This was written two years ago for posting on a blog that Paul Hennessy created in honor of Wheatley's 50th anniversary celebration. It is lengthy. Thank you Paul for giving us the opportunity to post our thoughts. Should you see a (?) following a sentence, it means I’m unsure of what I wrote.
In any case,
Memories,
Light the corners of my
mind
Misty water-colored
memories
Of the way we were
Scattered pictures,
Of the smiles we left
behind
Smiles we gave to one
another
For the way we were.
So sang Barbara Streisand.
Barbara Streisand is the same age as many in Wheatley’s class of 1960. She was
born on April 24,1942. She graduated though in 1959. The reason for the
disparity is that she chose an accelerated program. Miriam Golub was a member
of the class of 60, but she too chose to graduate early and was not there for
our senior year. Miriam Golub meant a lot to me. She was very nice. One Friday
Night in 9th grade I went to her house. Her parents gave us some privacy, some.
We watched TV on a couch. You know what? She had braces. You know what? I had
pimples. You know what? We kissed. You know what? She was the first girl I ever
kissed. My world was never the same. I didn’t walk home that night from Roslyn
Heights to my home in East Williston. I glided. Thank you Mimi.
Miriam was quite attractive
to these eyes. I like pretty women and have been looking at them all my adult
life. In retrospect, walking the halls of Wheatley were the best looking girls
I have ever seen, ever-Marty Corbett, Lucy Mullman, Pat Birkhead, Arlene Bach,
Linda Beattie, etc., etc. As the song lyrics went-“Hey little girl in your high
school sweater.” Beautiful! And they still, periodically, cross my mind, pretty
as ever…and as elusive and unattainable as ever. Too bad.
Speaking of the halls of
Wheatley I can remember that when it first opened its doors there was much
hoopla over the fact that there were to be ¬no locks on the student lockers. I
never gave it too much thought and throughout my 4 years in the building I
simply took it for granted that there was no need to use a lock. What
forethought and vision on the part of the school board, administration and
faculty. They broke the mold and it is a splendid example of the successful
effort of so many people to create something different, something special in
that new little high school in Old Westbury. I wonder if there are locks on the
lockers now?(?) I hope not.
If there is one season that
I identify most with Wheatley it is fall. Perhaps because it was when school
started, friendships were renewed and routine replaced summer vacation
randomness. Or more probably because it was when football ruled. For some high
school students, then and now, nothing in the life of an adolescent was more
important, more grand, more life altering because for the first time in your
life you were now part of something bigger and more important than you, that
became an experience that added far more to your character than you expected
when you first “went out for the team.” Even though but a game, it was a sudden
introduction of very naive teenagers to the seriousness of life. There were
many other sports that did the same but perhaps none with the intensity for
young boys being overwhelmed by triple shots of testosterone.
And before we all donned
the feared red and white uniforms of the Wheatley School the class of 60 played
a momentous game on the playing fields of I U Willets School on a clear October
Saturday morn. With the creation of a new school district and the building of
Wheatley the students from Northside spent their 8th grade with the students
from I U Willets Road. On a personal note I had moved from Williston Park to
East Williston at the end of 7th grade and was a “new” student at I U Willets
knowing no one. And in fact it was an easy transition for me, as it was a
melting pot for all, as two schools were combined and one half of the student
body did not know one another. In any case, after 6 weeks new friendships were
made and a challenge football game was made-East Williston/Northside vs I U
Willets/Roslyn Heights, a civil war if you will. Our squad trekked up Roslyn
Road via foot or bicycle where we met our feared classmates from I U Willets.
Oh and the equipment we had-everyone used old helmets (perhaps leather in some
cases?) and beat up ratty shoulder pads covered with assorted sweatshirts. The
game was played on half grass and hard dirt. The East Williston squad won,
quite handily as I remember. The score escapes me but I suspect John Moncure,
the keeper of the tablets for such events, would know.
Girls from the class
attended the game. I remember what many of them wore. They had on long
tan/camel colored overcoats. Were they cashmere? Couldn’t be. Must have been
wool. Were they called anything in particular (?). Many of the girls had them.
I found them incredibly stylish. What they did not know is that they created at
that juncture of time a fashion trend far ahead of its time. The Preppy Look
was born. I loved those coats. When my granddaughter is old enough I shall seek
one out and buy it for her. I’m sure she will say thank you Papa, while
thinking what the hell crossed his mind this time.
Certainly that game was
fine training for future efforts at the high school level. But there was
another venue that helped us in our preparation for gridiron glory. It was the
infamous “Pony Field” which was essentially a small, sloping hill/mini canyon
located next to Pete Krumpy’s house on School Street and provided many, as that
popular song of 1955 and 56 said, “Moments to Remember.”
And then on to Wheatley
football. It was there we met coach Jack Davis, a teacher that influenced and
touched me forever. We all have our parents, and some of us are blessed to be
them as well. Yet there are limitations to child raising and to our control.
There remain things we are incapable of doing. It is left to friends and
teachers to fulfill those roles and responsibilities and it is why teaching has
and remains a most critical profession. And most all student athletes, male and
female, secondary and college often are touched, influenced, and molded by a
coach or coaches.
For many of us at Wheatley,
Jack Davis was that person, an icon whose lessons still reverberate around many
of our aging personalities.
Besides being the consummate
motivator and teacher he had one technique which was way ahead its time. In the
country’s recent history, school prayer has been a political hot potato. Jack
had it solved. Flashback for many reading this. Football game. On a Saturday
afternoon we would do our warm ups, maybe a half an hour-stretching exercises
led by our captains, Jack Davis taking his backs through certain plays, Bill
Lawson, another great coach, berating us dumb linemen. 5 minutes prior to
kick-off we would all assemble in an end zone. Jack would get us all in a
circle on one knee, with helmets off, and he would say this-“For those who pray
say a silent prayer.” For those of us who did, we would. After 20 seconds Jack
would say, “Amen, now get up and give them hell!” I have done my share of
public speaking and on occasion have been asked to say an invocation. I always
prefaced it by saying “For those who pray….” I don’t think too many people
could object, even Supreme Court Justices. Thank you coach.
In the first full season of
varsity football Wheatley had an undefeated football season. That incredibly
talented class of 1958 led it. How loaded they were! There were no playoffs in
those years but there was a strong possibility that the Wheatley football squad
led by those players from 58 was the best in Nassau County that season. After
that football season the basketball team also had a fabulous run. As I recall,
there were basketball playoffs with no classes based on student enrollment.
Rather Wheatley, given our small size, was seeded last and we had to play
Hempstead the first seed in the first game. It seems to me Lary Nagler, as was
his wont, shot the day lights out of the ball and we lost by a hair, almost
pulling off a momentous upset (?).
A leader of that class was
Steve Perlin, a ferocious quarterback and a man-child on the field. In 1965 I
was out of college and was a 2nd Lt of Marines stationed at Camp Pendleton, CA.
I had a weekend off and with my new wife went for a ride up the Pacific coast.
We were in Laguna Beach, a seaside haven for artists, bohemians, and Marines.
We were stopped at a light on a 4-lane highway when a car full of Marines
pulled up alongside us. I looked at the guy riding shotgun and saw a large scar
on his cheek. I half heartedly said-“Perlin?” He turned, looked at me and
said-“Martino?” The identifying scar of course was caused by a near fatal car
accident on a curve on Bacon Road, not more than a mile from the school. In any
case, that afternoon we pulled our cars off the road and reacquainted
ourselves. I was surprised and flattered that Perlin remembered me. Steve was a
Marine jet pilot and stationed at El Toro Air Station. As many of us know, a
few years later, while flying in the reserves, he was killed in a training
accident. I believe it was near Albany, NY. Semper Fi Marine.
I have been a fan of high
school football for many years. It helped that both of our sons played the
sport in a small, upstate New York school the size of Wheatley. It is called
Adirondack High School. The Adirondack…Wildcats in fact. And over the many
years of watching countless games I have never witnessed a more talented tandem
in the backfield than Matt Sanzone and John Votano from the class of 59.
Incredible talents. Scary.
John Votano, to me, always
had an air of mystery about him. Handsome and talented he seemed to be 16 going
on 25. And he had a tattoo way before they became fashionable. To the best of
my knowledge, he was the only guy at Wheatley who possessed one. (?) And truly
challenging my memory the tattoo consisted of three letters. Were they the
letters W H O with the W upside down? (?)
One afternoon we were
running laps toward the tail end of practice. On the north side of the campus
there was a chain link fence and on the other side of it were a few apple trees.
The many ripe apples caught the eye of Tom Kull. After practice and showering
Tom Kull, Hugh Drummond, and myself walked to the fence, scaled it, went to a
tree and ate some fresh apples. Delicious. And as I reminisce my mind
recognizes how pretty the Wheatley campus was. As a teenager, the ground’s
beauty was the furthest thing from my mind. Now, in my later years, nature’s
splendor is a prized treasure. What lovely grounds surrounded The Wheatley
School building. How fortunate we were.
Hugh Drummond. Bulldog.
Class of 61. Iconoclast. Fiercely independent. Good man. He too, passed over,
way to early. I suspect that I was the last classmate to see him. It was in the
late 60’s and I was out of the Marine Corps and enrolled in graduate school at
San Diego State. One night I received a phone call and was pleasantly surprised
to hear from Bulldog. He had graduated from UVA, had accepted a commission in
the Air Force and was stationed at a base close to Los Angeles. He wanted to
get together and we did two weeks later as he flew down in his own airplane. It
was small, red, a two-seater and he was very proud of it.
That night Bulldog, my wife
and I met friends at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot Officer’s Club. Sitting at
the table with my buddies was an attractive girl whose name was Carol. She was
very pleasant and lived in a small cottage in La Jolla, a block from the ocean.
She liked to entertain and often served Mexican food so her nickname was “Taco
Carol.” Bulldog fell in love with her. He would fly or drive down from L A
every weekend. Carol was divorced and had two small children. Bulldog took to
all three. He told me one night, perhaps a month before he was to transfer,
that he was in love with Carol and had never been happier in his life. I
thought his friends reading this would appreciate how happy and content he was
in his last days. His plane crashed in, I believe, Tennessee as he was flying
across country. Carol was devastated. I have lost track of her but hope that
she is well.
We were blessed to have
such an outstanding faculty at Wheatley and I find it difficult and unfair to
name a “favorite.” Let me just name two who had a marked influence on my
future. They were Mr. Doig and Dr. Wills. Mr. Doig sparked my lifelong interest
in history. And Dr. Wills cajoled me into chorus where I developed a lifelong
disinterest in singing. Their strong suit was their enthusiasm. I became a
teacher-middle school for 2 years, high school for 3, and college for 19. My
strong suit? Enthusiasm. It often hides weaknesses, but can also frequently,
carry the day. Thank you gentlemen.
I cut school twice. The
first time was when a bunch of us decided that if the ponds froze we would all
go play hockey. When a cold front came in we tuned into the radio stations and
between rock and roll songs on WINS, WMCA, listened for weather forecasts. With
temperatures forecasted to be in the teens along with an inch of ice already
formed many of us cut class one January day and showed up at Westbury Pond. We
loved hockey. Goals were made out of 3 to 4 foot long branches. Only equipment
we had were hockey sticks and skates. Oftentimes girls from the school would
show up and we would form a long line holding hands and start skating as fast
as we could and the first person in line would make a hard turn with the
intention of making the people at the end go very fast. I think we called it
the “whip” or was it the “snake”(?).
And then there was the
hockey game that the erstwhile Charlie Zimmerman set up to be played at the
rink in Roosevelt Field. Somehow or other he met some guys from Valley Stream
(?) that had a team and Charlie laid down the gauntlet. We all showed up with
our equipment, the above named skates and sticks. No jerseys, no pads, no
helmets, which the other team had in abundance. We sort of warmed up and
watched the other team go through totally organized routines and a very deep
apprehension set in on the boys from Wheatley. Paul Mann was our goalie. Two of
us got had to get on either side of him and assisted/pushed him in front of the
goal. Paul Mann, our goalie, could not skate.
Be that as it may, the puck
was dropped for the face-off and somehow it got to Gary Zebrowski who wound up
and took a slap shot. By some incredible luck it trickled through a bunch of
players including their goalie and we had scored a goal. Was this to be the
precursor of a famous game to be played 20 some odd years later-The Miracle on
Ice in Lake Placid? Nope, not at all. The other team scored the next 21 goals,
no typo, 21 and we lost 21 to 1. Looking back on it, at least it was not a
shutout. The shell-shocked Paul Mann was never the same. Don’t laugh. It could
have been you in goal. Many of us thought that this incident, and others,
pushed Paul toward a career in psychiatry.
The other time I cut school
was on our senior skip day. As was the tradition, a week or so before
graduation, many of us skipped school and took off for Jones Beach. Ah Jones
Beach! What a great place. Most teenagers and young people of the day always
congregated at one of the 9(?) parking lots found there. I can’t remember but I
think we use to go to parking lot 3 or was it 4. (?) The beer, the sunshine,
the camaraderie produced many a great afternoon. On that particular day I left
the parking lot and got into a fight in the parking lot. It was my first fight,
and to this day, my only one. Although somewhat of a jock, and relatively big
and strong, I did not know how to fight. I still don’t. Unfortunately I picked
a fight with a guy who turned out to be one of the toughest guys on the South
Shore. He truly kicked my ass-blood all over my face, stitches, nose rearranged
a bit, quick visit to doctor’s office, and a very embarrassed last week of
walking the Wheatley halls.
It was I believe 1968 and
my wife and I had flown east from San Diego to visit family for the
holidays-Christmas in Virginia and then New York for New Years. While on the
Island I was curious to see if the Picture Lounge, our main watering hole, was
still open. It was so I took my wife there for a drink. The bartender that
night was, I believe, Dick Pensa, class of 61. (?) I ordered a couple of beers
and Dick said, “Martino-do you remember the guy you got in a fight with at the
beach?” I said, “Yes, how could I forget?” At which time Pensa replied, “He was
killed in Vietnam, 101st Airborne.”
My lower jaw dropped a half
an inch; I was dumbfounded. You could have knocked me over with a feather. I
said, “I am very sorry to hear that.” I have been to the Vietnam Veterans’
Memorial Wall probably 10 times. While there I have paid my respects to many I
know engraved on it including that soldier from the South Shore I met in June
of 60. May he and I both see the day when we sit around another campfire. Rest
in peace, brother and brave warrior.
Help me here. I have often
believed that our school newspaper, “The Wheatley Wildcat,” was published
weekly. Was it? (?) Even if it was bi-weekly or monthly for that matter, what
an incredible feat! 4 complete pages and often more. The layout, the content,
the writing-what standards, what effort! The “Wheatley Wildcat” is to me a
great example of what a special school Wheatley was. Kudos, especially to
faculty and staff that made it possible.
In the early 70’s my wife
and grew tired of California and decided to relocate to Virginia to be closer
to her family. I had picked up a free real estate magazine in a 7-11
specializing in rural properties. We found a photo of a home that grabbed our
fancy. It was located in Farmville, Virginia approximately 2 hours from my
in-laws. I called up the high school there and asked if they had any openings
in social studies. They said they did and we set up an interview.
We drove across country
with much hope and excitement. Approaching Farmville I saw a roadside sign
demarking the county. It said, “Prince Edward County,” and I turned to my wife
and said, “Honey, I’m not sure but I believe this is where the former Wheatley
School Superintendent went to after he left our district. He was right in the
middle of the desegregation fight.” I was interviewed and asked the High School
principal if he knew Dr. Sullivan. He said certainly and we had a brief
discussion about Dr. Sullivan’s tenure. It seemed to me, for whatever reason,
the principal was reluctant to speak much about Sullivan.
I was offered a job at Farmville but did not accept it. As I wrote this part of the blog I took time out. Hello Google, where I found the obituary of Dr. Neil Sullivan.
For one more time, let us
walk down Hillside Avenue. Starting at Northside walking west toward the
tracks. Right across from Northside was the side street that Pat Birkhead, Bev
Burroughs, and Sally Campbell lived. Also, I believe Bob Holly of weatherman
and Forestport, NY fame. One further block finds School Street. Take a right on
it and you head toward Malm, Hennesey, Krumpey, Dixie, Linda Beattie and Marty
Corbett among many others. Continuing down Hillside we cross Roslyn Road and
then past the Community Church where the wonderful Mr. And Mrs. Schaeffer and
children lived. Some of us attended that church. Greetings to YP and Ms. Fish.
Then Sue Holzweiss. Where
is her cousin Tom Holzweiss (?). And then Bickey, and of course his barn, the
home of as a good high school blow out you could ever imagine. The barn also
was headquarters for the Spartans. Yes Wheatley was again ahead of its time as
we were the first school on the North Shore to have, dare I say it, a gang. The
Bloods and the Crips had nothing on us-crime, a stolen fire extinguisher, and
violence-John Moncure’s big and short fight in the little East Williston park
(? What was it, the park, called (?). In any case, the administration made
short shrift of the Spartans as we were all summarily called into Mr. Whathey’s
Office (?). There we hastily promised to mend our ways.
Continuing our walk down
Hillside Avenue we cross the tracks. The first shop on the north side of
Hillside was I believe Judd’s Jewelry store (?) where many a guy dropped a few
bucks-remember ID Bracelets-didn’t our girlfriends have to have one from us to
prove our fidelity to them. (?) On top of Judd’s store was a sign. It said
this-“Welcome to Williston Park. Go slow see our shops. Go fast see our cops.”
Next to Judds was Nassau Business Machines. This was where my father made a
living selling and fixing typewriters. He made friends with a father of one of
the guys I mentioned earlier. Steve Perlin’s dad sold Encyclopedia Britannica,
which often required going door to door and also having marketing literature
placed in retail stores. My father had one of those in his store and he and Mr.
Perlin often had a cup of coffee together and shot the breeze.
Past that block we pass
Mahoney’s where we would periodically see some teachers stopping in for a well
deserved drink-often embarrassing both them and us. And then to our final
destination-Hilderbrandts. We spent many an evening and afternoon there in our
early years. The smells emanating from that store still are with me.
Should some of us be so
fortunate to see our 50th and 60th and perhaps 70th class reunions I can see us
no longer capable or desiring to meet for a few beers or drinks. Rather we
might better assemble at Hilderbrandts. Life is like that, isn’t it? It often
comes full circle.
And also a special thank
you to Ike. (?) Remember him-head custodian I believe. He and his people kept
that place spotless for all us spoiled white kids. I salute you and your staff
sir, and hope you are well wherever you are.
What a special place
Wheatley was. Our parents, the good Lord bless them, virtually all survivors of
the Depression and WW II, made a bold move to the suburbs for a better
lifestyle and with school administrators and faculty created Wheatley where we
found ourselves in the innocent and halcyon days of the late 50’s early 60’s
before drugs, assassinations, Vietnam, Watergate, AIDS and then 9-11 simply
listening to rock and roll and playing sports and going to drive in movies and
drinking black and whites at Hilderbrandts and dreaming of our futures.
Hopefully, Wheatley’s class of 2007 will have like memories. They are, after
all, like we once were, young.
Thank you all for the
memories you gave me.
So it's the laughter
We will remember
Whenever we remember...
The way we were...
Ken Martin