Reflection #20 (Only 1056 to go!): A Turning Point(Pt. 1)
The Saturday evening of Dec. 18, 1976 at the Auditorium Theater was a magical evening. Bob Hope did a benefit performance for Saint Ignatius College Prep, entitled "Hope For Ignatius". Most of the time, when the phrase "magical" is used, it refers to a prom or a concert that is particularly well-done. I have to say that this event had a greater element of magic than just being good.
In mid-December of 1976, not only did Bob Hope do a benefit for us, but he brought Andy Williams and Dyan Cannon along. Williams was a big name singer in his own right, and host/star of his own variety TV show. Hope had talked him into appearing that night, and Williams was the headliner for the benefit the following year. Diane Cannon was a beautiful multi-talented actress who had earned several academy award nominations, but was probably more well-known for having been married to Cary Grant.
To put it mildly, Ignatius was going through a rough patch financially at that time. I am not privy to all of the details or causes (although I have some thoughts on the matter), but, as I understand it, we were not far from closing. As tuition necessarily increased, the enrollment dropped. If one looks at the class pictures for the years of the late '70's, the size of the graduating classes were significantly smaller than before or after those years.
I’ve heard a few variations about how the benefit came to be, but essentially the story seems to be that Father Bowen, the president of Ignatius, had placed an ad in a magazine saying that St. Ignatius was “looking for an angel”. At about the same time that Hope saw the ad, he received a letter from Father Bowen asking for help by way of a benefit on behalf of the school.
Hope contacted Irv Kupcinet, the very popular newspaper columnist of the time, and asked him if we were worth the effort. Kup vouched for us, and, in fact, was the MC for the event. Mayor Daley (the 1st) was the “honorary chairman” of the event. For younger readers, I'm not sure that Bob Hope's style would have been all that entertaining, but for people of my generation and older (Raispis), he was great.
Now why do I say that this night was "magical" beyond just being a great show? Because the fortunes of the school seemed to turn on that event. Not only did the concert bring in (by Ignatius' standards) a lot of money, but the whole atmosphere of the place changed. Suddenly there was an optimism and new-found spirit that had been dwindling at that time.
Many will argue Ignatius going co-ed was the critical turn-around moment, and I won’t deny its impact, but from the moment of the “Bob Hope Benefit”, the energy of the school jumped dramatically. We had real traction. All of a sudden the school had vitality. I truly wonder if we would have survived until the year young ladies were accepted (1979) into the school, had it not been for that “magical” night.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Reflection # 19 (Only 1057 to go!) : Playing Politics
Reflection #19: Playing Politics
(Disclaimer: I am not complaining. It just sounds like I am.)
This blog about being a teacher and coach...not necessarily me. Well, maybe a little bit.
Being back in the classroom for 6 weeks each summer, including this year, combined with recent news items about teachers (or as state legislators like to refer to us as Lazy Incompetent Greedy Slugs or LIGS), prompted me to write this reflection. It's probably not fair to generalize about the members of the legislature, although maybe it is. We all know that teachers have had the privilege of determining their own salaries, and health-and-retirement benefits. Oh, no! Wait! That’s the state legislature. I know!! It sounds a little bitter, but how come, when the state’s economy goes in the uh, er um “pooper”, as a result of bad governing, suddenly it’s the teachers who caused it, and, by damn, the teachers are going to pay? Just asking.
I am officially retired, but I love teaching, and while I hate the 38 mile drive each morning, it's the concession that I make to indulge myself. In my early days as a teacher at St. Ignatius, “friends” would chide me about “only working 5 hours a day” and “nine months a year”. Of course, they were right. I had an angel on my shoulder to check off homework assignments, grade tests and quizzes for over 120 students each day, and make up lesson plans and tests for the next days classes. Additionally, when Texas Instrument came out with what was originally called the “electronic slide rule”, or new elements were added to the curriculum, all I had to do was take a pill and, mystically, I knew immediately how to use the devices and, what was the best teaching method to incorporate. (In case it’s not obvious, I’m being sarcastic!) I’ve noticed that everyone seems to have an opinion on how to be a good teacher. (The use of the word, “...everyone...” is for dramatic effect, but not entirely.) I have mused about why it is so common for those not in the teaching profession to presume they have a high level of expertise. I recall that, before I was married with 4 kids, I was the world’s greatest expert on how to raise kids. What made things even worse was that I was a “psychology major”!!! (Theme from the movie “Jaws” in the background. Oops! Mind wandered.) Anyway, by the time JoAnn, our youngest, turned 21, I had learned my lesson. This is no reflection on how my kids turned out; they’re great...thanks to their mother.
Back to the point, I think that I know why there are so many teaching “experts” who haven’t blessed the industry with their presence. Two reasons: Most people who opine about teachers at all, have a vested and emotional stake in the quality of education. They correctly assume that a good education for their children will increase (but I hasten to add, NOT guarantee) the likelihood of a successful life. (Don’t get me started on what constitutes a “successful life”.) Additionally, the lack of achievement in the form of poor or mediocre grades, ...or not making “the team”...or getting into NHS...can be looked on as a poor reflection on parents. (To this latter point, I say, “HOGWASH”!)
As a coach,...and I did a boat-load of coaching...we had to deal within the boundaries of the philosophy of the school, the facilities available and a-whole-lot-of other intervening variables, while trying to provide the best possible program for our student-athletes. On an emotional level, a parent’s reaction to a son or daughter who was “cut” from the team or who didn’t make the starting line-up was 10 times greater than for a poor math grade. I’ve heard fathers say, “I’ve seen my boy hit those 15-footers in the driveway. No way those other kids are better” or “My daughter can rally with the best of the men at our racket club...even the ones that don‘t need walkers. Clearly she should be playing first-singles.” (For those of you not versed in the culture of tennis, “first singles” is a good thing.) I will only divulge the most egregious examples of parent complaints that I’ve heard over a pint or two of Guinness or a Hurricane at Pat O’Brien’s in Nawlins.
The second reason is that everyone has seen teachers teach. We were all students for 12, 16 or more years, and we’ve seen teachers and coaches that we liked or didn’t like, good or bad. Few people have an opinion about whether a heart surgeon or CPA is good at his or her job. Who knows if someone is a good heart-surgeon, CPA except those in the profession. I suspect if you died during surgery, or went to jail for tax-evasion, you’d probably form an opinion.
Well, for the moment, to quote Forrest Gump, “That’s all I've got to say about that.” I imagine that, for those of you who are convinced that teachers are “LIGS“, at best, you won’t agree with my reflection. At worst, you’ll be angry, and try to dissolve the union I’m in. Save your time; no union.
Have a good day!
(Disclaimer: I am not complaining. It just sounds like I am.)
This blog about being a teacher and coach...not necessarily me. Well, maybe a little bit.
Being back in the classroom for 6 weeks each summer, including this year, combined with recent news items about teachers (or as state legislators like to refer to us as Lazy Incompetent Greedy Slugs or LIGS), prompted me to write this reflection. It's probably not fair to generalize about the members of the legislature, although maybe it is. We all know that teachers have had the privilege of determining their own salaries, and health-and-retirement benefits. Oh, no! Wait! That’s the state legislature. I know!! It sounds a little bitter, but how come, when the state’s economy goes in the uh, er um “pooper”, as a result of bad governing, suddenly it’s the teachers who caused it, and, by damn, the teachers are going to pay? Just asking.
I am officially retired, but I love teaching, and while I hate the 38 mile drive each morning, it's the concession that I make to indulge myself. In my early days as a teacher at St. Ignatius, “friends” would chide me about “only working 5 hours a day” and “nine months a year”. Of course, they were right. I had an angel on my shoulder to check off homework assignments, grade tests and quizzes for over 120 students each day, and make up lesson plans and tests for the next days classes. Additionally, when Texas Instrument came out with what was originally called the “electronic slide rule”, or new elements were added to the curriculum, all I had to do was take a pill and, mystically, I knew immediately how to use the devices and, what was the best teaching method to incorporate. (In case it’s not obvious, I’m being sarcastic!) I’ve noticed that everyone seems to have an opinion on how to be a good teacher. (The use of the word, “...everyone...” is for dramatic effect, but not entirely.) I have mused about why it is so common for those not in the teaching profession to presume they have a high level of expertise. I recall that, before I was married with 4 kids, I was the world’s greatest expert on how to raise kids. What made things even worse was that I was a “psychology major”!!! (Theme from the movie “Jaws” in the background. Oops! Mind wandered.) Anyway, by the time JoAnn, our youngest, turned 21, I had learned my lesson. This is no reflection on how my kids turned out; they’re great...thanks to their mother.
Back to the point, I think that I know why there are so many teaching “experts” who haven’t blessed the industry with their presence. Two reasons: Most people who opine about teachers at all, have a vested and emotional stake in the quality of education. They correctly assume that a good education for their children will increase (but I hasten to add, NOT guarantee) the likelihood of a successful life. (Don’t get me started on what constitutes a “successful life”.) Additionally, the lack of achievement in the form of poor or mediocre grades, ...or not making “the team”...or getting into NHS...can be looked on as a poor reflection on parents. (To this latter point, I say, “HOGWASH”!)
As a coach,...and I did a boat-load of coaching...we had to deal within the boundaries of the philosophy of the school, the facilities available and a-whole-lot-of other intervening variables, while trying to provide the best possible program for our student-athletes. On an emotional level, a parent’s reaction to a son or daughter who was “cut” from the team or who didn’t make the starting line-up was 10 times greater than for a poor math grade. I’ve heard fathers say, “I’ve seen my boy hit those 15-footers in the driveway. No way those other kids are better” or “My daughter can rally with the best of the men at our racket club...even the ones that don‘t need walkers. Clearly she should be playing first-singles.” (For those of you not versed in the culture of tennis, “first singles” is a good thing.) I will only divulge the most egregious examples of parent complaints that I’ve heard over a pint or two of Guinness or a Hurricane at Pat O’Brien’s in Nawlins.
The second reason is that everyone has seen teachers teach. We were all students for 12, 16 or more years, and we’ve seen teachers and coaches that we liked or didn’t like, good or bad. Few people have an opinion about whether a heart surgeon or CPA is good at his or her job. Who knows if someone is a good heart-surgeon, CPA except those in the profession. I suspect if you died during surgery, or went to jail for tax-evasion, you’d probably form an opinion.
Well, for the moment, to quote Forrest Gump, “That’s all I've got to say about that.” I imagine that, for those of you who are convinced that teachers are “LIGS“, at best, you won’t agree with my reflection. At worst, you’ll be angry, and try to dissolve the union I’m in. Save your time; no union.
Have a good day!
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Reflection #18 (Only 1058 to go!): THE Ghost Story
Occasionally, I meet someone associated with Saint Ignatius and Holy Family Church who is not familiar with THE ghost story. Actually, I know three (or four or five, depending on how you count them) ghost stories, but the most renowned pertains to Father Damen, who was the founder of both Holy Family Parish and Saint Ignatius "College". This is certainly an instance where one story easily morphs into another. I'll try to keep myself under control.
I should probably also make the disclaimer that I did no research on what I tell you. This is a part of the oral tradition passed along to me very early in my career...kind of like the Old Testament before they discovered paper. As a part of that "tradition", I understand that Fr. Damen, a German Jesuit and the man after whom Damen Avenue is named, founded the church and the schools to serve the Irish immigrants in the mid-1800's.
Here's the version of the story that I heard: One day, sometime in late 1800's, after saying mass, Fr. Damen was approached by two altar boys who asked him if he would come to their house and give their mother the last rites. She was gravely ill. He said that he would, and they told him where they "lived". Father did not recognize the boys, but that was not unusual since Holy Family was a very large parish.
When he had finished putting his vestments away, he went to the address he had been given. There, he found a very old lady who was clearly near death, and he gave her the last rites, what we used to call extreme unction. When he finished the blessing, he stayed briefly to visit with the lady, and she asked him how he knew to come there. He told her about the two altar boys and their request. He said he thought that they said their mother was ill, but they must have said "grandmother". She asked him to describe the boys, and when he did, she began to cry. She told him that she did have two sons...only two sons...and they both died in a drowning accident when they were about the age of the boys Father indicated.
He firmly believed he had been sent to her by the ghosts of her dead sons. To commemorate his experience, Father Damen commissioned two statues of the altar boys to be placed above, and looking toward, the altar in the sanctuary, where they can be seen to this day. Next time you're there, take a look. Rumor has it that the boys eyes follow the priests as they move around the altar.
Three final points: 1) Phyllis Myers, recently retired secretary in the principal's office, has a book written by Richard Crowe, the Chicago ghost hunter, which has a slightly different version, but the main theme is the same.
2) I probably shouldn't say this until I'm completely retired, but I'm not much of a ghost-believer, and I've never seen a ghost in either Ignatius or Holy Family...but...
3) I know others, whose veracity (look it up!) I respect, who say that they have had super-natural (ghostly) experiences here.
Just saying!
I should probably also make the disclaimer that I did no research on what I tell you. This is a part of the oral tradition passed along to me very early in my career...kind of like the Old Testament before they discovered paper. As a part of that "tradition", I understand that Fr. Damen, a German Jesuit and the man after whom Damen Avenue is named, founded the church and the schools to serve the Irish immigrants in the mid-1800's.
Here's the version of the story that I heard: One day, sometime in late 1800's, after saying mass, Fr. Damen was approached by two altar boys who asked him if he would come to their house and give their mother the last rites. She was gravely ill. He said that he would, and they told him where they "lived". Father did not recognize the boys, but that was not unusual since Holy Family was a very large parish.
When he had finished putting his vestments away, he went to the address he had been given. There, he found a very old lady who was clearly near death, and he gave her the last rites, what we used to call extreme unction. When he finished the blessing, he stayed briefly to visit with the lady, and she asked him how he knew to come there. He told her about the two altar boys and their request. He said he thought that they said their mother was ill, but they must have said "grandmother". She asked him to describe the boys, and when he did, she began to cry. She told him that she did have two sons...only two sons...and they both died in a drowning accident when they were about the age of the boys Father indicated.
He firmly believed he had been sent to her by the ghosts of her dead sons. To commemorate his experience, Father Damen commissioned two statues of the altar boys to be placed above, and looking toward, the altar in the sanctuary, where they can be seen to this day. Next time you're there, take a look. Rumor has it that the boys eyes follow the priests as they move around the altar.
Three final points: 1) Phyllis Myers, recently retired secretary in the principal's office, has a book written by Richard Crowe, the Chicago ghost hunter, which has a slightly different version, but the main theme is the same.
2) I probably shouldn't say this until I'm completely retired, but I'm not much of a ghost-believer, and I've never seen a ghost in either Ignatius or Holy Family...but...
3) I know others, whose veracity (look it up!) I respect, who say that they have had super-natural (ghostly) experiences here.
Just saying!
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Reflection #17 (Only 1059 to go!): The End of Times
Do you recognize the name Harold Camping? If not, he is the man who predicted that the world would end on May 21, 2011. Actually, he said that the "rapture" and Judgment Day would be on that date. While I didn't believe that it would happen, I also didn't write my June 1st blog until May 22...just in case.
Harold seems like a genuinely nice man who truly believed what he predicted. Afterward he expressed embarrassment and apologized for the miscalculation. My thought was, "No apologies necessary; I'm pretty happy that it didn't happen." I think for most of us, life is like a poor restaurant; no matter how bad the food was, the worst complaint is that there wasn't enough. (FYI, he has since had a stroke, as a result of stress that followed his prediction; for that I feel a little sorry for him.)
Harold's prediction and its failure to materialize prompted this recollection. In October of 1962, we had our own brush with "The End of Times". If anyone reading this blog is old enough to remember that month, I want to bring you back to the "Cuban Missile Crisis". I was in my 2nd year of teaching at Saint Ignatius High School...not College Prep.
The set-up: At the end of World War II, the U.S.A went from being a nervous ally of Russia to being the vanguard against Russia's apparent desire for world domination. For four years, there was a contentious relationship between Russia and the U.S.A., Then one day in Sept. of 1949, we found out that the Russians had “the bomb”. Through the early ‘50’s, there was paranoia, the "red scare", bomb shelters in homes, the Strategic Air Command and, perhaps most terrifying of all, the "Dooms-Day Clock"...always set a couple of minutes before midnight.
By 1962, the Russians had already launched rockets capable of carrying atomic war-heads long distances, and they were starting to erect them in Cuba, which was the first official Communist country in the western hemisphere. There was no question about their intent. Those rockets could reach every city in the U.S.
[Me being a smart a--: Luckily, we had mastered the technology of atomic bomb-resistant school desks. In case of a nuclear attack, the students were to get under their desks. We can only imagine how much longer the War-in-the-Pacific would have lasted if the Japanese had developed that technology.]
The Result: The story is longer and more complex, but toward the end of October, 1962, President Kennedy ordered a blockade of Cuban ports. For seven days, Russian cargoe ships carrying rocket parts approached Cuban waters. The long-awaited war was at hand. There had been no bill-boards warning us of the end, or radio preachers to tell us how to spend our waning moments, but we all knew we were all going to die. The "Dooms Day Clock" had mere seconds to go. Both sides had enough nuclear weapons to wipe out humanity many times over, and this was it.
On October 28th, the Russian leader, Nikita Khrushchev offered to remove their missiles from Cuba if we would remove ours from Turkey.
The Ignatius connection: During one of those days, as I was teaching one of my classes, there was a sudden loud "booom" from the direction of the lake. That's it. It's all over. Then we were told that naval pilots were practicing their super-sonic flights over Lake Michigan; it was a so-called sonic-boom. I know that the story sounds like it "fizzles", but, to those of us who experienced it, it was a high-anxiety snap-shot moment that illuminated our mortality.
Some have said that the reason the good old days were good was because we know that we have survived them. I survived the missile crisis, but I don't feel those days were all that good. At 23-years-old, I wasn't ready to "leave this vale of tears", if you get my drift. Ya know! At 72, I'm still not ready. As with the poor restaurant, life isn't perfect, but there still hasn't been enough.
Harold seems like a genuinely nice man who truly believed what he predicted. Afterward he expressed embarrassment and apologized for the miscalculation. My thought was, "No apologies necessary; I'm pretty happy that it didn't happen." I think for most of us, life is like a poor restaurant; no matter how bad the food was, the worst complaint is that there wasn't enough. (FYI, he has since had a stroke, as a result of stress that followed his prediction; for that I feel a little sorry for him.)
Harold's prediction and its failure to materialize prompted this recollection. In October of 1962, we had our own brush with "The End of Times". If anyone reading this blog is old enough to remember that month, I want to bring you back to the "Cuban Missile Crisis". I was in my 2nd year of teaching at Saint Ignatius High School...not College Prep.
The set-up: At the end of World War II, the U.S.A went from being a nervous ally of Russia to being the vanguard against Russia's apparent desire for world domination. For four years, there was a contentious relationship between Russia and the U.S.A., Then one day in Sept. of 1949, we found out that the Russians had “the bomb”. Through the early ‘50’s, there was paranoia, the "red scare", bomb shelters in homes, the Strategic Air Command and, perhaps most terrifying of all, the "Dooms-Day Clock"...always set a couple of minutes before midnight.
By 1962, the Russians had already launched rockets capable of carrying atomic war-heads long distances, and they were starting to erect them in Cuba, which was the first official Communist country in the western hemisphere. There was no question about their intent. Those rockets could reach every city in the U.S.
[Me being a smart a--: Luckily, we had mastered the technology of atomic bomb-resistant school desks. In case of a nuclear attack, the students were to get under their desks. We can only imagine how much longer the War-in-the-Pacific would have lasted if the Japanese had developed that technology.]
The Result: The story is longer and more complex, but toward the end of October, 1962, President Kennedy ordered a blockade of Cuban ports. For seven days, Russian cargoe ships carrying rocket parts approached Cuban waters. The long-awaited war was at hand. There had been no bill-boards warning us of the end, or radio preachers to tell us how to spend our waning moments, but we all knew we were all going to die. The "Dooms Day Clock" had mere seconds to go. Both sides had enough nuclear weapons to wipe out humanity many times over, and this was it.
On October 28th, the Russian leader, Nikita Khrushchev offered to remove their missiles from Cuba if we would remove ours from Turkey.
The Ignatius connection: During one of those days, as I was teaching one of my classes, there was a sudden loud "booom" from the direction of the lake. That's it. It's all over. Then we were told that naval pilots were practicing their super-sonic flights over Lake Michigan; it was a so-called sonic-boom. I know that the story sounds like it "fizzles", but, to those of us who experienced it, it was a high-anxiety snap-shot moment that illuminated our mortality.
Some have said that the reason the good old days were good was because we know that we have survived them. I survived the missile crisis, but I don't feel those days were all that good. At 23-years-old, I wasn't ready to "leave this vale of tears", if you get my drift. Ya know! At 72, I'm still not ready. As with the poor restaurant, life isn't perfect, but there still hasn't been enough.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Blog #16 (only 1060 to go): On Being German
There is usually some basis for truth to ethnic stereotypes. I was raised in a 100% German family. My family liked cabbage, dumplings and beer. Another stereotype that was grounded in reality in my family was that emotions were to be kept in check. That was especially true on my father’s side of the family. There are other cultural anomalies, but that will suffice for what I am about to write.
I must admit that, German-wise, I am a washout. I really don’t like cabbage; I’m not crazy about dumplings, and the only beer I like is Guinness. Most of all, I am emotional. I get choked up seeing little babies in TV ads, and don’t get me started talking about my grandchildren. By the end, you may well have to help me to a chair and use a cloth to dab my tears.
Actually, this blog is not about being German; it is about my emotions during the end-of-the-year Mass in Holy Family Church on Tuesday. I’m not sure I can explain why I “choked” up. Certainly some of it was that the church was filled with the glorious sound of the St. Ignatius’ wonderful orchestra and choir, but my emotions were spurred by the recollection of some heart-tugging...at least for me...memories.
Very close to 50 years ago, on the first Friday of the school year, I stepped into Holy Family for the very first time to join in the celebration of the Mass-of-the-Holy Spirit. In those days, there were many priests in the school, and during the masses, most of them were at the altar. That was a majestic sight. The church was filled with the voices of 1150 young men as we prayed for God’s blessings for the coming year. Daily lunchtime masses were held in Holy Family, and they were pretty well attended. In those days, the boys walked through the “tunnel” to church, passing what is now the Treasures Office and the room occupied by the maintenance staff. They did not go outside to get to church, and, of course, they walked in total silence.
On Tuesday this year, there weren’t as many priests, and the student body is now co-ed, but, despite those small differences, the memories of those 50 years, with all of their accompanying emotions, washed over me. Holy Family Church is a gold thread that runs through the fabric of my life at Ignatius.
I can recall Father Moosbrugger giving what was to be referred to as the “greener pastures” homily, in which he said that the Jesuits had decided to stay at “1076” and not relocate on the south-west side, near where St. Laurence High School is now located.
The Baccalaureate Masses were held In Holy Family, and there was always some emotion to seeing the students that I taught as they headed out into the “cold world”.
As the church was falling on hard times, one day Carmen Pintozzi (a great teacher and coach, and a very good friend of mine) and I climbed to the choir loft when the church was empty. As we walked towards the front of the loft, we could feel it begin to sway, and we scampered (as well as two 200-plus pound men can “scamper”) back to the stair-well, trying not to shake the loft any more than necessary, nervously laughing about our “near-death” experience. In itself, it wasn’t a big deal, but a short time later, I stood at the lectern, reading the petitions at Carmen’s funeral mass. (That was tough.) As a side note, the “Junior-of-the-Year” award is named in Carmen’s honor. This years honoree is Robert Nolan, so if anyone who reads this blog knows Robert, please be sure to congratulate him on his award.
A few years ago, my daughter, Jill, was married in Holy Family, and a week later, I attended my last Baccalaureate Mass as I prepared to retire. No single event would explain why I felt as I did, but the sum total of these and many more brought back the nostalgia, both joyous and painful.
There were quite a few years in the middle of that time period when the masses were held in the school gym, because Holy Family had deteriorated so badly, but, thanks to the efforts of Fr. George Lane, SJ, and the generosity of many people, the church has saved.
I have a ghost story that is a part of the Holy Family tradition, but that is saved for a later “reminiscence”
I must admit that, German-wise, I am a washout. I really don’t like cabbage; I’m not crazy about dumplings, and the only beer I like is Guinness. Most of all, I am emotional. I get choked up seeing little babies in TV ads, and don’t get me started talking about my grandchildren. By the end, you may well have to help me to a chair and use a cloth to dab my tears.
Actually, this blog is not about being German; it is about my emotions during the end-of-the-year Mass in Holy Family Church on Tuesday. I’m not sure I can explain why I “choked” up. Certainly some of it was that the church was filled with the glorious sound of the St. Ignatius’ wonderful orchestra and choir, but my emotions were spurred by the recollection of some heart-tugging...at least for me...memories.
Very close to 50 years ago, on the first Friday of the school year, I stepped into Holy Family for the very first time to join in the celebration of the Mass-of-the-Holy Spirit. In those days, there were many priests in the school, and during the masses, most of them were at the altar. That was a majestic sight. The church was filled with the voices of 1150 young men as we prayed for God’s blessings for the coming year. Daily lunchtime masses were held in Holy Family, and they were pretty well attended. In those days, the boys walked through the “tunnel” to church, passing what is now the Treasures Office and the room occupied by the maintenance staff. They did not go outside to get to church, and, of course, they walked in total silence.
On Tuesday this year, there weren’t as many priests, and the student body is now co-ed, but, despite those small differences, the memories of those 50 years, with all of their accompanying emotions, washed over me. Holy Family Church is a gold thread that runs through the fabric of my life at Ignatius.
I can recall Father Moosbrugger giving what was to be referred to as the “greener pastures” homily, in which he said that the Jesuits had decided to stay at “1076” and not relocate on the south-west side, near where St. Laurence High School is now located.
The Baccalaureate Masses were held In Holy Family, and there was always some emotion to seeing the students that I taught as they headed out into the “cold world”.
As the church was falling on hard times, one day Carmen Pintozzi (a great teacher and coach, and a very good friend of mine) and I climbed to the choir loft when the church was empty. As we walked towards the front of the loft, we could feel it begin to sway, and we scampered (as well as two 200-plus pound men can “scamper”) back to the stair-well, trying not to shake the loft any more than necessary, nervously laughing about our “near-death” experience. In itself, it wasn’t a big deal, but a short time later, I stood at the lectern, reading the petitions at Carmen’s funeral mass. (That was tough.) As a side note, the “Junior-of-the-Year” award is named in Carmen’s honor. This years honoree is Robert Nolan, so if anyone who reads this blog knows Robert, please be sure to congratulate him on his award.
A few years ago, my daughter, Jill, was married in Holy Family, and a week later, I attended my last Baccalaureate Mass as I prepared to retire. No single event would explain why I felt as I did, but the sum total of these and many more brought back the nostalgia, both joyous and painful.
There were quite a few years in the middle of that time period when the masses were held in the school gym, because Holy Family had deteriorated so badly, but, thanks to the efforts of Fr. George Lane, SJ, and the generosity of many people, the church has saved.
I have a ghost story that is a part of the Holy Family tradition, but that is saved for a later “reminiscence”
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Reflection #15 (Only 1061 to go!): Getting Back On The Horse
Reflection #15 (Only 1061 to go!): Getting Back On The Horse Just as singers must sing and dancers must dance, so teachers must teach...brace yourself. I was prompted to write this reflection because of an email that I received yesterday from an alumnus. We’ll call him "Bob" (not even close to his real name). In a previous note, he had disclosed a couple of bad turns his life had taken...loss of job and end of his long marriage. Yesterday, his follow-up note was positive and up-lifting. (Wait! Do those two words mean the same thing?) The problems still existed, but he had a “Life is what it is!” attitude as he sets about the task of dealing with them.
In the late summer of 1969, Carmen Pintozzi had taken his team on a retreat...a pretty standard practice in those days...to help build team spirit. He was a history teacher at Ignatius, and he was also the cross country coach. Since I was the A.D. at the time, I joined them, and one afternoon Carm and I were walking around the retreat house grounds chatting. He was 30 years old with a wife and 3 kids, all under six years old. While we walked, he was telling me his long range plan for the future. Carm loved to paint (pictures; not walls) and he was pretty good at it. When he retired, he wanted to move to Wisconsin, near a lake, and devote himself to that passion. In January of that school year, Carm passed away unexpectedly from leukemia.
Carm's widow was understandably heart-broken with the loss of her wonderful husband, and frightened by what dangers might lie ahead, but she focused her attention on her children and created for them a rich and full life. They learned well from their mother and have, in turn, each have met their own challenges head-on and persevered in a manner that has made their parents very proud.
At the age of 20, Pat O’Mara contracted polio and was wheelchair bound for the next 30-plus years of his life. Pat went on to become an outstanding teacher of math at Saint Ignatius, held many jobs at school, all the while being a loving husband and the father of six children.
A favorite saying of mine (compliments of Jillian Luzzi) is: Define your life; don’t let your life define you. If there had been a poster made with that saying, Pat’s picture would surely have been on it.
I close with a quote from the Raispis/Spalding Clichés To Live By. This was originally penned by a newspaper columnist, Sydney J. Harris: Life is the art of riding a horse backwards without reins, and learning to fall off without being trampled. There would be fewer personal catastrophes if we spent less time practicing the art of riding and more time practicing the art of falling. I would add ...and getting back up on the horse.
In the late summer of 1969, Carmen Pintozzi had taken his team on a retreat...a pretty standard practice in those days...to help build team spirit. He was a history teacher at Ignatius, and he was also the cross country coach. Since I was the A.D. at the time, I joined them, and one afternoon Carm and I were walking around the retreat house grounds chatting. He was 30 years old with a wife and 3 kids, all under six years old. While we walked, he was telling me his long range plan for the future. Carm loved to paint (pictures; not walls) and he was pretty good at it. When he retired, he wanted to move to Wisconsin, near a lake, and devote himself to that passion. In January of that school year, Carm passed away unexpectedly from leukemia.
Carm's widow was understandably heart-broken with the loss of her wonderful husband, and frightened by what dangers might lie ahead, but she focused her attention on her children and created for them a rich and full life. They learned well from their mother and have, in turn, each have met their own challenges head-on and persevered in a manner that has made their parents very proud.
At the age of 20, Pat O’Mara contracted polio and was wheelchair bound for the next 30-plus years of his life. Pat went on to become an outstanding teacher of math at Saint Ignatius, held many jobs at school, all the while being a loving husband and the father of six children.
A favorite saying of mine (compliments of Jillian Luzzi) is: Define your life; don’t let your life define you. If there had been a poster made with that saying, Pat’s picture would surely have been on it.
I close with a quote from the Raispis/Spalding Clichés To Live By. This was originally penned by a newspaper columnist, Sydney J. Harris: Life is the art of riding a horse backwards without reins, and learning to fall off without being trampled. There would be fewer personal catastrophes if we spent less time practicing the art of riding and more time practicing the art of falling. I would add ...and getting back up on the horse.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Reflection #15(Only 1061 to go): Flying Under the Radar, Deux!
Reflection #14 (Only 1062 to go!): Flying Under the Radar, Deux 2 I was prompted to write about Ray Kizelevicus after I read an article in the Chicago Tribune. No, it wasn't an article about Mr. K (Forgive the informality, but I’m too old to write his whole last name every time I refer to him. I also don’t buy green bananas any more.), but it was written by Chris McNamara, class of ‘92. Chris is the Media Manager for Lincoln Park Zoo, and he has often written articles for the Trib. I sent Chris a note complimenting him on the article. He thanked me and added that Mr. Kizelevicus had been a big influence on his becoming a professional writer.
About the same time, Tony D’Sousa, also of the class of ‘92, showed up to speak to one of Ray’s classes. Tony had spent some time in the Peace Corp, and wrote a book about his experiences, receiving several awards for his work. In conversation with Ray, other authors' names came up, all of whom had been his students and all of whom were now earning a living, and some acclaim, as writers. A few continue to stay in touch with him.
I was beginning to sense a "theme", and I wondered what there was about Ray Kizelevicus that had this effect on so many of his students. So I asked Chris for some help. He said,"...Mr. Kiz's straight forward approach, and his wry sense of humor helped make some of the dryer material more interesting." (Thanks, Chris.)
That made sense, but I had the feeling that there must be more. I tried to think of a word or description that would encapsulate what I knew of Ray. I think I have it: GOOD! Ray is a good guy, a good teacher, a good Ignatian, a good family man. In each case, the word “good” could easily be replaced by “great”. The sum total of all of these “goodness’s” made me conclude that Ray is just a good person. Ray, the “good guy” is a man with whom I feel comfortable sitting and chatting, but also someone I know that I could go to if I needed help. He would extend himself far beyond all reasonable expectations. Over the years, several times he has been asked to step up to deal with problems that have developed at school. For example, a few years ago, he was asked to step in as moderator for the yearbook which had been neglected. As usual he took over the recovery effort and did a masterful job.
Though Ray didn't go to Ignatius, I still consider him the “good Ignatian”. In addition to his official job as English teacher, at one time or another, he has served as coach for the freshmen baseball, the bowling team and the chess team. He has been the moderator of the photography club, coordinator of Open House and the Walk-For-Ignatius, and he was the uniform manager for the Athletic Department. If other teachers are considered “corner stones” of the school, Ray is definitely the “mortar”...really good mortar. He has often been called on to fill in many of the gaps in order to hold things together.
Evidence of Ray, the “good man”, combined with Ray the “good family man”, is his commitment to the service projects. In 1993, he was “recruited” by his daughter, Laura, to be as a moderator on a school-sponsored service project to a poor community in Pennsylvania. Since then, he has gone on 15 more service projects in the United States and gone to Guatemala six times, including three times on his own. His daughters, Laura and Cheryl, have accompanied him as chaperones several times.
Only his wife, Barb, knows if under his “Clark Kent” outfit, he has a red cape and a capital “S“ on his chest, but she isn’t telling.
Ray, thanks for all you mean to Saint Ignatius.
About the same time, Tony D’Sousa, also of the class of ‘92, showed up to speak to one of Ray’s classes. Tony had spent some time in the Peace Corp, and wrote a book about his experiences, receiving several awards for his work. In conversation with Ray, other authors' names came up, all of whom had been his students and all of whom were now earning a living, and some acclaim, as writers. A few continue to stay in touch with him.
I was beginning to sense a "theme", and I wondered what there was about Ray Kizelevicus that had this effect on so many of his students. So I asked Chris for some help. He said,"...Mr. Kiz's straight forward approach, and his wry sense of humor helped make some of the dryer material more interesting." (Thanks, Chris.)
That made sense, but I had the feeling that there must be more. I tried to think of a word or description that would encapsulate what I knew of Ray. I think I have it: GOOD! Ray is a good guy, a good teacher, a good Ignatian, a good family man. In each case, the word “good” could easily be replaced by “great”. The sum total of all of these “goodness’s” made me conclude that Ray is just a good person. Ray, the “good guy” is a man with whom I feel comfortable sitting and chatting, but also someone I know that I could go to if I needed help. He would extend himself far beyond all reasonable expectations. Over the years, several times he has been asked to step up to deal with problems that have developed at school. For example, a few years ago, he was asked to step in as moderator for the yearbook which had been neglected. As usual he took over the recovery effort and did a masterful job.
Though Ray didn't go to Ignatius, I still consider him the “good Ignatian”. In addition to his official job as English teacher, at one time or another, he has served as coach for the freshmen baseball, the bowling team and the chess team. He has been the moderator of the photography club, coordinator of Open House and the Walk-For-Ignatius, and he was the uniform manager for the Athletic Department. If other teachers are considered “corner stones” of the school, Ray is definitely the “mortar”...really good mortar. He has often been called on to fill in many of the gaps in order to hold things together.
Evidence of Ray, the “good man”, combined with Ray the “good family man”, is his commitment to the service projects. In 1993, he was “recruited” by his daughter, Laura, to be as a moderator on a school-sponsored service project to a poor community in Pennsylvania. Since then, he has gone on 15 more service projects in the United States and gone to Guatemala six times, including three times on his own. His daughters, Laura and Cheryl, have accompanied him as chaperones several times.
Only his wife, Barb, knows if under his “Clark Kent” outfit, he has a red cape and a capital “S“ on his chest, but she isn’t telling.
Ray, thanks for all you mean to Saint Ignatius.
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