Even though I was going to classes at my old school that first year, I went to OHS every day for lunch as its cafeteria offered hot and cold food unavailable at Kingsford Park. Nobody said I was eligible to do this, but nobody said I wasn't. There I met Margaret Kunzwiler who ran the cafeteria and who wrote in my OHS yearbook, "to one of the nicest boys I've ever had the pleasure of serving." Too bad she wasn't a pretty young girl my age.
I started at OHS my sophomore year the following summer of 1960. As I had no plans for those months, I decided to get a head start on my course requirements. I took first semester World History and a basic typing class which helped me master the keyboard of the typewriter then and the notebook of today (on which I am writing these words).
I spent three years at OHS until my graduation in June of 1963, almost fifty-five years ago. Besides my friends and classmates, I remember many of my teachers.
The one I remember the most is Frank Bartello, my driver education teacher senior year. By coincidence, his father and brother were my barbers. His relative youth (only eight years older) and casual manner separated him from most of the rest of the faculty. I'm happy he taught me how to drive rather than my father who was a terrible driver.
Once I was driving the school car east on West Bridge Street and Mr. Bartello asked me to turn right at the next intersection. Because of my inexperience, I froze and forgot to slow down. We were headed for an accident until Mr. Bartello pulled on his emergency brake. Thanks!
Another time, we were driving back to Oswego after a sojourn to nearby Fulton when Mr. Bartello caught me speeding. He didn't scream at me, just asked what was I thinking. I believe that was the last time I did that. I was saddened recently when I discovered he died last April at the age of 80.
My favorite English teacher was Jessie Fleischman. She required her students to write lot of compositions, which was not easy for me then. I don't think Mrs. Fleischman ever gave me an A. But, I kept trying to earn her respect as a writer. I wonder what she would think about my blog posts.
Her husband, Philip Fleischman, was my World History teacher. I remember his sense of humor. ("Two piers equal a paradox" or "a pair of docks.") I also remember him philosophizing that if two people were alone on a desert island for a long time, the result would either be love or hate, not ambivalence.
My American History teacher was Francis Riley who had the habit of calling me Joel, my eldest brother's name. This was of course embarrassing, but I always responded as there was no Joel in my class.
Mr. Riley was very interested in politics. Once he said they would eventually build a statue to Senator Joseph McCarthy ("I have a list of members of the Communist Party employed in the State Department"). Thankfully they haven't. When my Physics teacher, Vincent Corsall, successfully ran for Mayor, Mr. Riley was his campaign manager and political adviser.
Mr. Corsall was probably the most popular teacher in the school. He made physics fun. He also had a sense of humor. Once he showed up wearing outlandish socks that didn't match. He and the whole class laughed uproariously. When he ran for mayor, his opponent was Ralph Shapiro, a family friend, which put me in an awkward position. There were suspicions that Mr. Corsall was gay, which was not generally acceptable back in the 1960s.
Frank Reed was my Chemistry teacher senior year. In the beginning, I was having trouble with the subject matter. So much so I decided engineering was no longer a good idea. (I had applied to college as an engineering student. I switched to business.) However, under Mr. Reed's guidance I bounced back and did very well in the New York State Chemistry Regents exam (91). Ironically, it was the reverse of Physics where I did very well during junior year, but was disappointed with my grade in the Physics Regents (81).
Then, there were the Wales sisters, Margaret Wales in math (where I prospered) and Ruth (Wales) Young in Latin (where I struggled). For more on Mrs. Young, see my blog post, Ides of March.
Finally, I remember Ruth Raby, the Assistant Principal, a short little woman who even the toughest kid in school feared. When she entered a room, you could hear a pin drop.
B-U-C-C-A-N-E-E-R-S, Go Buccaneers!
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