Culture Shock in the 1960's

I am not much of a mathematician. That is a fact. So let me ask you what is the answer to this advanced problem?

8 - 7 = ?

I am informed by a reliable source that the answer to this puzzler is one. And in the math world that would be right. But in my world brought on many changes. I passed the summer of 1965 by going to summer school in the mornings to make up for my inability to pass seventh grade math. At first I was ashamed as I went to summer school that year. But then I started understanding some of these obscure concepts such as number lines, how to determine what angle a triangle was, you know, that sort of nonsense. After summer school was over my parents dropped the bomb on me and my siblings. Due to a major tuition increase we would be leaving the world of St. Joseph and St. Anne School and would be transferring to Nathan S. Davis Public School in the fall.  Please note that we were not asked if this was okay with us, we were just informed. 

At first this news disturbed me a bit. I would be leaving SJSA, the only home that I had known since the second grade. I would be leaving classmates that had accompanied me on my journey and I would be changing to another caravan to get me to the destination of High School. Then I thought that this could be a good thing. At SJSA I was always thought of as dumb and or lazy. The nuns lived in a closed society and their thoughts on the worth of a student had to be one of the points of discussion in the refectory at dinner time. By transferring I would be getting some good benefits: 

1. Anonymity - The teachers at this school will never had heard of me, I was never the subject of discussion around the table at any meal!  I would no longer be automatically considered dumb.
2. No more New Math - The nuns at SJSA were nothing if not progressive in their view of what a proper education should be. They embraced the "New Math" which I renamed the "New Mystery."  My friend Big Jim Boinski who attended Shields Public School said that they were being taught only ordinary arithmetic, you know, adding and subtracting, multiplying, and dividing. Hot Dog, that was for me. 
3. Clean Up Week I would be getting a whole week off in the spring - called clean up week. While my former classmates were slaving away at their studies, I would have a whole week of leisure. 
4. No More Bullies Since I was out of SJSA I would be leaving the bullies who tormented the "slower" kids. My slate would be clean and maybe, just maybe, I could shine and become one of the "in" crowd. 

So with some trepidation I started my new career at Nathan S. Davis School and left the nuns, the detentions, the bullies behind and boldly began my final year in grade school with the prize of high school just ten short months away!

That first day presented me with a good dose of culture shock. First, the classroom looked very old fashioned and had desks that were fastened to the floor. And the floor kind of creaked when you walked upon it, kind of like an old time hardware store. Shockingly, there was no crucifix on the wall, no pictures of the Holy Family, no reminders to pray, it was all so very secular and really a shock for this cradle Catholic boy.

The bell rang and all of the kids took their seats and the PA system announced that we would say the Pledge of Allegiance. We all stood and I almost made the sign of the cross, an understandable mistake for a boy who started each school day since first grade with prayer. In this new land, the sign of the cross was not needed.

My classmates were a typical lot of kids. But there was not a light blue shirt and a navy clip on tie in the whole classroom!  As a matter of fact, many of the kids were wearing bluejeans, which would get you the death penalty at SJSA because the school had never ever had bluejeans pass through the doors during the school week, it just wasn't done.

The teachers were ordinary men and women. They were not under vows of chastity, obedience, or poverty and appeared to like their jobs and had a healthy tolerance for the kids under their care. 

A lot of things happened this year. My grades got better, even in math. I did have to deal with some bullying, nothing that punching a kid in the nose wouldn't fix. I saw after school playground fights between George Pina who was in charge of ass kicking in the school and a hillbilly kid named Paul Ballard who for some reason could not keep his mouth shut when in the presence of George, and George was not one to accept insults lightly. His counseling sessions with Paul always ended up with someone having to help Paul up off the ground and to make sure he made it home without collapsing while crossing Pershing Avenue and becoming a hood ornament. 

I got over the culture shock of non-religious education, joined the patrol boys and once a week on Wednesday afternoon helped convoy the kids that signed up for CCD (religious education) to my old school SJSA.  It was kind of strange entering those walls again. Stranger still was I ended up sitting in my old seventh grade classroom,and I naturally made sure I sat in my old desk. I did not learn much that was new about being a Catholic that year. There was little that the nun could teach me that I had not heard before in grades KG through Seventh. But the walk broke up the week nicely and the nun that was teaching the class was one I had in sixth grade, Sister Margaret Jean, and she chose to not call on me when she asked the class a question. Some things don't change! 

My story about growing up on the southwest side of Chicago in the Brighton Park neighborhood contains a lot of humor, a number of lessons, a killer roller coaster, and a genuine flying nun and is available at at my publisher American Star  or at Amazon. com

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Try before you buy?  Sure - email me ( click here ) and I will send you a sample chapter, no cost, obligation, and I guarantee you will like it !

The Difference Between Surviving and Thriving in School

I am approaching retirement age now, not that I am going to retire. But early on in life I discovered that there is a difference between thriving and surviving.  I was an inmate at St. Joseph and St. Anne School in Chicago Illinois.  It no longer operates, the building is now occupied by a public school, probably the only one in the nation with a cross on the outside.  

I moved into the Brighton Park neighborhood during the summer of 1959. The street we moved to was loaded with intelligent life, yes, there were a lot of kids.  There also was a baseball field (parking lot) right across the street from where we lived.  It could not have been a better place to grow up.  The only better place I could think of would have been under the stands at Comiskey Park, home of the Chicago White Sox, the only professional ball club in Chicago. 

The neighborhood was a miniature Vatican City.  Everyone on the block was Catholic, except for two homes occupied by very nice, but very Protestant families. Since everyone was Catholic the vast majority of kids in our neighborhood went to one of the three Catholic schools in the neighborhood.  Closest to our home was St. Pancratius, mostly for the Polish kids in the neighborhood.  Then there was St. Agnes, for the Irish kids, and there was St. Joseph and St. Anne for everyone else.  I was in the everyone else category and so me and my two sisters went to St. Joseph and St. Anne.  I will refer to my elementary and middle school home as SJSA from now on.  SJSA was owned and operated by the Sisters of St. Joseph. There are a lot of terror stories about the nuns in the middle of the twentieth century and I am sure that while some of the stories are true, many have been embellished to pose the tale teller in the best light possible. I promise you that in this narrative I will refrain from too much hyperbole and try to lay out the facts in a truthful manner. The fact is that the Sisters of St. Joseph were not the kind of sisters that hit children. At least I never saw this happen.  Some of my fellow inmates claim that there were incidents of nun violence especially against the male inmates.  I do not think that the nuns really had to engage in physical violence. Back then their word was law and if you were punished in school and work got back to your parents, you were punished at home.  This fear kept us inline. as for me my "Wonder Years" in SJSA were the 4th, 5th, and 6th grades. 

In 4th grade I ended up being condemned to room B6, the B indicating a room in the basement. The rest of the school was airy and bright, the basement was more like a dungeon. This land of tan colored bricks, small windows, and  asbestos wrapped pipes was ruled by Mrs. R. Reid.  She was a witch in human guise. I was never a good student at SJSA, I had a learning disability for math and learning disabilities had a technical name back then, it was called "Stupid."  Once Mrs. Reid pegged you as stupid you were stupid in her eyes forever. She gave subtle hints as to which kids were stupid, hints that the wolf pack of fourth graders were quick to pick up. Stupid students were the subject of playground bullying. Luckily for me my friend Dennis was in the same room as me and since he enjoyed kicking ass, taking names, and going around a second time to make sure he did not miss anyone, I was spared much of the physical bullying. 

In 5th grade I had a teacher that was so opposite of Mrs. Reid that I began to wonder if Mrs. Reid came from an alien planet and just didn't know how we humans should be treated.  She treated all of the kids in her class the same.  Unlike most teachers she did not have a cadre of favorites, and she knew how to lead kids in a way that helped the slower ones.  Her name was Ms. Powaga.  I fell in love with her. She helped me see that there was a lot of good in me, that just because I had trouble with mathematics, I was still a good person. Bullying in fifth grade disappeared with some of the kids that were bullied the most became friends with those who bullied them.  It makes a difference who leads a classroom. 

My sixth grade teacher was Sister Margaret Jean. It was in this year that I learned how to stand up for myself and how to fight against the living tyranny of the Teachers Pet system. In doing this I was able to rack up fifteen demerits and numerous detentions and being one of the only students to receive a "D" in school spirit on my report card. My fifteen demerits in one semester is a record that was never broken up until the school closed and the building was leased to the Board of Education, City of Chicago, making it the only public school sporting a cross.  

My story about growing up on the southwest side of Chicago in the Brighton Park neighborhood contains a lot of humor, a number of lessons, killer roller coaster, and a genuine flying nun and is available at at my publisher American Star  or at Amazon. com

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Click Here for American Star


Try before you buy?  Sure - email me ( click here ) and I will send you a sample chapter, no cost, obligation, and I guarantee you will like it !

A Stroll Through St. Catherine's Cemetery

St. Catherine's Cemetery is an old Catholic cemetery in the outskirts of Chicago. As far as Catholic cemeteries go it is a very small one and has been around since about 1880. There isn't a lot of unoccupied space in it. There are a few family plots that are still awaiting a final resident or two to complete the family resting grounds intended use. It is interesting that there are buried here some people that you would classify as "boomers."  We are going to look at several of the people who when their life ended came here to this place to sleep in peace and await the resurrection. 

Close to the entrance we come upon the grave of John "Jack" Ryan, born 1948 died 1966. Jack's story can be repeated over fifty-eight thousand time. He was killed in Viet Nam while on a search and destroy mission. Nearby his grave are the graves of his mother and father. For all intents and purposes Jack's mother died in 1966 although her gravestone says 1980. She was never the same after Jack died. Jack's father was the strong one, at least in public. He cried himself to sleep more nights than he could count.  Jack was something of an oddity, he was a volunteer and he volunteered for the infantry. He believed in what the United States was trying to do in that divided country and was willing to put his life on the line for what he believed in. He was a sensitive boy in school, often the target of bullies because of his quiet nature. He had a spiritual side to him that guided his life and no one was going to force him to compromise his values. So he lies here today in sleep, forgotten to all but a hero never the less. His grave gives no indication of his military service. His parents turned down the government gravestone in favor of one with a religious inscription; "Good and Faithful Servant." 

Do you see just ahead the only mausoleum in this city of the dead. The gray granite bricks are almost covered by wildly growing ivy.  We look at the name over the door and it says "Sullivan."  This skyscraper among the monuments of this small cemetery is a centerpiece that speaks of opulence, wealth, and it also hides tragedy, betrayal, and violence.  William Sullivan is the only person occupying this mansion for the dead even though there is provision for three other family members. Now Bill is NOT a boomer. He is the father of a boomer.  His son ironically went by the same name as his dad with the addition of the title Junior.  Junior was a boomer child and Bill showered his son with whatever he wanted. Junior got used to getting everything he wanted without working for it.  In other words he was the worst kind of boomer child, a brat. When he reached his late teens, Juniors father realized he had created a monster. He tried bringing his son into the family business and was rewarded by his son embezzling ten thousand dollars. It was at this point that Bill cut his son off and put him on a very strict budget of five hundred dollars a month which was a mere fraction of what the boy was used to spending.  Junior wanted it all and plotted with his younger brother and sister to claim their inheritance by sending their Dad into the afterlife.  One day Dad came home and was greeted by a double shot of buckshot from his son's shot gun. The kids made up what they thought was a great story that would fool the cops, it didn't and the younger kids threw Junior under the bus by turning states evidence and William Junior was given a life without the possibility of parole in June of 1970 when he was just twenty-two years old.  The old man's estate went to the younger kids after their mother died but what goes around comes around. April, the wife of William was buried at another cemetery near her family. The younger sister bought herself a sports car and while high on drugs slammed it into a tree that refused to budge. The fact that she wasn't wearing a seat belt sealed her fate.  The younger brother went to Florida and settled in Key West. After squandering his share of the estate got involved in selling drugs and was shot to death by a rival drug dealer. He was buried in Florida. So that is the story of the Sullivan clan.  Sometimes being rich is more trouble than it is worth. 

Near the intersection of the two roads that crisscross the cemetery we come to the grave of a boomer who just died in 2015. Father Mark Solous was born in 1952 and from his earliest days he knew he had a vocation in the Church.  He went to Catholic schools all of his life, graduated with honors from all of the schools he attended. He was ordained in 1980 for the Diocese of Chicago and spent his life tending the flock in various parishes in Chicago and the suburbs. He was sent to parishes that were not rich. He always struggled to pay the bills and keep the lights and heat on. He also spent his life loving the people that he served. He was a tireless worker who often worked sixteen hours a day. He was always available to his parishioners, day or night.  Although he never complained he thought that after so many years of stellar service he should have received some sort of promotion. It was not to be. He worked under three different archbishops and although each of them was grateful for the hard work Mark did, they believed that he was well placed in parish life. Despite this silent disappointment, he continued to work mightily for the Church and it was like a cold slap in the face in 2013 when he was diagnosed with cancer.  Like everything else he did he fought the disease with his entire being.  In the end, wasted away to ninety six pounds he passed from this world to the next.  His family had a plot at St. Catherine's and it was here that hundreds of the people he served converged to pay their final respects to a man that they loved.  The Cardinal himself gave a stirring eulogy and tearfully said farewell to the priest who was an example of how the people of the Church should be served. 

Mark's neighbor is a boomer but she died while still a child boomer.  Born in 1950, Maria died in 1952 of childhood Leukemia. She was loved deeply by her parents who are buried on either side of her. I read her obituary which described her as "Our little angel whose smile disease could not defeat went home to be with Jesus on November 3, 1952."  The tears at this funeral were copious indeed. Her small white casket was lowered into the ground in the graveside service that was pretty much normal for the period. Mother and father watered the grave with water of their tears. Sometimes, the death of a child pulls a family apart. In this case, the faith of the Mother and Father held them together in a bond that could not be rent asunder. They went on to become parents to four other children, one of whom went on to be a Congressman.   

Let's rest under this tree, for the sun is hot and the day is long. Those that sleep here deserve their rest for they have been tested and are now under the care of God. Hundreds sleep here and they testify to the fragility of life. For as they are we will one day be. 

The above descriptions are based on real people and events but names have been changed and to my knowledge there is no St. Catherine's Cemetery in the outskirts of Chicago. Any resemblance to ancestors of your family is totally coincidental.    

Do You Remember 1976?

Fashion 1976 (?)

Let's face it, the 1960's and 70's were a much simpler time to live in.  To the left you can see that I was a quite a snappy dresser. Those blue plaid pants and that shirt really don't go together now do they?  Notice the pack of Winston's in the left pocket? Man I was really thin (compared to now) back then. This picture was taken in July of 1976 when we celebrated the Bicentennial of the United States.  What do we know about the Bicentennial year?  By the end of August of this year I was living in a monastery in Loretto Pennsylvania, having given up my job at Continental Bank.  I packed all my belongings in a television box and for two years lived the life of a religious brother. More about that in a later post. But in this year we were living with inflation, although the prices from back then seem quaint now. For example: 

• The average price for a new home was 48K in 1976 and while that sounds low to our ears that is up from 26K in 1970.
• First Class postage was 13 cents in '76 up from 6 cents in '70
• Gas was selling for 59 cents a gallon - up from 36 cents a gallon back in the good old days of 1970. 
• I have to share one quaint price that I happened upon, a loaded new 1976 Cadillac El Dorado could be yours for 11K in 1976.

Here are some other things of note from 1976.

• World Series was won by the Cincinnati Reds
• Superbowl X was won by the Pittsburgh Steelers
• A Superbowl  X add cost only $110,000.00
• The Stanley Cup was won by the Montreal Canadians
• In the Olympics, Nadia Comanici was the first to receive a perfect 10 - she received seven of them.  Also that man's man, Bruce Jenner won the Decathlon in this Olympic year. 
• In business Apple Computer was founded by Steve Jobs and Steve Wozniak.  Their first computer sold for $666.00. 
• In the war of Video Tapes, VHS won over Sony Beta Max. 
• Finally, one of my favorite songs of all times, "Oh What A Night" climbed to the top of the heap. 

The 1970's were a simpler time. When the phone rang we generally answered it. There were very few answering machines. Computers were still beyond the reach of most Americans and took up lots of space and did precious little compared to the devices we can carry around in our pockets today,

We talked to each other more and we listened to each other more. We were more polite, we obeyed the rules of the road, when driving and in life in general and we were shocked when a crime was committed. Dinner time was family time and we sat around the table and shared our day.  Parents were the only legal dictators in the world and how they disciplined their kids was their business. 

Share your memories of the fifties, sixties, or seventies. I would love to read about your experiences and hear your memories. 

My book, Glimpses of God, takes you through the fifties, sixties, and into the seventies. My life was nothing special as a matter of fact it was quite ordinary.  It is this ordinariness that we are missing in our modern age. I invite you to buy a copy of Glimpses and I am willing to send you a no obligation sample chapter from the book. All you have to do is ask for it. 

For a free sample sample click here:

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Boomer = Antique ?

The Gold Medal Class of Nathan Davis Public School 1967
I am in the 3rd row from the front, 2nd from the left - goofy looking with black glasses.

Above you can see the graduating class of Nathan Davis class of 1967.  I was a member of this memorable class but was really a junior member because I transferred in to this public school from a private Catholic school named St. Joseph and St. Anne in the Brighton Park community in Chicago Illinois.  

The year went by in a whirlwind so I wasn't able to make many lifetime friends between September and June of that year.  I doubt if many of these people would remember me today.  We had some characters in this class.  The alpha male was a kid named George. He loved to fight and loved to fight this hillbilly kid named Paul. Paul wasn't in our class but that didn't stop George from taking no insult from Paul. Paul had a bad habit, he was breathing the same air as George and he could not keep his mouth shut. Once every week or two the word would go out through the grapevine that there was going to be a fight after school.  The ass kicking would take place next to the laundry mat on Albany and Sacramento. Paul and George would get into it and two minutes later, his honor avenged, the fight would be over and Paul went off to lick his wounds and prepare for the next beating.  I just could not understand why Paul just couldn't shut his mouth around George. It did not make sense to me. 

As a new kid, I was fair game for bullying.  I accepted most of it with good natured humor and just kind of tried to blend into the woodwork as much as possible. Soon they grew weary of the game and started treating me as if I belonged.  In the boomer years being hazed was just part of the game.  It happened to everyone, except of course George, and you just got used to it. My eighth grade year was good.  I actually got fairly decent grades. Not honor roll but no failures. 

The other day I was looking at photographs on Flickr and happened upon one user's collection that featured a copy of his father's eighth grade class, circa 1967.  He described thus; "Scan of antique photo showing my father's grammar school graduating class."  Antique?  Good grief man, antiques are old things.  Something from 1967 can't be called an antique!  I felt so old when I read that.

Growing up on the Southwest side of Chicago was not always easy. You had to contend with all sorts of things, such as grumpy old ladies that hated baseball at seven in the morning, roller coasters that would attempt to pummel you to death, flying nuns intent on sending you to be with the Lord because you raised your hand.  On the other hand, there were many good times. Everyone who has read my book has loved it. I've sold enough copies of it to keep me securely employed at my day job!   This book is available at Amazon.com and at American Star Books.  The link below will take you directly to my page on both sites.  

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A free, no obligation, easily erased, sample of Glimpses of God  the story of growing up in the sixties and seventies on the Southwest side of Chicago is available for the asking.   (Click Here)

Remembering the Past - Living in the Now

It seems like yesterday when I woke up and started kindergarten. After the half day class I came home and told my folks that, "I was glad that was over with."  A lot of things have happened since that day so very long ago.  I have already written my autobiography and it was published and it sold well enough to keep me in my day job.(LOL!) But I wrote not necessarily to sell but because I enjoy writing and I enjoyed thinking about my life that was and how different things made me into the man I am today.  Those of you that have purchased the book have been kind enough to say that you enjoyed it and that means the world to me. 

My latest novel is now available, it is quite different than my autobiography.  It tells the story of a man that allowed himself to become a monster who haunts the streets of Chicago killing innocent people seemingly at random using a dart and poison. 

Part of the story of course takes place in Brighton Park which oddly enough is where our hero comes from.  I think it is a page turner...you can order it on Amazon.com - type in my last name and the list of my books will magically appear on your screen.  The Darkness is the name of this tale.