Miss Alexander's class - Second Grade

Miss Alexander's class - Second Grade
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

LAKEWOOD, N.Y. - The scary thing about this photo was recognizing Doug Pillsbury in the front row, second from the left and simultaneously seeing him in the SWCS 1966 yearbook, wedged neatly between Jon Ostrander and Susan Post.

Note that I said Susan Post. When we were in high school, I remember she was Sue though her nickname under her photo says her nickname was Post. Go figure.

I remember her two old brothers, Bill and Bob. Bill, the eldest was a nice guy, graduated about 1963. Bob was not-so-nice (at least to some members of the Class of '66, myself included). He graduated in 65, I think. I didn't get him a graduation present.

But Doug Pillsbury! Pills! I don't remember him attending the two reunions we had, but I do remember him from gym class, probably his least favorite time of the school day, but it was required.

Doug Pillsbury just wasn't particularly interested in any of the silly games we played, especially the crueler ones like dodge ball. He took part, getting chosen near last for most teams and in one historic softball game on those lower fields, got beaned by a fly ball when he wasn't looking.

Today, he likely the president of a corporation somewhere or Larry Ellison's secret partner in Oracle.

But in second grade, there he sits next to Sally Smith, I believe. There's a lot of recognizable folks in this picture, Craig Young and Jack Nobbs in the back row, left, I'm pretty sure.

This photo comes to us courtesy of CeeJay who is going through some boxes of photos and promises more.

Does anyone have any more photos from our reunions? Or how about any photos from high school, junior high, or elementary school? I have a box of photos in my storage room that I haven't opened in years that might get dragged out this weekend.

And I'm going to go back through my emails to make sure I haven't missed posting any sent to me. If you sent me a photo and I didn't post it, scream! (electronically, that is) to remind me.

I have the memory of twig, a slender twig at that.

Which is a good segue to today's song:

I Remember You
sung by Frank Ifield

I remember you
You're the one that made my dreams come true
Just a few kisses ago

I remember you
You're the one who said I love you too
Yes I do
Didn't you know

I remember too, a distant bell
And stars that fell, like the rain
Out of the blue

When my life is through
And the angels ask me to recall
The thril of them all
Then I will tell them I remember
Tell them I remember
Tell them I remember you

I remember too, a distant bell
And stars that fell, like the rain
Out of the blue

When my life is through
And the angels ask me to recall
The thrill of them all
Then I will tell them I remember
Tell them I remember
Tell them I remember you

Words by Johnny Mercer, Music by Victor Schertzinger

She almost got me through chemistry

Carol Wright, Class of '66 SWCS
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

ELEVENTH GRADE, SWCS - It wasn't that I couldn't learn chemistry, it was just that, well, I had this thing about carrying textbooks home.

I mean, why carry the damn things when I never opened them? I was usually so beat from wrestling in the winter, and track in the spring, that the idea of opening a book at my house was out of the question. (In the fall, I was just too lazy to carry books, also. Just ask Sue Guertin Chandler...)

Hence, I failed both Math 11 and Chemistry junior year.

But this posting isn't to detail my shortcomings. Even cyberspace isn't ready for that litany. But I put Carol Wright in today's spotlight because she came soooo close to getting me through chemistry. We sat in the back of Henry Weiss's class (if ever there was a role model for a mad scientist, it was Hank). And sometime in the spring, Carol started giving me some coaching, which I gladly accepted because I was headed to summer school like an Erie Lackawanna freight out of control.

The only thing I remember clearly was her laughing at my answers, but always, always being very patient. My scores improved in the tests in class and for a brief and shining moment (I'm allowed one cornball cliche per blog. Check the rules, please.), for one brief and shining moment I thought I would be able to pass the regents exam.

I missed it by one point.

Mille fois merde!

I saw Carol at the 20th reunion, made a few atomic jokes and moved back to the bar when I spent way too much time that night. But one night several years later I had a frightening nightmare that she was in some kind of trouble. I wrote her a letter to the address that was listed with our reunion materials but never heard back from her. The letter might have been frankly a little bit, well, weird, I suppose. (I know, you can't imagine that.)

Her chemistry coaching paid off for me. I took the class in summer school at Chautaqua, sitting next to a young lady named Nancy Patchen (another story). I breezed through the class and got at 85 on the regents test - without ever taking the textbook home on the back of my Yamaha.

So today's song? Whaddya think? Come on!

It's "Oh Carol," of course.

Oh Carol
by Neil Sedaka

Oh! Carol!
I am but a fool
darling i love you
though you treat me cruel
You hurt me
and you make me cry
but if you leave me
I will surely die

Darling, there will never be another
'cause i love you so
don't ever leave me
say you'll never go

I will always treat you as my sweet heart
no matter what you do
oh! Soriya
i'm so in love with you

Darling, there will never be another
'cause i love you so
don't ever leave me
say you'll never go

I will always treat you as my sweet heart
no matter what you do
oh! Carol!
I'm so in love with you

In the front row, drummer Dick Popowski

The Boys & Girls in the band
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

LAKEWOOD, N.Y. - The photos keep coming out and it's great.

Today's is courtesy of CeeJay, who, after the posting about bad hair days, wanted to reveal a different do than what she had in her graduation picture which I posted.

It's quite stylish (in the back row).

There's some of the usual suspects in this photo, which I will post on the Yahoo site and also mail directly to anyone who wants the gazillion megapixel version.

But what ever happened to Dick Popowski?

The last time I saw him, I was about 19 and slamming a few lime coolers at the Hideaway on Fairmount Avenue. He came in, all flaps up and full of wisecracks (as usual), and told me arguably the dirtiest joke I have ever heard. Ever.

Forget it. I'm not telling it here. My daughter looks at this site sometimes for Godsakes.

But I never heard another word about him, and he obviously didn't graduate with us, or if he did, he sure missed the SWCS yearbook.

Maybe we should start a list of those folks who were with us and them went off to other schools or who-knows where. We already have heard from Jackie Hamm (who is on the mailing list) and I think there might be a couple of others also getting our emails, to whom I apologize for not remembering right now.

But here's a partial list of the disappeared, and one tidbit about where someone is:

Dick Popowski
David Hamilton
Douglas Brandow
Ted Capella
Nancy Anderson
Jim Barton
Ed Potter
Dan Ryan
Jim Anderson
and ???

The mystery guest whose whereabouts I know (though I lost his email and contact information in the Great Computer Crash of April 2005) is Gary Shenkle.

Shenkle was with us until about the end of freshman year when he moved to Wallingford, Conn. We wrote back and forth exactly twice. And then poof, like teenagers with the attention span of a twig, we stopped writing.

Two years ago, through Classmates.com, I received an email from Gary who is working as an attorney in Washington state after giving up a dental practice.

Yup, Gary Shenkle and here's the kicker. For awhile, he was in a dental practice with Jim Burk, Class of '64 SWCS, and arguably the toughest guy in school. If Burk wasn't the toughest guy, he fooled a lot of us.

Gary hasn't told me why he left that practice, but if I ever get my old emails off the old computer, I'll put him on our list and see if I can get him to tell us a Jim Burk tale. Burk's 59 by now, he can't be that scary.

Right?

The one guy who Moose worried about

Harold T. "Doss" Johnson, SWCS
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

SWCS, Second Floor - I never really got to know Harold T. "Doss" Johnson when we were students in high school.

He taught special education, though exactly how special the students were is missing from our yearbook - at least in my thumbing through the pages.

I did get to know "Doss" after graduation, when I went to work at Lakewood Beach as a lifeguard. My cousin Gordy had worked for Doss and recommended me for the job, no doubt because my mother coerced him. (Gordy "Mr. Puls," taught junior high math for a few years at SWCS as we were getting ready to graduate and it was embarassing to run into Gordo in the hall).

It wasn't until I started the job that I realized that Doss was Pam Johnson's dad! (Pam Johnson from Lakewood.) She showed up at the beach one day and luckily I didn't start bitching about Doss right away.

If you came to the beach at all those first few years after we graduated, you would see the Doss-mobile - a metallic blue Corvair convertible with a small puddle of oil underneath it. It made trips up the hill to the American Legion several times a day so Doss could go 'check the mail.' He was the second guy I worked for who was a compulsive mail-checker. The other one was Dick Merleau (sp?) who owned Maple Bay Marina and had the nickname Martini Charley.

But Doss ran the beach with a stern hand and gave us lifeguards more authority than we probably should have had. I was a pretty skinny specimen to be a lifeguard that first year - though I did my share of pulling out people who couldn't swim. But the other part of lifeguarding - being able to order people to do things (or not do things) was better handled by guys like Dan Harp who intimidated people by sheer bulk.

When I had my first serious run-in with someone from (Gasp!) Jamestown, a fellow who outweighed me by at least 30 pounds and was probably three or four inches taller, Doss came out as I was about to get my head handed to me and said, "You forgot your wrench, Fitz." Then he handed me a shiny 14-inch Crescent wrench, one of several we used to put up the derrick and slide every spring.

His next words:

"If this guy takes a swing at you, hit him in the head with it."

Holy crap!

I didn't have to even raise the wrench, because a moment later - seeing that I was probably going to be required to demonstrate my forehand - Doss ordered my antagonist to haul his ass out of Lakewood Beach and never come back. For a few seconds, while this guy from Jamestown gave Doss the hard stare, I was afraid Doss was going to order me to whack him like a scene from Gladiator.

The guy left - mad and embarassed - and broke the radio antenna on the Doss-mobile on his way up the hill.

Although that was a tense moment in my lifeguard history, a year or so later I did something that really made my life flash before my eyes in a very different way.

Mr. Anderson, Mr. Gunnard Anderson from SWCS, a science teacher who many of us had in 7th or 8th grade, came to work for the Lakewood Recreation Department and would wander into the beach house from time to time to bullshit with Doss or flirt with the female lifeguards, the cashier and the gazillion other cute things wandering around in bathing suits. (It was a beach, remember?)

And Doss, of course, always called Mr. Anderson, Mr. Gunnard Anderson by the familiar sobriquet "Gunny."

Oh no!

Oh yes!

One day, it just came out of my mouth, a short sentence that a few years before would've made a life sentence at Guantanamo seem like a good alternative:

"Hey Gunny, how the hell ya doin' today?"

My fellow lifeguards dove for cover as if I had just told a gang of Hell's Angels that their motorcycles were shit and their women ugly.

But Mr. Anderson, Mr. Gunnard Anderson, Gunny Anderson just looked at me with shock and said, "Well, just fine, Mike. Just fine. How the hell are you doing?"

Breathe, breathe, breathe...

Lakewood Beach touched a lot of the Class of '66 in a lot of different ways and I'm sad to report that the slide and derrick that I built each spring (and tore down each fall) was taken out of service at least 20 years ago - no doubt the victim of a village nervous about liability.

Not a week went by that we didn't end up patching up kids who got hurt on the slide, and several times we got to borrow the Doss-mobile to drive kids to the WCA Hospital to get a few stiches.

We knew one thing when we drove to WCA: one drop of blood on the Doss-mobile seats and our passenger wouldn't be the only one who would need stitches.

Even if Gunny was your buddy.

Take a look at Marcia Carlson Hein's blog

SOMEWHERE IN BRITAIN - Marcia Carlson has put up a blog today that should prompt a few memories for everybody.

Me? I read it and decided that while I would love to sit here and reminisce about nearly 40 years ago, my kayak calls me - just like my boat used to call me in the early 1960s. The kayak is a little slower, but hell, so am I.

Work around the house in Lakewood? Ha! We would all go waterskiing and be as far away from our parents as possible.

Check out Marcia's blog at:

Marcia's blog

A summer of Mamas & Papas and then...

Mamas & Papas album cover
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

NEW YORK CITY - Right after graduation, I spent the summer at Lakewood Beach, a lifeguard with Dan Harp, my cousin Kathleen McAvoy and Kathy Wood (Dan from the Class of '64, Kathy & Kathy from the Class of '65) and some of the songs from this album were big on the portable radio we kept out on the end of the dock while we watching people struggle swimming.

Sometimes we would start up a little impromptu dancing - which the little kids thought was beyond cool - and at the end, we would toss the little buggers into the lake as their reward.

And they loved it...

But the Mamas & Papas songs really came into my vision when I went to Villanova and hitchhiked to New York City (well, really Greenwich Village) for an adventure. And every bar we went into was playing Mamas & Papa's songs.

We should have called that adventure, "Geeks in New York." Three roommates in tan raincoats, wet shoes and short haircuts who couldn't stop looking up at the tall buildings. One of my roommates was from Arizona and actually hurt his neck looking up so much.

Naturally, we got cheated at every bar (Where's the booze in the drinks?), got approached by hookers (You want how much?) and managed to walk into some neighborhoods where white guys in tan raincoats were either morons or federal agents. We were not associated with the federal government, I assure you.

But to this day, when I hear the song below, I remember Lakewood Beach and the summer of 1966. It might have been the best summer of my life. Well, wait, there was 1974, and last summer wasn't half-bad either.

Hmm...

Here you go kids:

I Saw Her Again

by The Mamas and The Papas

I saw her again last night
And you know that I shouldn't
To string her along's just not right
If I couldn't I wouldn't

But what can I do, I'm lonely too
And it makes me feel so good to know
You'll never leave me

I'm in way over my head
Now she thinks that I love her
Because that's what I said
Though I never think of her

But what can I do, I'm lonely too
And it makes me feel so good to know
You'll never leave me

Every time I see that girl
You know I wanna lay down and die
But I really need that girl
Don't know why I'm livin' a lie
It makes me wanna cry

I saw her again last night
And you know that I shouldn't
To string her along's just not right
If I couldn't I wouldn't

But what can I do, I'm lonely too
And it makes me feel so good to know
You'll never leave me

------ instrumental break ------

But what can I do, I'm lonely too
And it makes me feel so good to know
You'll never leave me

Every time I see that girl
You know I wanna lay down and die
But I really need that girl
Don't know why I'm livin' a lie
It makes me wanna cry

I saw her again last night
And you know that I shouldn't
To string her along's just not right
If I couldn't I wouldn't
I'm in way over my head
Now she thinks that I love her
Because that's what I said
Though I never think of her

From the June 9 Jamestown Post-Journal

Today's Post Journal front page
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

JAMESTOWN, N.Y. - Newspaper photographers just love those wreckers. And in this case it being our old elementary school, the readership is guaranteed. Think how many people went through that school. Some of our classmate's parents graduated from it when it was a high school.

It seems like it's taking a long time to knock the old barn down. It reminds me of California, where buildings get knocked down to put new ones in their place because of new earthquake standards. Can't have the old buildings falling down.

And they can't topple them when they hit them with the wrecking ball! (Kind of like the fillings in my teeth from 1960 - courtesy of Dr. Joseph Griffo. Never, never let a dentist take out your old fillings. The ones I had removed about 10 years ago have to be replaced every three or four years. The ones from Joe Griffo are solid as, well, rocks.)

This photo, a grab shot of the front page of the Jamestown Post-Journal comes via Sue Siecker who sent the whole newspaper to me as a pdf file.

I started reading other sections of the newspaper and it's not as bad a rag as it was when we were growing up and it was publishing news about our speeding tickets and other escapades.

I still have the clipping somewhere from when I got tagged for reckless driving on my Yamaha 80 motorcycle - at night. I was speeding and passed three cars on a double solid line. Too bad I didn't look behind me and see Nels Carlson in the Lakewood police car.

He was soooo made at me - not for speeding - but because he knew that he had to give me a ticket and my mother would give him hell the next time she saw him.

He did, and she did and I paid a $45 fine. It seemed like a fortune on my parttime Loblaw's bag-boy salary.

On another, more musical topic:

Marcia Carlson Hein put a notice up here on the blog trying to find Gloria by The Shadows of Knight. And Dave Carlson responded with some sage advice about copyrights. But for folks looking for that song - or the one I'm listing today at the end of the blog - Apple's ITunes has them both.

Today's song? This one you will know the tune for, I'm sure. Boy does it bring back some memories from one summer at Lakewood Beach.

Sigh...

----------------

The Sounds of Silence
by Simon and Garfunkel

(words and music by Paul Simon)

Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence

In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone
'Neath the halo of a street lamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence

And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence

"Fools", said I, "You do not know
Silence like a cancer grows
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you"
But my words, like silent raindrops fell
And echoed
In the wells of silence

And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made
And the sign flashed out its warning
In the words that it was forming
And the sign said, "The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls"
And whispered in the sounds of silence

The music of 1966 - and what it brings back

ZIHUATENEJO, MEXICO - A year ago, I was hanging out in a Mexican bar owned by an American named Rick (yeah, just like Rick from Rick's Cafe in Casablanca) where I met a nice cruising family who had an eight-year-old boy, Martin, and a 11-year-old girl named Emily.

Emily wanted to be a writer, so guess what we talked about. But Martin, little Martin, he wanted to be a musician and learn to play the guitar.

These kids were the best argument I've ever seen for getting children out of those penitentaries we call schools and into the world.

Long story short, while Martin's dad and I sat and swilled beer at the bar several afternoons per week. (Ok, maybe it was every day...) Martin took guitar lessons and learned so fast that pretty soon we could recognize the tunes. I swear it wasn't just the Pacifico beer, which does have some pretty astounding mind-altering qualities.

But the kicker came a few weeks before I was to move my boat Sabbatical back up the coast. It was open microphone night and damn, there was little Martin sitting up on the stool, a whole rock band of miscreant musicians from Z-town ready to back him up. Martin and I had talked a lot about 60s rock 'n roll, and one song in particular that I remembered and really liked. I thought I had heard him strumming it out in front of the open air bar where he got his lessons from an off duty bartender who supposedly was somebody famous. I thought I was just hearing the music because of the young girl who tended bar during the day, but, well...

The tune was made famous by The Shadows of Knight, a group that played the song one night at the old Mar-Mar restaurant where legend has it Dan Harp had to hide under the table with several other SWCS folks when a motorcycle gang came in and busted up the bar. No fans of the Shadows were they, apparently.

And when little Martin hit the first chords of "Gloria," it all came back, the whole episode, Dan Harp retelling that story as many times as people asked him about it.

But Martin was good - damn good and pretty soon the whole place was rocking and rolling and dancing and screaming, and Sweet Jesus, what riot we had!

The music, you see, was/is the key (for me at least) to remembering things such as the great Mar-Mar bar crash, dancing at Snug Harbor, crawling out of the Surf Club at 1 a.m. (in search of breakfast!), or those long summers on Lake Chautauqua trying to find some girls silly enough to go waterskiing with us.

For the Class of '66 - and Martin - here's the lyrics to "Gloria," by the Shadows of Knight. See if you can hear the music.

Gloria
The Shadows of Knight

Like to tell you 'bout my baby
You know she comes round
Just 'bout five feet four
From her head to the ground
Well she comes around here
Just about midnight
She makes me feel so good Lord
Makes me feel alright.

Her name is G-L-O-R-I-A
Gloria, Gloria, Gloria...etc.

Yeah, she comes around here
Just about midnight
Makes me feel so good Lord
Makes me feel alright
Walkin' down my street
Comes up to my house
She knocks upon me door
Makes me feel alright.

Her name is G-L-O-R-I-A
Gloria, Gloria, Gloria...

Much ado about the hairdo, redux

Cee Jay - Class of '66 SWCS
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

JAMESTOWN, N.Y. - When Cee Jay first emailed me some time back about the reunion and the website, she referred to this picture.

"Was every day a bad hair day then...and why did it have to be on picture day?"

Well, kind of like Bob Swanson's wild wave, what hair was in 1966 it just was. And I'm no hairstyle critic, but Cee Jay's hair looks pretty good to me in this copy of her yearbook shot.

My own hair? Well, I needed to use more Wildroot, maybe a gallon. (Bob Swanson emailed me to say he thinks he used Wildroot in those days. A photo of him from last summer is up on the discussion group web page. The wave on his head is gone, but Bob looks like he's enjoying the surf anyway.)

So here's an idea - better than karaoke!

With the magic of Adobe Photoshop, we could move some of these hairdos around on people and see what, say, Bob Swanson's wave would look like on my forehead.

How about Cee Jay's doo on say, Cheryl Towers?

Louis Acquisto's hair on Jim Lindell?

Hmmm... that might prove to be a bad hair day for all of us.

So, we're back to karaoke, right?

A wave that you could probably surf on

Bob Swanson, Class of '66, SWCS
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

JAMESTOWN, N.Y. - The yearbook is full of great photos. If you haven't dragged yours out recently, well, grab the bottle of Grey Goose vodka by the neck and hang on tight when you turn the pages.

More than a few people have said, 'My picture is awful' (Right, CeeJay?), but in truth, the photos tell a thousand stories, even the bad ones.

Now today, here's Bob Swanson's entry. In the 20th reunion photo (posted some time ago) he's standing next to me in the back row with Conrad Wilson flanking him on his left. (I was standing next to the lovely Marcia Carlson.)

But Bob's photo from the yearbook is a classic 1966 pose - a fantastic wave up front that probably took a half a tube of Brylcreem to keep aloft.

I sported that look sometimes, but my hair would never hold like Bob's: Brylcreem, Wildroot Cream Oil, you name the product, my hair would collapse into a greasy mess down onto my forehead, which in adolescent years did not need more oil.

The only time my hair could stand up and do-a-Swanson was when I would wash it and walk outside in the winter, where it would freeze solid. Not much of an option.

So, for our reunion, what about everyone trying to redo their hair ala 1966? Do they even manufacture Brylcreem anymore? It could be a contest!

Okay, Okay. This is probably another idea that's likely to die like my earlier suggestion about karaoke at whatever soiree(s) we have.

But look at Bob again and tell me that isn't a great look...

TODAY'S SONG (great for karaoke by the way): It's Only Make Believe by Conway Twitty

People see us everywhere,
They think you really care,
But myself I can't decieve,
I know it's only make believe
My one and only prayer,
Is that some day you'll care,
My hopes my dreams come true...

My story about not going to Vietnam

Fitz - circa 1969
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

FREDONIA, N.Y. - The Class of '66 discussion group (the link is to the right) has been buzzing with several tales about military service, or in some cases, the lack thereof.

As soon as John Rupp gets up and running on the discussion list, he'll likely tell us about his escapade of getting drafted, but refusing to be inducted. I won't tell his story, but his and mine mesh in the timeline.

In the spring of 1968, we had both dropped out of our respective colleges, (Villanova for me, I don't remember where John was, Florida, maybe.) Neither of us was inclined to do the study part of school, though I must admit the parties, the girls, the ambiance was pretty neat.

But we did have a goal. We decided that we were going to go the Olympics in Mexico City. Never mind that neither of us spoke Spanish, had passports or a dollar. We were done with college and all we had to do was make a little money and Viva Mexico!

My mother - when I finally got up the courage to tell her I was not going back to Villanova for the spring semester - was good about it. "Fine," she said. "Then you can pay me rent. No college, no free ride."

I hadn't factored that in, and after a month of thinking about it and trying to pay her $20 a week, I took the Jamestown bus down to JCC to sign up for some classes. I took the bus because sons who don't go to college also don't get their mom's car to use. At least not in the Fitzgerald family.

And so, while I was going to JCC, I filed to keep my student deferment. Seemed like a bright idea, given how many people were being drafted.

Fast forward to spring 1970. In the ensuing time I had gotten married and my wife was pregnant with my now 35-year-old son on the way. And, from a draft deferment standpoint, my number had come up in the lottery - 330, I think.

So one afternoon I wandered into the draft board in Fredonia, where Gertrude Mampf (Can anyone forget a name like that?) sat as clerk of the draft board. I went in to be a good scout, to let the draft board now that I had a change in my life - I was now married, though I understood that the married deferments had disappeared a year or two before.

Gertrude pulled my file and realized that I had been sitting with a student deferment since 1966 - but was still at a two-year college.

Her little round body (ok, it wasn't that little) shook with joy when she said I was headed for the Army. I pointed out that I had a high number in the lottery but she just grinned and said to watch the mail for a nastygram from Selective Service.

Sure enough, a week later I had a notice signed by her and the head of the draft board to show up for a physical, and after all the tales about that circus (Doug Hooper has arguably the best stories, though read Jim Carr's on the discussion list) I had to change my shorts several times before I finally took the bus to Buffalo,. There I went the through the whole thing, peeing in plastic cups, getting weighed and measured, etc...

And I was convinced that Gertrude was fixing my records while I was getting poked and prodded to make sure that the next haircut I got was more than a trim.

At the end of the day, sitting in room full of pretty depressed guys, the officer in charge did a roll call and asked us what our numbers were in the lottery.

Until he got to the Fs in the alphabet, the highest number I heard was 39. When he called 'Fitzgerald' and I sang out '330' I thought my life was in serious danger.

No one else in the room had a number over 50.

So I didn't get drafted, though if Gertrude Mampf had her way, I might have had a very different life, or maybe no life.

Was she just a mean butt-head, angry because the world passed her by and she was stuck as clerk of draft boad?

Well, on the bus ride back from the Buffalo, I sat with a fellow who was so depressed he was considering just jumping out of the bus emergency door, in front of the oncoming traffic.

In conversation, I told him about my close call and how if Gertrude had had her way, I'd be history.

"Yeah," he said. "Tell me about it. I dated her daughter for awhile."

I don't know if he dated her daughter or not, I only knew that I went home that night and hugged my wife and prayed that Gertrude was busy mucking up someone else's life and that my lottery number would protect me.

By August no draft notice had shown up, through I did get a document - on my birthday, July 10 - telling me that I was officially 1-A status as far as Selective Service was concerned and to be ready for an induction notice.

I didn't notify Gertrude - or the draft board - when I left Jamestown in August to move to California's wine country.

It just didn't seem like a smart thing to do, number 330 in the lottery or not.

It's Sunday, a day of rest - well, almost

SACRAMENTO, Calif. - Here in Sacramento the school board of a local high school has decided not to rehire a very popular football coach, allegedly because the coach decided that he would not let a board member's son be the starting quarterback a couple of years ago.

Here's a link to the story:

Bye-bye Coach

What a mess!

But as I was getting all wound up over it, and thinking it would make a good From Where I Sit blog topic, or a topic for this website, I realized that maybe I needed to take a quiet day and not rant and rave. And maybe not even try to strain my brain about our high school daze.

So look here tomorrow. By then I will be tan, fit, and rested.

Well, maybe rested anyway.

Basketball: a game for those with good eyes

Freshman basketball - SWCS
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

JAMESTOWN, N.Y. - About six years ago, I had Lasik surgery to fix my nearsighted eyes after nearly 40 years of wearing glasses (and later struggling with soft contact lenses).

Two things became apparent almost immediately:

1. The world is a lot neater place when you have 20-20 vision, unassisted by glass or plastic lenses.

2. My ability to hit a tennis ball, throw a basketball through a hoop, catch a fly softball, or actually hit a golf ball down the fairway, went up exponentially within weeks of the procedure.

Tiger Woods has nothing to fear, but my leaning toward wrestling and track in high school in retrospect had a lot more to do with not needing good vision than any desire to grapple with other sweaty guys or run until my lungs were on fire. I can still hear Coach Joe Rushin screaming at me, GOGOGOGOGOGO Fitzgerald, GOGOGOGOGOGO...

Today's photo - courtesy of Shirley Adams - is, we believe, the freshman baskeball team and I can recognize most of the people, including the two folks at the end of the back row, Randy Carlson on the left, and Bob Erickson on the right. The late Mr. Stark, Coach Stark in this case, is right in the middle of the back row. Paul Slocum is to the left of the coach, Jack Eckdahl to the right.

I have a much higher resolution version of this which I'll be happy to email to whoever wants one.

In the meantime, I think I'll go outside and see if I can beat my seven-year-old granddaughter at badminton. She's pretty nearsighted - and wears glasses - so I have a good shot at a win, but she's good, so I'm not making any predictions.

More tomorrow.

A math whiz & one night, a partner in crime

Dave Carlson
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

LAKEWOOD, N.Y. - I can't remember which summer it was, exactly, but I didn't have driver's license yet (or my motorcyle, damn) which when I tell this tale will prove to be a good thing.

But about Dave Carlson... Dave was good in math, good enough that he landed in all the 9-1, 10-1, etc. math classes while I landed in the elementary algebra class mostly populated with people who had failed it once already. We had a teacher whose first name was Carl - an older guy - who we would pepper with paperwads whenever he turned around to the blackboard.

No wonder I failed algebra and went to summer school at Jamestown High (with a Mr. Rizzo, but that's another tale).

But this particular summer - the year after that I believe - I started hanging out evenings at the phone booth in the center of Lakewood. The phone would ring and some bored teen somewhere would chat with whoever was around.

Eventually, the Lakewood gendarmes figured out that this was trouble and started coming by, rousting folks. And this particular night Dave Carlson and I were among the roustees, along with a fellow named John O'Neill, a year younger than us but well on his way to catching up with our deliquency.

The three of us wandered over to a young lady's house quite late - and yes I remember her name quite well but will leave it out of the blog but not The Class of '66 - who pleaded with us to get lost before her father woke up and came down stairs. To encourage our departure, she gave us a nearly full bottle of Scotch.

Can you guess what happened?

The next morning when I awoke (in my house), my mother was alternately slapping my face and splashing me with cold water, convinced that I was suffering from alcohol poisoning. I probably was, but I had been sick enough in the night to make pumping my stomach quite unnecessary.

My Lakewood phone booth days were over for that summer and when I talked with Dave later (maybe weeks later) he had slipped in through a bedroom window and woken up with a buzz from his portion of the Scotch, but nothing like the bellringer I had.

To this day, the smell of Scotch whiskey across a room will turn my stomach.

Dave continued to be a math whiz while I failed Math 11 (with Miss Goller) and ended up in summer school again! But at least that year I rode to and from summer school on a motorcycle, not a Jamestown bus.

And John O'Neill? I don't know what happened to him that night or after he graduated.

Or if he likes to sip Scotch.

Kathy should be on Classmates.com, too

Kathy Widrig
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

ROCHESTER, N.Y. - Kathy Widrig (Kathy Widrig Bradley) is another one of our classmates whose yearbook picture cries out to the people who run Classmates.com.

Look at the smile, the hairdo, the collared blouse, the sweater - it shouts 1966. (And it's a good look even in 2005.)

The entry today is datelined Rochester, because that's where Kathy hangs out now, the office manager of a tool and die shop.

"Sometimes I call it the arm pit of the world. But I have a good job. Been working here for 24 years," she says.

Kathy jumped onto the reunion mailing list right away. And if memory serves correctly, I saw her at the 25th reunion perched on a barstool at The Main Event bar in downtown Jamestown, near the old railroad station.

It was at The Main Event that I realized that there might be a book in all this stuff: reunions, high school, growing up. Ok, it's been 15 years and the damned book is still in progress.

Maybe I should turn it into a screenplay instead. How about Class of '66 - the Movie? You can name the actor you would want to play you. I'll write it into my contract with Paramount.

I didn't know Kathy well in high school - she was from Celeron, I believe. And while that's hardly Indonesia, it seemed sooooo far, particularly until I got my own wheels (a Yamaha 80 motorcycle) but that was senior year.

I think all of us were mobility impaired, which influenced what passed for social life. Once I got my license, my mother would turn loose her 61 Rambler occasionally, but compared to most of the cars my friends had, it was a pretty sad unit.

Still, it went to the drive-in and a place I just remembered that was near Celeron called the 'bum roads.'

But that's for another blog or someone else to fill in the blanks.

Any takers?

2nd grade, Lakewood Elementary School

2nd grade, Lakewood Elementary School
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

LAKEWOOD, N.Y. - This 2nd grade shot comes courtesy of Marianne Jim, who found it among her mementos with the 5th grade shot I published earlier.

I can make out Buddy Hooper, Jim Lindell, Jim Nelson, Linda Foster, Frank Nobbs, Barbara Bunce and Bonnie Anderson. (You'll have to find them yourself, I'm supposed to be writing a story and I'm already a little late...).

When this picture was taken, I was still living in Brooklyn, going to a Catholic school where I had Sister Perfecta for a teacher. I'm not kidding. Her name was Sister Perfecta and she was barely taller than us - in 2nd grade.

But she had a wooden ruler that was faster than Zorro's sword and a clicker that could drop a whole classroom of Catholic kids to their knees in a heartbeat.

This Lakewood elementary group should seems like everyone is, well, happy! Compare it to the fifth grade photo and see how many folks are smiling.

Later today (when I am off deadline), I will email the original hi-resolution version of this to everyone on the list.

Second grade. Kee-rist! I have a granddaughter in 2nd grade.

Isetta automobile - some Class of '66 history

Isetta automobile - a big of history
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

SAN DIEGO, Calif. - I spotted this car in the parking lot yesterday, right near where Sabbatical is moored. It's an Isetta and if Bud Hooper is reading this, or Bob Fulcher, they will remember that a neighbor of ours had one of these tiny things back in the very early 1960s.

Remember the early 1960s? Except for the very rare Volkswagen Beetle, every car was a monster. So the Isetta was such an odd duck and, well, so light.

How do I know how light it was?

Well, on several occasions, much to the chagrin of its owner, we would move it around in his driveway, by lifting it. And on a couple of other occasions, I seem to remember tipping it on its side, once actually putting it on its top and spinning it. I doubt that we actually spun it on its top, but who knows, that was more than 40 years ago.

All of these incidents occurred in the dead of night, of course, so we could remain anonymous and blame it on others.

I suspect the owner probably knew which neighborhood miscreants were busy moving his car, but we didn't really damage it, much. Of course, if some teenagers did that to my car today, it would be war.

It's hell to get old.

The Isetta - which was the urban equivalent of cow tipping, I suppose - reminded me of Halloween and how destructive everyone was back when we were growing up. It seemed like it was open season on anyone. But we did learn a few good tricks, like putting dog crap in a paper bag on someone's doorstep, lighting with a match and then yelling Fire! Fire!

With most people today using those little plastic bags to pick up after their dogs, where would teenagers even find a good load to trick their neighbors with?

Now there's a question to ponder for today, classmates.

Mr. Gugino & the Class of '66 (5th grade version)

5th grade, Lakewood Elementary School
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

IONE, Calif. - We have Marianne Jim to thank for the photo with today's blog posting - and another grade school shot I will post tomorrow (or tonight if the fog blows in here in San Diego and I can't work on my sailboat).

Marianne dug through her memorabilia and found this shot. What a beauty!

I remember making those marionettes - and the play we put on.

You can kind of figure out who most people are. I can name most of people in the photo. Steve Larson is in the back row at the left, for example. Linda Hetrick is in the front row on the right. Ted Capella is in the second row, third from left next to George Opdahl. One thing that surprised me is how young Augustine Gugino appears in the photo. He looks like maybe he in his 40s. I thought he was ancient when we were in 5th grade.

Later today I will email out a jpeg copy of this photo - but be warned, it's a big file and might take a moment to download. But then you should be able to see the faces quite well.

Thanks Marianne.

Mr. Butler died in 2003, not in 2005...

SAN DIEGO, Calif. - Sometimes I move way too fast for a 56, soon-to-be 57-year-old guy.

And in moving too fast, particularly very early in the morning, my old eyes don't see things properly - like the date on an obituary. Mr. Butler died in May of 2003, not a few days ago.

Does whoops cover it, or do I need to go leap off the cliffs here in San Diego at Point Loma?

Allan Winger was a lot kinder in his email to correct me than most of the folks I ever had to deal with when I was a newspaper editor and made those kind of gaffes. (Not that I made that many.)

And Allan has kindly started a discussion group at: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/swcs66/

The idea is to, well, discuss things. It's a great idea... I'll try to jump on from time to time (in between other stuff) and when appropriate, perhaps I'll pull some of the comments for this blog. Allan and John Rupp (who goes by the name Kelly, a long-ago reference to the TV show "I Spy") will probably be talking some about Vietnam. Me? Well, I'm trying to track down a couple of people from classes other than the Class of '66 and hope the list can help me out. Okay, they're girls I dated, there, it's out.

So far today, Yahoo! hasn't wanted to let me in the system...but I have a lot more perservance than I did when I graduated 39 years ago.

Stand back Yahoo!, the Class of '66 is on the way.

Entering dangerous territory for a writer

Allan Winger, 1966
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

SACRAMENTO, Calif. - It's one thing to put up photos of schools being taken down, but posting yearbook photos of individuals - and writing about them - is entering the neutral zone with lots of Klingon ships nearby.

But if this website is to rake up the memories and get people talking, well... so be it.

So hello Allan Winger.

Allan's picture should be on Classmates.com in the advertisements. Could he possibly look more like a 1966 high school graduate? The glasses, the hair, the skinny tie and that great Colgate smile. Jaysus. A poster boy for that time in the 20th century.

Allan has been emailing me with lots of information about our class, the school and most recently he sent me the obituraries for two teachers most of us shared classrooms with: Mr. Butler and Mr. Stark.

Mr. Butler died Friday! Mr. Stark about five years ago. I remember both very well and in fact think about how angry Mr. Stark got with me when I had failed Math 11 and re-took the class in summer school at Chautaqua with him up front glaring at me most of the summer. I whizzed through the Regents exam at the end of the summer and when I stepped out into the hall (the first one to finish) he stopped me and said, "If you didn't pass because to went too fast..." He didn't finish the sentence, and I'm glad I didn't have to find out what he was thinking.

I passed by one point.

Allan also found the obits for Mrs. Evelyn Sternburg (who was a fifth grade teacher in Lakewood) and Doris Barrows Schobeck who was the school nurse for Lakewood from 1949 until her retirement in 1972. She passed on in July of 2001 at the age of 97. I didn't spend much time in the nurse's office in elementary school. I didn't discover that scam until junior high and Mrs. McKay. She should get an entire blog entry all to herself.

Allan and I have been emailing about Vietnam, too. Allan's a Vietnam Vet and we are trying to figure if we lost any classmates in Vietnam.

That whole time was blur for me and probably many others. I was only sure about one thing: I had no interest in the military, I never have been very good at taking orders or structured sitations. (Ask any coach I played for in high school, if any of them are still with us.)

Allan is on the email list, but if your list is not handy, it's:

Allan L. Winger - awinger@pbu.edu

First, the Hideaway, then the Triangle bar...

Lakewood Elementary, May 2005
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

LAKEWOOD, N.Y. - One more year! Couldn't they have waited one more year to tear down Lakewood Elementary?

But down it is coming, and as the photo with the blog attests, it's almost down.

Sue Guertin Chandler, who taught in the school for years, had her room still standing at the time these were shot May 24. But the wreckers are pretty efficient in the 21st century and it's doubtful there is much more than bricks and steel on the ground as you read this.

Lee Anderson said his sister Carin went by and picked up a brick as a memento, I might want one of those myself.

It's kind of hard to imagine that spot without the school. So many of the Class of '66 came through there on their way to the big junior school on the hill. After surviving Mr. Gugino's 5th grade, I landed in Robert Lamp's 6th grade classroom. Mr. Lamp was an ok guy, I remember, though when we misbehaved, he sported a pretty nasty temper for an elementary school teacher. We once toured the Lakewood Sewer Plant (not exactly Disneyland, eh?) and a group of the boys got a little bored, listening to the sewer plant operator droning about primary versus tertiary treatment and starting pushing each other. Mr. Lamp made us stand at attention, four feet apart while the rest of the class walked around. And he made us stand downwind of the sewage tanks.

He sometimes had a good sense of humor.

I remember Hawkeye taught 6th grade, too. (Oops, Mr. Hawkins.) But I don't remember any other 6th grade teachers, though I'm pretty sure there was at least one more.

But the school is gone!

Years ago - could it have been the 20th reunion? - I came home to Lakewood to find the Triangle Bar gone, torn down, vanished into the mist. Bud Hooper and I and Jim Carr and Bob Fulcher and John Rupp and God-knows-who-else dropped a lot of cash there, watching a lot of the Vukote locals fighting with their spouses as they got increasingly drunk, every night of the week.

In one memorable evening, one 'old woman' (she had to be 40 if she was a day, waaaaay old), was arguing with her husband about his dog. Actually, they weren't arguing. She was giving him a beer-laced, mostly incoherent lecture about how the dog smelled, the dog hair was everywhere, she hated the damned dog - and she ended her soliloquy with the kind of ultimatum you should never give.

Either the dog goes or I go!

I can still see the grin on the old guy's face as his wife stormed out of the bar. And I don't think she was going home to feed the dog.

I will always miss the Triangle, but I think I'm going to miss old Lakewood Elementary a lot more.

Bye Hawkeye!

Le Grand Fromage - our principal

We called him 'Cheese' because?
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

SOUTHWESTERN CENTRAL, Main Office - Only once did I find myself sitting in front of Cloise Swearingen, Mr. Swearingen, Van Swearingen's dad and, to many of us, 'Cheese.'

I suppose we called him Cheese as a short form of Big Cheese, and I do remember the one bit of French I learned from Mme. Vandeberg - Le Grand Fromage. So for awhile, we called him Fromage for short. (I also learned 'merde' from Phil Parks in that same French class, and Bill Taylor and I came up with 'mangez le oiseaux.' I don't think the oiseaux reference cut across cultural lines, but we were easily amused.)

But there I go with another digression.

The power Cheese had was awesome looking back at it. While we certainly did some arguably outside-the-rules stuff, the last place we wanted to end up was in his office. I stood there once for a transgression that I can't recall (Honest!) and he did such a great managerial thing. He let me stand there for a good minute (scribbling on a notepad like Jon Stewart at the start of The Daily Show) before he looked up at me. Then, he didn't speak for what seemed like forever.

By the time he did start lecturing me, I would have confessed to stealing the Lindbergh baby, detonating the Hindenburg, and maybe starting the Korean War.

But those were simpler times. When people did bad things in school, they frequently ended up like political enemies of the regimes in some Central American countries - they just disappeared. Can you imagine for even a nanosecond what the penalty would have been at SWCS had someone carried a gun into the high school?

I got detention for turning in term papers late, for Godsakes.

Recently I went to a high school here in Sacramento and had to walk through two sets of metal detectors and then get patted down by a young female security guard before I was allowed into the educational maelstrom that passes for high school in California. (Ok, she wasn't that young but still...)

And when I needed to head to the bathroom (aka Boy's Room), I found out they are locked about 95 percent of the time, guaranteeing that when the bathrooms are opened, they are jammed with exhuberant, overflowing teenagers who understandably are less-than patient about who gets to the can first.

The school principal (definitely a non-fromage, who hides in his office, rarely seen) told me that the students are out of control and the bathrooms are a constant problem: fights, drug deals, kids smoking pot.

I suggested that he try holding his bladder for three or four hours and then tell me if he wouldn't want a toke or two.

Say what you want about Cheese, but he kept the bathrooms open.

Ted Capella went to Erie - not California

ERIE, Penn. - The romantic in me really wanted Ted Capella to have ridden off in a convertible on his way to California when he left 5th grade.

But Mick Olson says he's sure that Ted headed to Erie, Pennsylvania and in fact visited him during our senior year. I hope I was right about the convertible anyway. If not, that would shatter my illusions completely.

Remembering what went on in high school (and before) is more than tricky, it's like trying to recover data from your Commodore 64 computer (referred to as either a Commode Door or a $100 doorstop). I had one of those beauties in the 1980s when I started my consulting business and it paid for itself. Well, for $100 bucks it didn't take long.

(Well, see, there goes my mind drifting instead of staying on task. I was talking about memory, wasn't I?)

I came to Lakewood in March of 1958, I believe, just in time to catch the last couple of months of Edna Anderson's 4th grade class where I met my first Lakewood buddy (Randy Carlson) who sat behind me and taught me how to draw an airplane. (I draw them the same way for my granddaughter, who thinks I'm an artist, but she's seven...)

The very first day of school we went out for recess - something I had never heard of. Catholic elementary schools in Brooklyn didn't let kids loose for a minute during the school day. And when the whistle blew to go back in, well, I just kept swinging away, amazed that school could be fun.

But a tall teacher, angry looking like Sterling Hayden-with-a-hangover, one Mr. Hawkins, came over and took me by the arm up to my classroom (his squeeze really hurt) and I was in the doghouse with Edna for the rest of the day, my first day. Randy Carlson, the artist, had his own little run-in with Hawkins another day, sticking a hand puppet out the window of one of the buses as we were leaving to go home. He used the puppet to chime, 'Hello Hawkeye,' a nickname that Hawkeye (oops, Mr. Hawkins) didn't find amusing.

But we'll let Randy tell that tale of terror another time - or at the reunion.

**********************

The following song came via one of our classmates who said she was a little leary of actually sending it to everyone. But I think most of us can relate.

They both need IPods

Why did we write on our yearbook pictures?

Barbara Bunce - 1966
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

JAMESTOWN, N.Y. - I'm not sure what possessed us to write all over our own photos in the yearbook, I had to crop the heck out of Barbara Bunce's photo to post it here but she did leave most of her face in good stead.

Randy Carlson, on the other hand scribbled so much you can't see him at all. Randy's photo we will save for a later post.

I've been getting some great emails from people, with lots of memories. Barb Bunce's was great, and I was going to pull sections of it for the web page, but I note that she sent it out to the entire list, so I won't take up any bytes here again.

Barbara and I were in 5th grade together at Lakewood Elementary School, our teacher one Mr. Augustine Gugino, who had a bad ulcer and had to eat brown-bag lunches that were even more disgusting than what was served in the cafeteria. Sally Smith and Carol Wright were in that class, too. I remember clearly, because that was the year that the boys all started looking slightly different at the girls - and vice-versa.

There was also a fellow in that class named Douglas Brandow, who disappeared from our ranks about sophomore year. I heard that he ended up doing a stretch in prison, but I'm not sure.

I do remember - more vividly than I would like to - the day he showed up for P.E. without his gym clothes (about 9th grade) and was forced (as in wrestled to the floor) to wear a girl's gymsuit for gym class. He was also pushed through the door separating the gyms and made to have P.E. with the girls that morning.

Can you imagine that today? He would've ended up owning the school district from a lawsuit. And I would've testified in his behalf. Well, ok, maybe not then. But suppose that happened to one of your kids? Or grandkids?

Jaysus!

A much nicer story coming out of that same 5th grade era is about a fellow named Ted Capella, who left our 5th grade class and moved away. As a newly arrived-from-Brooklyn kid, I had a lot of sympathy for his emotional parting.

I believe he moved to California, leaving school one sunny day in the back of his parents' convertible, the top down, of course.

That was a class act, Ted, wherever you ended up.

TODAY'S CLASS OF '66 SONG: Tossin' and Turnin' by Bobby Lewis

I couldn't sleep at all last night,
just a thinkin' of you,
cause I was tossin' and turnin,'
turnin' and tossin' all night...

Young guys, drinking beer (?) at our 20th

Bob Fulcher & Jim Carr
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

NOTE TO CLASS:

(I just heard from Shirley Adams who says this is from the 20th reunion... Everybody looks so young... And obviously, my comments need some adjusting.)

JAMESTOWN, NY - I really wish I had made it to the 10th reunion, although at 10 years, it didn't seem all that long since I had been out of SWCS.

A couple of years at Villanova (undistinguished, except for the beer drinking and general carousing), two years back in Lakewood (more drinking, more carousing), marriage in December 1969 and then on to Califoria, a bachelor's degree, two kids and a newspaper writing job.

OK, I guess a lot did happen. But it would have been nice to see what happened to other folks.

In this photo - which is a tad fuzzy - Bob Fulcher is with Jim Carr and from the look on Bob's face, not exactly excited that someone took the shot. Jim wasn't too many years out of the U.S. Navy, and Bob? Well, Bob might still have been in the U.S. Air Force at that time. He retired before he was 40 and took up some other profession. Anyone know what it was?

I got into an awful lot of trouble with those two guys during our high school years, never quite getting arrested, largely due to the Barney Fife police forces we had to contend with, not our skill at evading capture.

There was one episode where we ended up at a SWCS football game, quite intoxicated on Colt .45 malt liquor and Southern Comfort. We climbed up into the bleachers and, well, I think I'll save those details for our 40th reunion and the tome I'm trying to write.

We have 31 people on the email list and I seem to be picking up one or two more every day. Keep them coming - and please, please, send some photos, too, either of the reunion, some party you went to in high school (The Gorge? The Prom?), and/or something current.

Hell, if I can post my yearbook photo on this website (Isn't that a piece of photography?), then a current shot of you won't break any computer screens.

TODAY'S CLASS OF '66 SONG: Dead Man's Curve by Jan & Dean

"I was cruisin' in my Stingray late one night,
when an XKE pulled up on my right..."

Issue of photographic quality is a good one

Barbara Pilkey, courtesy of Shirley Adams
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

SACRAMENTO, Calif. - I've received several requests to make the photos here bigger, sharper, more focused, etc... It's not just your old eyes that can't handle it.

Most of the photos I have received are relatively low resolution (or slightly out of focus)the combination of which makes for some pretty fuzzy looking shots. The yearbook copies I was making (and will make when I get my new camera) were higher resolution.

As we get older as the vision goes, everything seems to have that soft focus.

The photo today comes from Shirley Adams' collection from the 10th reunion. And it should have a caption under it explaining that it is Barbara Pilkey in the center with JoAnn Harp off to the left. And the guy hanging onto Barbara? Got me? I'll guess her husband or boyfriend. Any clues out there?

If the caption is not there, I'm going to have to have words with my photo hosting service which is getting as erratic as I am.

Grrrrr.

And now presenting, The Class of 1966

Grad picture
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

JAMESTOWN, N.Y. - Bob Swanson sent along this photo Saturday, part of a proposed cover for any program that might be produced for the reunion.

I faintly remember the photo being taken. And were our robes red?

Good God but that was a long time ago.

I do remember walking across a stage and some business about the tassel having to be shifted, even for a high school graduation. I still have that tassel, along with the ribbons I won in a handful of track meets. The tassel and the ribbons are all pretty tired-looking.

Since then, two college degrees later and 23 years of teaching at a university, I've seen graduations so many times it's all a blur.

One year I had to attend seven graduations in two days and speak at all seven as chair of the faculty at my university. I didn't go for the next seven years, figuring I had banked some time.

I ducked graduation today, even though it was only a mile from my back door. It was 90-plus degrees outside and with an outdoor graduation, the most interesting thing that was likely to happen was heatstroke.

In the last 24 hours or so, I added Randy Carlson, Jim Lindell and Allen Winger to the email list. Thanks to everyone who is keeping the email pipeline flowing.

And can anyone tell me how many people graduated in the Class of '66? I thought it was 180, but I count 169 faces in the yearbook.

All quite young faces, at least the ones where people didn't scribble right over their likenesses.

Reunion photo from the 20th Class of '66 soiree

From the 10th Class of '66 reunion
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

The photo with this brief blog comes from Shirley Adams who is busy scanning and digitizing to some of her photos for the site.

Shirley, Thanks!

This morning I also received emails from Allan Winger (who I added to the email list) and Cathy Prince, who was Czarina Extraordinaire for the reunions we have had in the past.

She said that Randy Carlson and Jim Lindell are working on this one, too, and might have found a spot at least for a dinner.

More on that as developments, well, develop.

And in the meantime, doesn't have email addresses for Randy and Jim?

The story of Tom Priester, by Tom Priester

JAMESTOWN, N.Y. - I remember Tom Priester pretty well from high school, the T-shirts and the perpetual grin on his face. He did, after all, teach women's P.E. and had a lot to smile about. When I saw the film, Evolution, with David Duchovny and Orlando Jones, there is a coach character in that movie that might remind you of Tom. And even if not, it's a funny film.

But Tom's name popped up - and his email address is on our Class of '66 list - because somehow he found me and we've had a little email dialog. It turns out Tom was right here in Sacramento a year ago, at some hotshot track and field trials at my university, only a mile from my condo on the American River!

I should have recognized the tone of his whistle when I rode by the trials on my bicycle last June.

What follows is a brief email from Tom, updating what's he's been up to. And count on seeing him at our reunion next year. Sorry I don't have a recent photo of him, but more photos will be forthcoming pretty soon.

FROM TOM PRIESTER:

Sue Turner Priester (my wife) and I have lived on Orchard Rd. by WJTN (between Baker and Hunt) for 33 years and I've been retired for 7 years next month after 36 years teaching.

I'm still coaching (44 years in the fall) cross country. Have 2 children (grown up) and 6 grandchildren; 3 local and 3 in Greensboro, NC.

I help with the grand kids, and am on the Exec. Bd. of Joint Neighborhood Project, a non- profit help agency connected to our church on East 2nd St. in J'town, and this new SW Education Foundation. That is taking a lot of my time.

I'm in charge of contacting alumni. I have about 46 years of class reunion lists. Loving life. Still officiating track for high schools and USA like the trials.

God has blessed me with a lot friends and GREAT FORMER STUDENTS! Hope we can meet again.

===============

Three Class of '66 amigas & a roomie

Three Class of '66 amigas & a roomie
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

NEW SMYNRA BEACH - The Class of '66 occasionally has it mini-reunions, like this one from February with Sue Guertin Chandler, Shirley Adams and Sharon Johnson Bondiello.

Shirley's college roommate, Joyce, is tucked in the photo, second from the left, in case you are actually counting and note that there are four folks in the photo.

From the right, Sue Guertin Chandler, Shirley Adams, Shirley's roommate from college (Joyce) and Sharon Johnson Bondiello. Shirley sent this photo yesterday and it worked very slick to put it up on the site.

Soooooooo..... Anyone else brave enough to put up current photo of themselves? If you are, send it along.

In the meantime, I'll try to find a really flattering - I mean a gritty, realistic, up-to-date - shot of me to post.

Great ideas while running in the rain

SACRAMENTO, Calif. - This morning as I ended my ordeal of running, 'Be True to Your School,' was ringing in my ears on my IPod, reminding me of zooming around Chautauqua Lake (Can you believe I can still spell it?) in my ski boat, a radio on the dashboard.

And then I thought: Karaoke! (Did I spell that right?)

My singing abilities are right there with Rod Stewart - when he has severe laryngitis - but I remember a lot of our classmates singing in the choir, and in the early years, Dalton Berringer accompanying on the piano.

One evening I went to downtown Jamestown wandering into the Jamestown Hotel and there was Mr. B. himself, at the piano, doing a little lounge act. That same year, he pulled me over on the lake - he was a Sheriff's Deputy during the summer to make some extra cash. Other teachers painted houses (Harry Robie for one.). We can all ask Tom Priester what other teachers did to make ends meet.

But a karaoke machine! And, maybe we can find Dana Bolles to put together a band again, like the one that he played in at Moon Brook Country Club (was that the prom or graduation?).

Think about and practice your scales.

La-la-la-la-la-la-la....

The Class of '66, out in the field for a photo

The SWCS Class of '66 20th reunion, courtesy of Lee Anderson
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

JAMESTOWN, N.Y. 1986 - The 20th reunion was notable for several things, not the least of which was the flood that almost wiped out the place where we were swilling drinks that first night.

Sue Guertin-Chandler and her husband Bill helped me get my rental car to dry ground as it almost floated away. Quite a night. Even Bob Fulcher made that party. And hell, we were all about 38 and not even 40 for chrissakes.

The next night's party - where the photo with this blog was taken - was a riot, too, though because I had been reading too much Norman Mailer, well, I believed that alcohol was the best spark for creative juices. It was a spark that night all right, but the spark started a fire in my brain that resulted in an epic headache the next morning.

I've since gotten over the Mailer thing. I'm moving into a Hunter S. Thompson phase.

(Just a joke! Just a joke!)

This photo comes courtesy of Lee Anderson, though I do have a copy of this shot sitting on the bulletin board right in front of me. But because my camera won't talk to this new computer, I'm kind of stalled the tracks for photos. But thanks to Lee, here it is.

I think we should start making lists of things we want for the 40th reunion: what music, what food, what national celebrity to do a stand-up comic routine the first night. (I want Jon Stewart or Donald Rumsfeld, they're both funny in their own way...)

And our theme song for the 40th reunion of the Southwestern Central High School Class of '66?

What else? 'Be True to Your School,' by the Beach Boys:

"When some loud braggart tries to put you down
and says his school his great,
I tell him right away
'Now what's the matter buddy
ain't you heard of my school,
...it's number one in the state'...

...So be true to your school...
Rah, rah sis boom-bah..."

The 10th reunion - we were sooooo young!

Class of '66 SWCS 10th Reunion, courtesy of Lee Anderson
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

JAMESTOWN, NEW YORK, 1976 - The reunion party in 1976 seemed like it was a long time from the day that we walked across the stage.

I missed it anyway, though I was in town. I didn't know about it! Merde!

Ten years out of high school seemed like an eternity, but looking at the photo with today's blog (provided by Lee Anderson), the faces don't look that much different from the yearbook.

Some of the guys are definitely sporting a lot more hair than at graduation (and beards, lots of beards) but we were young and the thought that we might ever be going to a, gasp, 40th high school reunion impossible.

Just before I sat down to write this, I had an newspaper buddy show up, a guy I worked with in Petaluma in the mid-1970s at the Petaluma Argus-Courier, a daily there that has since faded down to weekly and barely surviving. Our kids were about the same age and we both had a fondness for cheap red wine, the movie Casablanca, a young (and completely unavailable) female secretary at the local university - and writing stories that uncovered wrongdoing, especially on the part of sleaze-bag politicians. (Remember those guys Nixon and Agnew?)

The photo we took today of the two of us gives me glimpse of what the group shot will look like at our 40th high school reunion.

Mature is the description I prefer to put on the caption. My 7-year-old granddaughter says I'll never be mature but is kind enough not to add any of her own adjectives for what her granddad looks like with another almost-white-haired guy in the picture.

Mature, indeed. Mature.

She's right about one thing, I probably never will grow up anyway.

The loneliness of the long-distance writer

JAMESTOWN, NEW YORK - Who knows what kind of life I might have had, had the laptop computer been around in high school? Writing, I remember, was a painful thing, literally. My left hand would cramp up after a page or two, and can you imagine what it must have been like for our teachers to read 100 or so essays?

In my university classes, I won't even accept a handwritten note saying someone will not be in class. Email me! Type it and print it! Just no freakin' handwriting.

When I was a senior, I broke my left hand (longer story) and for about six weeks, had it wrapped with a splint - making writing essays painful and damn near impossible. One day, in that weird double period class (part English, part history, part who-the-hell knows) I handed in a brief piece to Harry Robie and got my hair parted because the writing was sooooo bad. He was about halfway into giving me a lecture in front of the entire class when he realized that my hand was in a splint and while he didn't apologize, he did stumble and retract.

But those forced-essays were on the right track, because writing and thinking are linked as tight as Britney Spears' jeans are to her ... posterior (had another word there and I lost it...). If you think about that writing and thinking are almost the same thing, it just makes what you are reading all the more frightening.

REUNION SPONSORS - In order to make this 40th reunion a real wild deal, perhaps we should get some sponsors. Grey Goose Vodka, Charles Shaw wines, the makers of Mallo Cups (Boyer, Inc.?) all come to mind. We can rule out General Motors and United Airlines probably, but perhaps we can get the Jamestown Post-Journal to kick in with something. We must have an alum or two working there.

Parlez-vous a foreign language? Or English?

Foreign languages
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

SOUTHWESTERN CENTRAL HIGH SCHOOL - How much French did anyone really learn from Jon Giacco (sp?), the little guy on the right?

I remember his English, was, well, not as bad as my French, but pretty bad. It turns out, of course, that he really spoke Italian best, but what the hell.

Somehow, I survived three years of French, maybe even four, I've blocked most of it out. My first experience in 9th grade I've written up for the book. (The sweaters that our very female teacher wore in that class were, magnifique!)

Ironically, I took more French in college (another D on the transcript) but when I went to France, damn if a lot of it didn't come back - after 30 years!

Avez-vous vin rouge?

I avoided Mrs. Cook (seated) who taught Latin, and Mr. Pfaff taught German. Spanish suffered from some kind of inferiority complex - part social because Spanish speakers were (are?) far down the social scale for most Americans around Jamestown. If you spoke Spanish, you were either a Spanish student, or Puerto Rican. And being Puerto Rican was pretty low on the Swedish totem pole. (How's that for mixing races and metaphors?)

What do I remember most about those foreign language classes?

Going to the blackboard to write sentences. Teachers who require that should be shot, or made to sing on American Idol, or both.

Soon I'll write here about math teachers, another group of people who believe that a little public humiliation at the blackboard is good for the soul - and encourages learning.

Not.

What a group! Are they all 'history' now?

Historian types
Originally uploaded by Brite Lights photos.

SWCS, HUNT ROAD - Does anyone remember Alberta Ulmer getting out of that little Nash-Rambler two seater that she drove to work - often dropped off by her husband?

Wow.

If you didn't have her in class, she's in the back row about third from the left, right next to Mr. Dominie (sp?) on her left...

History teachers were quite a bunch, but the one who stands out the most for me was Harold Burgard, a madman who had all those mimeographed pages we had to memorize and take notes on.

"Sir Philip Sydney?" he would shout and some fool had to remember about the death of chivalry. If no one knew, Burgard would start to bellow, so loud it would scare teachers two classrooms away.

But damn if I didn't do great on the Regents test, probably my best score.

It was a Regents exam, wasn't it?

I remember sitting in Burgard's class during the Cuban Missile Crisis. He didn't mince words that it was likely we would all find out what the net effect of Strontium 90 might be on our reproductive systems.

Years later, after graduating from SWCS, I got to know him better over waaaaay too many beers at my cousin Gordy Puls' house. (Gordy was a math teacher and eventually moved to Ohio.)

He confessed that he was terrified during the crisis.

And the story about him coming to SWCS after breaking some kids jaw at Panama High School? I don't know if it was true or not, but when I asked him if it was, he got a beautiful smile on his face, as if he was remembering a night of sex with Raquel Welch. (Hey! She was young then, come on!)

The rest of the historical crowd, we can talk about at the reunion.