water as they grazed your sun baked bodies.

Ridgewood's 4th of July Parade

There are plenty of amazing aspects I can reflect upon when thinking about a 4th of July in Ridgewood. First of all, as the chairs in the photo readily point out, people are very eager to see the parade and pick their spot days in advance. This is a time honored tradition which is respected by all. Once you put your chairs down they cannot be moved by anyone else. It would be hard to find another town in any era which follows the same protocol as flawlessly as Ridgewood.

Then there is the parade itself with a myriad of marching bands, floats, and cars filled with dignitaries. My favorite float is the one they create for the RHS graduating seniors, allowing them one last hurrah, in front of family and friends, before their summer activities and plans for the following autumn must commence in earnest.

Next comes a leisurely day spent in close proximity to BBQs and swimming pools while everyone awaits the fireworks at the end of the day. You would really have to work at it to not have a grand time, especially when the weather cooperates. You will also likely have as part of your day a serendipitous meeting or two with old friends, who showed up in Ridgewood for the same reason which you did: to celebrate the 4th of July!

Have a safe and happy 4th of July.

Fathers and Daughters

Reprinted from http://watchingthegame.typepad.com/my-blog/
by Judy Van Sickle Johnson

"It's not even a complete sentence.   No command or question, no declarative statement, no imperative verb, no main verb at all.   Just a phrase with an -ing participle (maybe a gerund) which indicates some type of action ongoing between two select people.

Fathers playing catch with sons:  the lovely, familiar phrase may not be a complete sentence, but perhaps that's one reason why the words resonate poignantly for so many.

"Everybody that plays major league baseball, I promise you, had a dad that played catch with him."  That's  what Don Nava had to say last Saturday at Fenway Park after watching his son's first major-league at bat:  a grand slam delivered by 27-year-old rookie Daniel Nava on an 0-0 count.   What an amazing way to break into the big leagues after an unpromising eight-year journey; what an important moment for father and son.

My dad played catch with my brother almost every single day at lunchtime in a bygone era when kids walked home from school for their midday meal, then returned to their classrooms an hour later.  Kind of like Jem and Scout and Atticus Finch.  Like Atticus with his children, my dad made it his business to join my brother for a sit-down lunch in our small kitchen, and that quick lunch was usually followed by an unhurried game of catch in the front yard. 

The only boy in our family following three sisters, my brother went on to become an outstanding player in our town's youth league.   One spring weekend I rode a Greyhound bus home from college  just to see him pitch.  Working efficiently and striking out almost every batter in the lineup, my kid brother threw a complete game that Saturday afternoon.  Mowed them all down with blazing fastballs and pinpoint control.  He was just nine or ten years old at the time, but something about his consistency and confidence on a hill of dirt made him seem much older.  I had left home, and my youngest sibling had grown up overnight.

My dad didn't play catch with me very often.

I never really coveted or envied the baseball times that my brother enjoyed with our dad, however.  Truth be told, I didn't particularly want to play catch with my father.  There was something else I wanted even more.

I just wanted to watch the game with him - wanted to watch baseball every single night.

There we sat, just my dad and I out on the screened porch, gliding side by side in the soft breeze of a sultry July evening, listening to Ralph Kiner, Lindsay Nelson, and Bob Murphy, and watching the New York Mets.  Together we enjoyed the primitive, grainy images that brought baseball to life on a small black-and-white RCA television topped with skinny rabbit ears.

It's a miracle that we chose the Mets in 1963, but that's what we did.  A team of losers  (51-111) felt like a win to me, because I had just fallen in love with baseball, and I loved every single part of it.

When my father came home from work, the game began to assert itself as language, and that is how baseball felt most real to me.  Its magical sounds, metaphors and idioms, syntax and rhythm,  its diction both poetical and crude became integral pieces of our evening conversation, a comfortable mode of speech and thought, a language that I loved.  While learning to speak English in increasingly complex ways in grades three and four, I simultaneously acquired the splendid vocabulary of baseball, as if it were an important part of the curriculum.  The game felt like something basic and essential - as normal, natural, and necessary as speech itself. 

Baseball took shape for me as language not as sport, partly because the man who nurtured my early love of the game was a Protestant minister.  Using few words and allowing for long periods of silence, he taught me baseball, both its fundamentals and its poetry.  In my mind's ear, an amazing vocabulary became inseparably entwined with familiar Biblical passages, both deeply embedded in my young psyche, and both becoming an essential part of who I am:  "3-2 count,"  Love is patient and kind,   "in the cellar,"  my rock and my Redeemer,  "6-4-3 double play."    And the Word was made flesh ... and dwelt among us,  full of love and peace. 

Many years have passed since those summer days and nights, but I can still hear the ever-modulating commentary, the sweet sounds of a televised broadcast, a soft breeze and buzzing in the trees, the gentle words of my father out on the screened porch once upon a quiet New Jersey evening.   I was a lucky girl, because when hearing my dad's voice and when listening to the comforting music of a play-by-play on summer evenings, I knew for certain that I was safe and deeply loved.

I have always associated baseball with happiness and love.   Thank you, Dad."