THERE'S NO KWIT ON THIS TEAM #6

The upper grades were always an exhilarating place to be.  You were climbing the grammar school ladder and starting to feel your oats. You had an exaggerated sense of wisdom and entitlement upon entering the world of higher education that you had only heard about previously.

   In seventh grade only one thing stood in the way of scholarly dominance. Eighth graders.

    At St.William, this rivalry was made manifest by an annual end of the school year  softball game between the seventh and eighth graders.

    Held starting at recess, the student body was invited to watch the game which more often than not resulted in the bigger and stronger eighth grade squads victorious.

    I was never a member of any of the cliques that composed these teams. No matter what kind of baseball talent you might possess, this was one of life's first lessons in ,"It's not WHAT you know,it's WHO you know."

    I was ignored in the composition of the 7th grade team. I wasn't athletically built by any means and I wasn't in with the in crowd.

    In eighth grade, apparently having seen me hit on the playground, the leader of the eighth grade pack, the crew cut kid with the freckles, Bill W. issued me an invitation to join the 8th grade team. Wow this was an honor! I was suitably excited that I would be among the softball elite, my baseball talent on display for the entire school to see. I am sure I bragged to family and friends about my selection ....so you can imagine my disappointment when Bill ,speaking for his clique, told me earlier on game day, that I would not be playing. Charlie Brown,I know how you feel.

   I went home for lunch and when I returned for the game,I wore my gym shoes just as I had planned when I was included. I would tell anyone who asked about my footwear that I had a game after school,though I did not. I hoped to look like I belonged and harbored the hope they may have a change of heart and play me.  They didn't.

   Now it can be told, Bill W and company. You never got to know the after school me.  I was better than just about anyone on that eighth grade squad. I had my own neighborhood baseball team, was team captain,regularly hit fourth and played a more than adequate third base. I knew my way around the diamond but was deprived of the chance to show my stuff in the biggest game of the school year because I wasn't a part of that select group.

    I suppose the 8th grade won the day I was left off the team but at that point I didn't care one way or the other. 

THE FACULTY

  It isn't controversial for anyone to be pro teacher. But for the record,I am four scare,absolutely second to none in my admiration for the women and men of this noble profession. Even more so for the teachers working in catholic schools where they earn less than their public school counterparts.

   From Arquila to Zameitis I remember those who gave me my grammar school education with fondness. And this wasn't my only interactions with teachers. Remember I later became an employee and a volunteer and even taught for a couple of months. That's all for later. 

  

  I already mentioned Sister Clarelle who ushered me into my catholic education and I regret I cannot remember all the names of the wonderful faculty of that day to distribute the credit they deserve.

  One of the nuns whose name I cannot remember , was an avid " Peanuts" (Charlie Brown variety) fan. She was not our home room teacher, but I remember wishing that she were. She had a wonderful collection of "Peanuts" merch and became my introduction to the genius of Charles Schulz whose work I like and admire to this day. She had the humor and good cheer that you'd expect from someone who enjoyed the wit of Schulz and she gave me that same appreciation. I still read that comic strip daily.

   

  My first lay teacher may have been Miss Carsello. She was a young  blonde and wore glasses. Culture shock to see someone with arms,legs and feet at the front of the room after a steady diet of the sinister black adornments worn by the nuns.  Miss Carsello  possessed a biting sense of humor. I recall her having names for some of us other than our own. Unusual nicknames reflective of our behavior. And one of Miss Carsello's punishments,which today might cause a litigious parent to sue, involved the student offender being required to wear a baby bonnet.  

   Now,I was,throughout my student tenure, a pretty well behaved kid. That's not to say I never did anything wrong but I wasn't a frequent offender . There were some in that class who modeled that bonnet almost daily.  

    It was getting late in the school year and I was one of the few who never had the dubious honor of wearing the bonnet. 

I am pretty sure Miss Carsello, who had married over the school year and now was  Mrs.Arquilla, knew I had yet to receive this punishment. I say that because as I remember it, I was singled out for a minor infraction (the equivalent of getting a ticket for littering) and provided laughter for my classmates as I put on the baby bonnet for the rest of the day. I bet no one misses the days when being humiliated was the consrquence for whispering in class.

   The time I made the class laugh minus a prop was when my classmate Diane W. was standing in the row next to my desk and was describing what I think was a fish. She extended both her arms to indicate the  length of the fish and I was seated close enough to her to move my head out of the way of her outstretched arm and the class laughed. I didnt do much, but they  laughed. Something might have clicked on with me in that moment because I still remember it as if it were yesterday and I have been trying to make people laugh ever since. With that simple motion,Diane W. ,you created a monster!😁😉

   Somewhere along the education way the school started dividing students into groups. There was group one made up of the students who were doing superior work,Group 2- the average students and Group 3 which came to be known as "the dumb kids". In actuality,these were the students that were struggling scholastically or had learning disabities and or behavior problems. You did not want to be in group three. I think I was in Group 3 a total of one time due to a  slump in my studies . My time in that group wasn't lengthy but as you can imagine,given the nature of dividing kids up by performance made an already judgemental age even more of a struggle. I found a cozy little niche in Group 2 and thats the group where I spent most of my school days during that period.  That group thing was never a good idea in my opinion. At an age where kids are struggling to fit in or find their identity, groups considered smart,average and dumb is of little help.

    Throughout my grammar school years the principal of St.Willam was a veteran of the student-teacher wars,Sister Paschaletta. She was principal for years by the time I enrolled and as I recall, retired when i hit the upper grades for a younger and more gentle leader in Sister Eloise. More on her later.

     I was fortunate enough not to get to know the furnishings inside the principal's office but we all had a healthy respect (and fear) of Sister Paschalleta. 

     The one interaction I had with her still puzzles me today. 

       Sister was filling in for an absent teacher. One of our assignments had been to draw the tail of any animal we chose. And yes,that still seems a little odd. Anyway,I drew a horse's tail and couldn't resist adding a little humor to it. I added a little bug to the tail and labelled it "Seymour The Flea." 

     A day or so later as we ascended the steps to the top floor classroom,Sister Paschaletta intercepted me to ask about my addition of "Seymour" to my artistry. I was surprised about her serious interest and I forget how I responded but I'm sure I said I just meant it as a joke. And that was that.

    Did Sister think I had an invisible friend? Did she think Seymour might be  a well known character she didn't know about? I will never know but I will always wonder.

    I believe Sister Lucy was my 6th or 7th grade nun and she was the General Patton of the convent. She was a sturdy woman who gave no quarter and adhered to the most strict aspects of our faith snd behavior. She promised heavenly retribution for our earthly transgressions and was of little patience. She referred to the popular rock and roll of the day as "african jungle music" so you can draw your conclusions from there. 

   Eighth grade deserves a column all its own so that's where I'll pick up next time.

ST. WILLIAM STORIES #4 THE STORM

 It was a dark and stormy day.

This isn't the start of a bad mystery novel or a book by Snoopy, but the actual description of a schoolday at St.William when i was a third or  perhaps fourth  grader.

 Storms seemed a little bit more rare back then but the one coming to that school near me  on this day was shaping up to be a most unpleasant one.

   It was about 2 pm when a tornado warning was issued for our area. We students as well as the faculty were properly concerned. Teacher shut the windows and closed the drapes. The only way we could measure the darkness starting to envelop us was via the skylights that were located above the first vertical row of desks. They were transitioning from light to dark.

   The sixth row of desks was located nearest those windows and the teacher instructed that row to move with their desks,into the cloak room which was schooltalk for the coat room,located behind the blackboard. We were told over the P.A. (school talk for the intercom,a speaker square located near the ceiling at the front of the room) that we would not be dismissed at the usual time unless a parent or guardian came to pick us up.

  While most of that incident is still vivid in my memory, I honestly can't recall if I requested my mom be called (I lived just across the street) or she called the school. In any case her call was taken by the previously referenced Father Ubowski who invited her to "come ahead."

.  I remember clearly experiencing the power and the fury of nature probably for the first time as my mother and I walked across the parking lot ,the charcoal sky making the illuminated school full of students and staff behind us look almost like a spaceship. The wind was whipping,the thunder rolled and I remember seeing,out of the corner of my eye in the northwest portion of the sky  a whirly patch of light, i remember it being of  orange hue,moving quickly. I dont know if it was a funnel or the start of a clearing line,a brighter sky...but by this time I was in a dead run, mom walking purposefully but well behind. 

I let myself into my house, left the door open for mom and got to my room,flinging myself onto my bed,beset with fear. I heard my mom come in and thats all I remember.

 As far as I know,a tornado did not touch down in our area that day but whatever angry storm stalked us  left this third grader scarred for years afterward.

Rumbles of thunder,darkening skies and flashes of lightning gave me a form of PTSD. MY childhood years were never the same. BUT ,on the plus side that incident sparked my interest in weather and its effects. I studied it on my own and became aquainted with the great Chicago meteorologist Harry Volkman with whom I spoke to on the phone before many a storm after that incident. That was heady stuff for an 8 or 9 year old because Mr.Volkman was more than a weather forecaster he was a bonafide television personality who took my calls.

   My interest in weather never waned and today I have at least an elementary knowledge of the science and can read weather maps and fashion a forecast.I learned why the atmosphere does what it does and made  my peace with it. I abhor those forecasters who use storms to get ratings and frighten their viewers , while deeply respecting a forecaster like Mike Caplan who is four square against using weather as a weapon.

 It is  because of St.William that I was able to meet meteorologists Amy Freeze, Dr.Dave Eiser,Phil Schwarz and Bill Bellis TV personalities all,and a reflection of my interest in meteorology born that stormy day as a young student. A silver lining to a very dark cloud.

   Because I was part of these St.William fundraisers as an adult  those fine people visited our school and I resumed contact with Mr.Volkman who did me the honor of appearing at St.William on three occasions. Turns out this weather legend never forgot me and eagerly would tell the people that came up to him as we made our rounds "I remember Jeff from when he was eight years old! He used to call me!" I might have been a little embarrassed but I was also very  proud that I had a connection to this media giant. And I was also thankful he stopped the recollection there instead of adding "He used to be scared (wit)less!"

ST. WILLIAM STORIES CHAPTER 3:The Priests

 I am the product of a Catholic education. I'm proud of that because I believe it instilled in me some genuine , strong values and I have St. William school to thank for giving me direction. That said, I certainly do not look down on those who do not have the spiritual boost that I had growing up, it's just that for me, this was a benefit I enjoy to this day. 

  Now comfortably ensconced in "the new school", the scholastic equivalent to being called up to the big leagues,we could concern ourselves more with reading,writing and arithmetic and less with malfunctions in the classroom,ear splitting bells and why those urinals didn't automatically flush more often.

 Besides the nuns and lay teachers we encountered daily,we also had numerous priests serving St.William parish paying occasional visits to our classroom to remind us of our obligations to our faith as well as provide sort of a spiritual "road map".

 The first priest who didn't seem imposing or officious and who didn't deal in  fire and brimstone was Father Francis Veto, a young reverend recently appointed to St.William. Father Veto was a down to earth guy who had a sense of humor,charm and wit,someone to whom we could relate. He used to allow us to write down questions anonymously,put them in a box during the week,and he would draw them out and answer them on his usual weekly visits. We all looked forward to Father Veto's drop ins. I learned several years later that Father Veto left the priesthood but that did not diminish his influence in my eyes.

  Not every priest had the gifts Father Veto had that would enable us to look forward to his classroom visits.

  It was someone's bright idea to ,on occasion,have the priests visit to distribute report cards. This amounted to a frightening day of reckoning because giving out our report cards might be.... Father Chester Ubowski. Father Ubowski was a good priest.When he celebrated mass,you KNEW mass had been celebrated. His sermons invariably started in his regular calm voice but would inevitably work himself into a lather, his voice  booming out in righteous indignation.  Yup,he had the fire and a more than an ample supply of brimstone . I am sure that on his day off he was a nice guy  and even may have laughed once in awhile, (we have no witnesses) but when conducting his priestly duties,he was a force with which to be dealt.

So on report card day,when we had Father Ubowski distributing those progress reports,we were,well, ..petrified. He didn't just put the fear of God in us,he put the fear of getting less than a C+.

Father Ubowski didnt just call your name and give you the card,he would glance at the report and if he saw something he didn't like, and he didn't like much, he wasn't shy about expressing it...sometimes in a voice loud enough to be heard in the classroom next door or the next county .You got your report card with a side order of shout. He was the first priest I ever heard swear.I can still hear it. Whatever he had seen in one of my classmates' card riled him to the point where he declared "It makes me so damned mad!" I think the possibility that Father Ubowski might be delivering the next report card made us determined to do well and thus escape his wrath. 

  I've already run out of time so the life altering incident and the time I remember getting my first laugh must wait for the next installment. And after discussing the priests of my youth, there are teachers to be remembered as well. Stick with me and feel free to add comments of your own .I would enjoy hearing your own "St.William story." 

ST. WILLIAM STORIES SCHOOL DAYS

 My first engagement with St. William was as a first grade student. And while I can't remember the names of all my nuns and lay teachers, it must be true that you never forget your first.  And that was Sister Clarelle. 

 Looking back, I remember her as being young,relatively new to the order and a wonderful starting point.

 In those days we started in what was referred to as "the old school", the one of the two school buildings that had been there quite a long time. The relatively recently built "new school" might as well have been a different country to us. That was where the higher grades,the older kids, learned.They had the newer accomodations with actual coat rooms behind the blackboard. We had a closet with big old wooden doors that swung open all at once and came off the track often making it impossible to close. We got to know the custodians well . 

Such was life in the old building where urinals flushed automatically. Rumor had it that in the new school, the urinals had a lever you could pull to flush those things. Talk about high living. And hand dryers! No rough brown paper towels! I imagined that scholastic wonderland as a place that probably even had that new school smell. In our building the school bell rang so loud it might still be effecting my hearing. In the new school, a chime and muffled bell was much less startling,less like an alarm sending a firefighter to a roaring blaze.

I was a nervous first grader,a condition that has followed me through life. There was no kindergarten at St William so most of us went to nearby Locke School, part of the Chicago public school system. It was there where I became a championship level gagger. I didn't like it there and I "got sick" so often, my kiddie classmates would imitate me by putting their hands over their mouths in mock nauseation.

 On day one of my school days at Locke,already suffering separation anxiety, it was no help when my kindergarten teacher,Mrs Trodol, used this as an opening line as she threw her arms open and proudly announced : "Welcome to your new home!" That is NOT what a child already wanting to go home wants to hear. I freaked out immediately. I hope she changed her opening line for the kids that came after me and may have thought Locke was their new address . St.William today has had kindergarten for decades with outstanding teachers. If only I could've started my learning life there.

But I digress.

  I've come into St.William with those same anxieties ,buffered by the fact that I was closer to home, knew a kid or two in my class,and Sister Clarelle gave no indication we were not going to be able to return home,which was now nearby.

  Whatever nervousness I had was trumped by a new classmate in shorts who asked for permission to use the washroom. He requested that permission a little too late and he was wearing shorts, remember. So let's leave it at that. I still remember this unfortunate first grader's name but I will never divulge it. No St. William tell alls here. My first day of grammar school I witnessed my first "accident".

More on my student experiences next time including a  life changing incident, a couple of interesting priests from those days and my first memory of getting a laugh, which hooked me on trying to get them forever. 

ST. WILLIAM STORIES: Continuing Series

 I've written quite a few things in my day but never an obituary for a building. And while the soon to be shuttered St. William School is more than just a building to me, I have no intention of writing its obit. First because there are people much closer to that institution ,more familiar with the school and better equipped to detail its long,rich history than I.

  In short,I am not the school biographer nor its historian.

What I am is a former graduate as are many dear friends, a former employee and proud to have chaired its major fundraiser on a few occasions.

 I've got stories to tell. Tales that will be souvenirs for me when St.William closes up this June.

I've had the opportunity to meet some exceptional people,life changing people...people who also have St.William as part of their own stories. I don't intend to use any last names in most cases  (as you will note ) nor will I relate anything that will reflect badly on the people I've known or met nor break any confidences in what I will lovingly refer to as "my St.William years ."

These are just true stories with a grain of grammatical flourish  for entertainment sake. 

I saw,I experienced St.William from a number of angles,some of which many people won't even realize I had taken part in  back in the day.

It will serve not just to give light and love to my memories of this special place, but to serve as a record I can keep for the rest of my days.

I hope you'll follow my "St.William Stories". I will be posting either the stories or the link on my  Jeff Steven Kwit Facebook Page and The Harlem Nights Players Group Facebook page .

That link will bring you here to   my blog space with other samples of my writing work. You can get that at

http://www.jeffkwit.blogspot.com

Oh,and I sincerely hope I won't embarrass any of my former english teachers in the process.