“When time and fortune cast their spell, and youth’s bright
years are over. Our memories shall fondly dwell on scenes that are no more.”
These words are the beginning of the Morristown (NJ) High
School alma mater. And now, 50 years from my graduation day in 1966, those
words bear truth that no high school student could ever conceive of.
As I write this, two of my teachers and coaches have died in the past few days.
Robert Mumford taught printing. I never took his class, but
he spent one season coaching my swimming team. It was the 1963-64 season and
the members of the swim team were brought into the gym several weeks before
practice was to begin. The athletic director, Eugene “Cap” Smith, asked all of
us about our plans to participate and if we really wanted a swim team.
Apparently there were some problems with having a team. We didn’t have a coach,
and while uniforms cost us only about $5 each, I suppose renting the pool at
the local Y.M.C.A. and travel to other venues was quite expensive. We had four
different coaches in the four seasons, I was on the team—none of them really
knowing much about swimming. Anyhow, Mr. Mumford was named as our coach and the
season was saved. He wasn’t a good coach, but he knew it and he pretty much let
us run the team ourselves.
These days, the high school has a beautiful, far bigger and better
pool with co-ed teams. Other high schools, in fact, rent pool time there. That
may not have come about if Mr. Mumford hadn’t stepped up and coached us that
year.
Mr. Joseph Dempsey, my high sophomore history teacher,
was the only teacher I had who wouldn't take my B.S. He forced me to do my
work. While I was brilliant (school records show I had a 132 IQ score) I was
also bored and plagued with problems at home. I passed by maxing out my exams.
By forcing me to do my work, Mr. Dempsey was the difference between my
graduating and flunking/dropping out. In 1990, when forced by injuries to make
a mid-career change, I also became a social studies teacher.
When I took Mr. Dempsey’s class during the 1963-64
school year, he had us write a paper on a little-known place in Southeast Asia
--Vietnam. Three years later all hell broke loose there and the war divided our
country. Because of him, those who were his students were able to make up our
own minds about this divisive event in our nation’s history because we were
informed.
It was his example that was the deciding factor in my
making a mid-career change and becoming a social studies teacher. I aspired to
become like him. And my grades showed it. I graduated with honors in both my
bachelor’s and master’s degrees.
In 2010, I had the privilege of spending some time
with him at the annual high school Heritage Day. At that time, I gave a speech
about my friend, Tristan Whitney Hayes, '67, who died a hero in Vietnam. If you
saw the movie "Forrest Gump," Tristian's actions in rescuing his
fellow soldiers was similar to the movie. I wondered how Tristian could muster
such courage and I remember when Mr. Dempsey was coaching football, he grabbed
Tristian's facemask and told him to keep playing until the whistle blows. I
guess Tristian learned that lesson well.
Mr. Dempsey was fairly small in stature, yet he was an
all-state lineman. To those of us
who were fortunate to have him as a teacher, he was a giant of a man.
I have two books he wrote. He wrote a story of life in
Morristown during the American Revolution. For those who are not familiar with
Morristown, it was the winter home of Washington's troops twice. He also wrote
another semi-fictions book about his family over the years and how they were
involved in key events in American History. The autographed copies he gave me
in 2010 are treasured. In
searching for these books online, I discovered he also had written some history
texts as well as a teachers’ guide to the standard New Jersey American History textbook.
To those who were unable to attend Mr. Dempsey's wake,
I wanted to share a moment from the service. The priest imagined Mr. Dempsey at
the gate of heaven and was asked by God just one question: "Did you love?"
Mr. Dempsey didn't answer but turned around and pointed to the room in the
funeral home (there were well over 100 people there). And God said, "come
on in."
During the wake, I ran into two other teachers, Mr. Ward (math) and Mr. Schaffer (geography). I spoke with each briefly and realized just how lucky I was to have such a group of dedicated teachers. I have great memories of both.
During the wake, I ran into two other teachers, Mr. Ward (math) and Mr. Schaffer (geography). I spoke with each briefly and realized just how lucky I was to have such a group of dedicated teachers. I have great memories of both.
My memories of high school continue to follow me, even
50 years later. I was a terrible student; I knew the material and just couldn’t
bother to do homework. I simply didn’t want to go home at night to deal with my
alcoholic mother’s crap. But I loved to participate in other activities. I had
lived at a home for boys and spent sixth through ninth grade there. I had grown
to be safe and secure there and leaving there and becoming a mid-year transfer
in my freshman year was somewhat
traumatic. I no longer had friends and deeply missed my then girlfriend Valerie.
And living with my mother was difficult in the best of times.
And so, I became involved in school activities. A
couple of weeks after my arrival, the school hired a man named Joseph Hayes to
produce a school play called “Take Time Out,” which was a compilation of songs
from great Broadway plays. He was a charismatic and very competent director and
I was hooked. I wanted to be an actor and I was involved in many school plays
as well as taking speech and drama courses, which were some of the few courses
I enjoyed. I later discovered that
Mr. Hayes had quite an impressive history as a playwright.
I vividly
remember opening night. We were standing behind the curtain and I was freaking
out. The girl next to me, a senior blonde cheerleader, grabbed me by the
shoulders and helped me to calm down. I never knew her name, but she was so
beautiful I forgot all about the panic and had a wonderful time during the
show.
While I participated in sports, I wasn’t very good.
During my freshman year, I blew out my knee playing baseball when my spikes got
caught in a base. I tried to play football as a sophomore and Junior, but the
knee just wouldn’t hold up. Even my swimming was a problem as my knee
frequently popped in and out of joint when I kicked. But I did become involved
in lifeguarding and teaching swimming. I later coached youth swimming and
helped form a league for lake teams near Lake Hopatcong. Even to this day, I
sometimes offer suggestions to people at swimming pools on how to improve their
stroke.
Though I wasn’t very involved in sports, I loved to
watch them. In my sophomore year, the football team was undefeated. There was a
huge player, Hanson “Hamp” Hazelton, who was an all-state end during an
undefeated season. I watched Hamp catch a ball and shred about five tacklers en
route to a 60-yard football run.
During my senior year, nothing much was expected of
our basketball team. We didn’t have a player over six-feet tall. But we had
Davy Caldwell. He was only 5’4” tall, but he led the state in scoring that
year. Combined with “Smeekie” Scott, the other guard, the team did a full-court
press on every other team and lost only two games that year, one to the
national high school champion, Newark’s Weequahic High School.
I remember we took a bus trip to Bayonne High and
their team had four kids who could dunk. I said to the person sitting next to
me that this probably wasn’t going to be our night. How wrong I was. Caldwell
and Scott constantly stole the ball and scored. We scored more than 90 points,
double the other team, and would have easily made it to 100 if Coach Cap Smith didn’t
put in the subs.
But while the team was amazing, my memories about it
are that I developed a love for the game. It was like a ballet, with players
leaping through the air and running incredible routes up and down the court.
But most of all, it was the teamwork. To me, the best team ever was the Willis Reed and Walt Frazier,
Dave DeBusschere and Bill Bradley, Dick Barnett and Dave Stallworth and Cazzie
Russell and Mike Riordan and Nate Bowman Knicks championship team. You never mention
one player without thinking of another.
I was also on the debate team in my junior and senior
years. It was there I became quite adept at both arguing and making a fool of
myself. In one of those incidents, I got involved in a tiff with the moderator,
a girl from Dover High School. Seven years later, we worked together at The
Daily Advance, a now defunct newspaper and were briefly engaged.
Perhaps more than anything, I became involved in the
school chorus as a senior. I had no musical training at all. I was (and am) a
horrible singer. The only reason I joined was because I needed those credits to graduate. But Mrs. Sundstrom, the teacher, instilled in me a love for
many types of music. With her, the transition from Beatles to Beethoven was
made easily. As an added bonus, I met Emily, my senior prom date. After about 45
years, we reconnected and she is now much more than my girlfriend.
About ten years ago, I read a pop psychology book called
“The Lies We Believe.”
The book examines the lies people tell themselves that
damage emotional health, relationships, and spiritual life. It’s not just the
lies you tell yourself, but lies other people tell you as well. The author, Dr.
Chris Thurman, a psychologist, guides the reader through part one that
identifies the different areas of self-lies, religious lies, marital lies, distortion
lies, and worldly lies. It delves into the issues of what is truth, and Part
Three, the most important part, deals with how to live the truth, giving one
freedom from lies.
When I separated from my wife, I went on a journey of
five years, travelling the country and speaking with people who were my
classmates. I learned a great deal about how I was viewed, as well as much
about them. Two of the people were women whom I worshiped, but was too shy to
even approach as a teenager. Others were teammates and a wonderful
re-connection with my best friend in high school.
But because I had so many problems as a pre-teen, the
lies were deeply ingrained. As a Bonnie Brae boy, I had to say “Bonnie Brae” to
the public school’s lunch line cashier every day. I was embarrassed to say it.
I felt that I wasn’t as good as my classmates, and very different. I was
different. But in speaking to Bonnie Brae’s director, Bill Powers, a few days
after leaving the ex-wife, I was told I was, in fact, very different. But my
reactions to being different were absolutely normal. It was a wonderful
catalyst in learning more about my teen years and the “lies” that influenced
me.
And so now, through the miracle of social networking,
many of my Facebook friends are former classmates from both high schools I
attended. Over the course of the years, they have been very supportive. An as I
age, the alma mater becomes even more important.
“For busy, carefree high school days, and comrades
tried and true. For these we lift our song of praise, dear Morristown, to you.”
