I've recently rediscovered many of my elementary and high school classmates from my hometown of West Haven, CT on Facebook. One of the most fun parts of this is the groups that were created around my neighborhood elementary school and high school covering the time I attended in the 60s and 70s. What's really been a blast is the memory-jogging photos, names and stories that have gone along with the postings. So far, I've managed to escape any unearthing of photos of me from these sources, which could be a good thing. But isn't it funny how looking at a picture of a childhood friend in the old neighborhood can bring you back nearly 50 years with instant recall of what it felt like.
On one of these groups, the talk turned to teachers we had and various stories. Being a writer, I have a few of those to tell. I don't want to hog the group so I thought I'd add a couple of those here.
I went to Noble School which was just a few blocks down from where I lived. I actually lived on three of the four sides of the block during my childhood (starting with Noble, Cottage and then our home built on the extended side on East, so we skipped the Blohm side). I learned some key things about myself during my time there. I was apparently a precocious reader...I remember being brought by one of my kindergarten teachers, Miss Keefe, into one of the other teacher's room (I think it was Miss Sullivan, who I eventually got as a teacher) to read a paper or something for her. I also remember getting a peek of the almighty "permanent record card" of mine which was on a teacher's desk. I could have sworn the description written on it of me said "Odd child". Actually, I don't think I'd dispute that description.
I also recall another incident which perhaps foretold my destiny. I remember one day a few of us kids were brought down to the all-purpose basement room of Noble School. I might have been in kindergarten or first grade. I was placed in front of a microphone and told to say something that went pretty much like this: "My name is Wendy Vickers. I go to Noble School. I cross at the corner of Noble and Washington. Please watch out for me, WDEE listener." I remember a teacher or someone saying, "she says that so cute". I think I even heard it once on the radio. Funny how I remembered that throughout all these years. This, folks, could very well have been the genesis of my ensuing "radio career".
In third grade I had Miss Bluette as a teacher. Somehow or another I became the "teacher's pet". She must have really liked me because my report card for that grade was all A's. I kept it for the longest time but it eventually got lost in all my moves, I guess. I doubt very much that I was that brilliant at everything I did in that grade. One of my "perks" of pet-ism was that I would get to "watch the room" when Miss Bluette had to leave the room.
Probably the most memorable occasion of that was the day President Kennedy was shot. She and the other teachers went from room to room trying to get the latest news. There was a bit of confusion as to whether she told me to watch the room or take over the reading group that was going on--but I decided to presume she said to watch the room and so I took the seat at her desk. I remember a couple of kids sitting in the back of the room laughing and drawing a picture. I asked them why they were laughing at a time like this and they said "nothing". Finally she came back and announced to us that President Kennedy had died and they sent us all home. I remember it being rare that I walked home on my own; my mother would usually meet me and she probably freaked that day that I walked home myself (or at least with other kids). But hey, I survived. Perhaps that particular memory is why one of my biggest pop culture interests is media coverage of the JFK assassination (there's a treasure trove of that now archived on You Tube. Uncle Walter got us through, as did Frank McGee, Bill Ryan and Huntley-Brinkley on NBC; ABC's coverage, however, was a train wreck. But I digress...).
When I got into high school, I was one of the stereotypical misfit nerds who wouldn't have a snowball's chance of being on the cheerleading squad and such. But that's been one of the other surprises of these Facebook groups: learning that so many not only remembered me, but did so fondly. Maturity changes one's perspective. Taking a cue from Brad Paisley's wonderful "Letter To Me" song, I advise all teenagers who were like me to ride the years out...it'll change. And maybe it's better than you thought...and so are you.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment