Category: McKinley High

[The following are direct transcriptions from my diary for the last two weeks of high school. A “gentle reader” may scan the names I’ve included. Perhaps, I should have deleted them from this transcript, but the memory of these classmates is still important to me, and my past.]

Sunday, May 24: Went to noon Mass. Spent the day at home – my last day in the seventeenth year of my life. Some life. I’m entirely disgusted with it. If it doesn’t change soon there is no use in existing any longer. But before I die I want to see everything and do everything there is to see and do. I want a full life to make up for my youth of dull monotony. Life should be worth the effort of living. So far it has not been worth the effort.

Monday, May 25: Happy birthday to me – since no one else will say it, or rather has said it today. As each year for the past 18, this was an extremely lousy day. The Board of Education meets tonight to hear how the Seniors finished. I think I will be third. My guess is: Johanna David, first; Myrtle Ann Gifford – second; myself – third; and Scott Garrett – fourth. As long as I come in ahead of Scott, I don’t care what I place. Mailed my graduation announcements at last.

Tuesday, May 26: I was wrong about the honor roll. I am valedictorian. Myrtle Ann is salutatorian; then Virginia Granata, Scott Garrett and Martha Smith. I was more excited about Mart’s fifth place than I was about my own position. I had the devil of a time trying to think of a quote for the Hi-Crier. Golly, I’ve worked for the position, so how could I say how I feel. But confidentially, I feel pretty great about the honor. However, I really wonder if it was worth it. I wish, instead, I were more like other guys. Maybe they didn’t place on the honor roll, but they’ve had fun in high school. They have memories, but what do I have – nothing. I hope college is different. We got our caps and gowns today. They are blue while the tassel is red. Had a Senior assembly at which I presented Miss Galster with a gift and Bob Wick gave Mr. Sharp a watch.

Wednesday, May 27: Our Dragon {school year book} at long last arrived today. On the whole they are very nice. I like them. We had a Jr-Sr assembly today on civil defense. Fourth period I went up to see Mr. Bond about my valedictory speech. He told me what to include. All I have to do is write it. This evening George Davies, Bob Billig, and I went to see The Niles Story. It was mainly one long commercial. The only things I enjoyed were last year’s seniors, underclassmen, and the faculty.

Thursday, May 28: Senior Banquet: I rushed around this morning to get speeches lined up for the banquet. The banquet was nice – at least the speeches were. However, the turkey was extremely cold and I had trouble locating the potatoes. The program included: Grace – Dorothy Ann Wenzel; Toast – Bob Wick; History WJHS – Myrtle Ann Gifford; History McKJHS – Janice Gibson; Tenth grade, serious – Lucy Liberatore; Tenth grade, humorous – Tom Calderone; Eleventh grade, serious – Bob Billig; Eleventh grade, humorous – Ron Nolder; Twelfth grade, serious – Barbara Gerheim; Twelfth grade, humorous – Dick Rashilla; Class prophecy – Diane Lapolla & Joann McNammara; Faculties – Mr. Sharp; Introduction of Board – Bob Wick; Introduction of Mr. Cardinal (retiring) – Scott Garret; Introduction of Miss Gagster (retiring) – Bob Owens; Farewell – Bob Wick. All of the speeches were wonderful. Wick’s farewell was touching. Rash’s was wonderful. In a few more years he’ll be another Eddie Fusco – toastmaster. {No, I did not give a presentation; as usual, I was the behind-the-scenes person who organized everything!}

After the banquet I felt in a down mood and was walking home when I met Bob Wick, also walking home. So we walked together. Boy, did we walk – all the way to Washington Junior. Then we stood on the porch (or terrace) and talked and talked about almost everything. Bob admitted that we aren’t close friends, but it seems like we sure confide in each other. Talking to Bob is like talking to my alter ego. I can relax and say whatever I feel. And he does the same. I wish we could be friends. It would be interesting to someday repeat our little talking itinerary. I hope we can. Bob is a swell guy – in fact he’s tops. Everyone likes him. He told me how to gain friends – learn to act like them and like what they like. Which means I have to learn baseball.

Friday, May 29: Recognition Day and Saturday, May 30: This was certainly a busy day. We Seniors wore our caps and gowns to school for the Jr-Sr assembly. As valedictorian I had to give a Bible reading and a prayer. I choose the Book of Proverbs, Chapter 2 and the Lord’s Prayer. I got a number of certificates. I also received a gold medal for valedictory honors. I received a check for $10 from the Kiwanis Club and $5 from the Rotary. I hope I didn’t break them with the gifts. The assembly lasted for over two hours which was way too long.

After the assembly we had practice for Baccalaureate on Sunday night. This afternoon George Davies stopped for me and we went to see some of the teachers at Washington Junior. After that we went down town and we met Martha Smith and Diane Lapolla with the car. We asked if they would take us to Warren to register for the draft. There we gave the registrar a rough time with our names. She wouldn’t believe my name was Patty until she saw my birth certificate. When she didn’t see William down, she wouldn’t put it on my draft card. George Davies had trouble too because his father’s name is Davie. Afterward, we talked to Mr. Cardinal. Saturday I wrote my valedictory.

Sunday, May 31: Baccalaureate: I went to 12 o’clock Mass. This evening I went to the Baccalaureate with George. I’m glad it lasted for only 55 minutes. Afterwards, George, Bob Billig, John Tudhope, and I went to the Robbins to see Off Limits with Bob Hope. It was very funny. Afterward we went up to the Snack Shack to eat. Then we drove around for a while.

Monday, June 1: I typed out my speech. Rode down to graduation practice with Billig and George. We each got twelve tickets. Now I have to weed down from twenty-some relatives. After practice I took my speech to Mr. Bond. He approved it. Then George and I went to talk to Mr. Cardinal again. He’s a wonderful person and teacher. It’s too bad for the students that he is quitting. This evening I went over to George’s to watch TV and to help him fill out an application to Kent.

Tuesday, June 2: [Don Seaborn’s Wedding; Queen Elizabeth II Crowned] Because of a lack of transportation I was not able to see either event. I went to town this morning to get a key chain and to have my valedictory pin engraved. This afternoon I tried to memorize my speech. My gifts so far include an electric razor from Ed Shobel (my father’s friend) and a pen and pencil set from Uncle Frank and Aunt Rose Borecki along with mom’s key chain.

Wednesday, June 3: Graduation: Well today was the big day. I felt extremely nervous this afternoon about my speech. I was also very disgusted with “him.” Although I am valedictorian, not once has “he” congratulated me or even mentioned my merit. Instead he jokes about my graduating and going to college. I got dressed early and went to George’s to wait because I couldn’t stand being around “him.”

Before commencement began, Myrtle Ann Gifford and I had our pictures taken. There was a large crowd there. All my relatives, except Uncle Frank Moransky, were there. I think the ceremonies were very short and very nice. My speech, which I did not forget, was about four minutes long. I was awarded the Alumni Trophy for scholarship. I am able to keep it. After the ceremonies the teachers congratulated me and said they liked my speech. The best complement came from Jim Cera, who said mine was the first speech he’s ever listened to.

After the graduation, all the relatives except Uncle Bill and Aunt Ada came to our place. Then I saw the rest of my gifts. Aunt Vi gave me a suitcase; Aunt Sophia – five dollars; Uncle Bill – shirt and links; Isadore – ten dollars and Camerino’s – fifty dollars.

Then Billig, George, and Gus Spetios came after me. My relatives went up-the-hill and I went with the gang to a round of parties. George mixed beer with high balls, the other two had one high ball, but me – I stuck to ginger ale – I don’t like alcohol. I think I saw more juniors tonight than seniors. We had seven girls and we four boys in Billig’s club coupe. I got in at two AM with a load of happy memories for one evening.

{As with the diary record of the completion of my senior year in high school, I am including a copy of the Valedictory Speech I presented for my graduating class on June 3, 1953.}

Friends, this evening has a twofold meaning. It is both a sad time and a joyous one. It is both an end and a beginning.

This evening is a sad time because it is the last time that we members of the Class of 1953 will be gathered together. Since this is our last full meeting, it is fitting that each of us counts his precious memories of the past twelve years.

Our parents, watching us graduate on this evening, remember our first day of school. To them it seems so short a time ago. Their precious children – yes, you and I – started then on a new life. Our parents now see us marking a new milestone in our lives. And they continue to remember.

And the members of the faculty, sitting there, remember, too. They remember the trials and tribulations we caused them. They perhaps now recall a more happy moment we brought them and perhaps they smile to themselves.

We Seniors, too, have our memories – memories of things learned and, more important perhaps, friends made. We sit here thinking of the happy times we’ve had together, from the talking on the school corner to the things done in class. Each has his own memories, each has his own treasures.

And remembering, we are sad. Sad because we are leaving the familiar halls of Niles McKinley. Sad because we are separating from friends. No doubt we shall visit these same halls and see these same friends. But the feeling of belonging, the feeling or sameness will be gone. We will strive to re-create these feelings but only the dim memories will be left. Yes, this is a sad evening.

But it is a joyous one, too. Our first goal has been reached; graduation is here. Before us lies the world, waiting to be conquered by each of us. And in our expectation of our future, this is a joyous evening.

This evening also marks an end and a beginning. Here in this stadium we end our lives as children and teenagers. Here we begin our lives as young men and young women of Niles, of Ohio, of the United States, yes, of the World.

Yesterday, nothing mattered except our own pleasures; how much we could get with the least effort. But tomorrow the world is ours; tomorrow we will vote for our freedom; tomorrow we will fight for our freedom; tomorrow we will continue to have our freedom.

Gone are the days of play; arrived are the days of work. No longer will our parents be able to take our minor troubles upon themselves; no longer will our teachers be able to encourage us to work. Now we must use what our parents and teachers have taught us; by using this education, we must better our lives. The life each of us now makes, depends only on the individual making it.

Yes, tonight is both an end and a beginning – the end of youth, the beginning of young adulthood. But thanks to our parents, teachers, and friends it has been a happy youth. It will be a prosperous adulthood.

Tonight we are united; tomorrow we each go a different way. Perhaps we will meet again – on a busy corner or perhaps at a class reunion. But our everyday paths part now.

Some of us will go on to colleges throughout this land. They will continue the book-learning begun at Niles McKinley. Others will begin working in factories. They, too, will continue the work begun by other McKinley alumni. Yes, each goes on; each continues what was started at our Alma Mater, our foster mother, Niles McKinley.

And so, on this evening of memories; this evening of joy and sadness; this evening of end and beginning, I say to you, our friends, our teachers, our parents – “vale” – “farewell.”

{This was written as an essay for one of Mr. Bond’s Public Speaking classes. Evidently he read it at a faculty dinner in her honor and submitted it to the Hi Crier, the daily high school section of the Niles Times. It was published on May 21, 1953 – much to my surprise.}

Every person who comes into association with a young man influences him in some way. This is especially true of a teacher. Every good teacher leaves an indelible mark on the mind of her student. One of these teachers I shall remember always.

One teacher at McKinley High School is a veritable institution in herself. During her 40-odd-years career she has probably influenced over two thousand boys and girls. I am indeed proud to have been one of this number.

A person is never fully appreciated upon direct contact. A sparkling diamond is best viewed at a prospective distance; a teacher’s merits can be fully realized only in retrospect.

Miss Elenor Galster is such a person. Almost any of her present mathematics students, whether he takes a form of geometry or algebra, will complain that she works him much too hard – she makes him think. But any college student who has been in one of her classes praises her greatly for the same reason expressed in somewhat different terms – she taught him HOW to think. This is the educational philosophy of our beloved mathematics instructor: think before you say it. A student who repeats the words of the book without understanding the fundamentals is indeed, giving only “parrot talk.”

This lesson can be applied to our way of life. Too much of what we do and say is only “parrot talk.” In her own way Miss Galster has tried to teach us how to use the mentalities God gave us, whether we are working a geometry theorem or living an adult life. Many times she has shown us that the greatest feeling an intelligent man can have is undertaking a difficult problem and solving it. The feeling of accomplishment is well worth the effort.

I am deeply sorry that future students will not have the opportunity of having this great lady as a mathematics instructor. Miss Galster has decided to retire from the teaching profession. This indeed will be a great loss for the students of Niles McKinley, students who regarded her with deep devotion and affection. These students may some day forget the sum of two and two, but wherever they go, whatever they do, they will always remember our Miss Galster.

On the Monday after I graduated from high school I went to the Niles Times office to see about getting a summer job there. But no luck. I decided to try an employment agency in Youngstown. I went to three of them; the first two did not have any listings for summer office jobs. However, the Wells Vocational agency found a possibility at Western Auto in Youngstown. It wasn’t really a “summer” position, but I thought I might be able to take it, since there was a branch store in Kent where I might be able to work next fall when I would begin college at Kent State. I could start the next day. The pay would be $33.00 a week plus commission. The main difficulty would be getting back and forth by bus between Niles and Youngstown.

The first day of work, real work, began. I cleaned up all of the counters with a shop vacuum. I lugged stuff from the cellar stock room. I met the other clerks. There was Quintin, a junior in college who was planning to be a Nazarene minister. Rudy was twenty-five, looked to be nineteen, and had an expectant wife and child. Mr. Miller worked in auto parts and complained all day long. Charlie Z. was floor-manager with a mean disposition. Paul K. was assistant manager and was very nice. So was Mr. Rishavey, the general manager. The other people in the store included Art, stoneroot clerk; Fred, receiving-room clerk; Carey, service department attendant; and Mr. Robinson, who installed seat-covers.

The second day, I stocked counters. The work was easier than yesterday’s, easier on the back but not on the legs. It would take time, I guessed, to learn to stand on my feet for nine hours a day. My legs from the knees down felt dead.

On my third day, I started selling. I took in $72.33 in cash; $25.00 for charges, and for tires, $86.00. Because I sold seat covers for $10.20, I earned a 10 percent commission. I enjoyed selling and thought it was a lot of fun. I hoped I would continue to enjoy it. I only wished the red tape were less. As one of the main Western Auto stores in the area, we determined what merchandise would be sold in northeastern Ohio. On each sales receipt the clerks had to insert the catalogue number for every item sold. Charge sales demanded even more detailed information.

The next day was exactly like the previous one. I supposed most of the days that summer would be the same. Saturday was the busiest day of the week. I sold no tires and nothing on charge. However, I made $140.42 in cash sales and earned $1.95 for myself through commissions. My total for three days of selling was $474.55.

Monday of the second week must have been “tire day.” By selling ten tires, I took in $180 for Western Auto. However, my cash sales amounted to only $58 with no other charges. This evening I walked downtown to the Grill, the local teenage handout.

The next day was a bummer, with $40 in cash and $6 in charges. Actually, I had $66 but the seat covers I sold to some woman did not fit and she had returned them. That evening, again, I went to the Grill for a ten-cent cup-of-coffee.

On the beginning of my second week, I drew my first paycheck. I made $32.10 with $4.28 for my income tax deduction and a sixteen-cent miscellaneous deduction. My net earnings were $27.66. I did not ask about what had happened to my “commissions.” In the mail I found a letter from Wells Vocational reminding me I owed them 10 percent for finding me this job at Western Auto. And so began my employment history.

My life has had several periods; at times they have seemed like eons. I’ve concluded my reflections on the first part: my eighteen years before going off to college. I’ve written both in a memoire style, in which I have remembered the past, and in a journal style, in which I have repeated entries I wrote more than six decades ago. One such entry was a summary as of “Sunday, June 8, 1952″ that presents a view of me from that long-ago time.

“Let’s start this summer off by talking about me, since no one else does. I am five feet eleven inches tall, weigh 210 or there about; have brown hair and blue eyes. I wear glasses for I am nearsighted. I have no marks or scars other than a two-inch welt on my leg from a dog-bite by Dorrie Wenzel’s dog. My I.Q. is well more than a hundred, but my athletic index is below average. For some reason my popularity index is quite low. I have no steady girl, although I like Martha Smith. I have no true enemies and only one rival, Scott Garrett. My one fault is I can’t remember names. Faces I know; names, I don’t. I have an acute inferiority complex brought on by a lack of athletic ability. However, Scott says an admitted inferiority complex indicates a subconscious superiority complex. My one great desire is for a car. My one hate is my father. My favorite hobby is stamp collecting. I also enjoy writing letters to foreign boys. My future holds the occupation of a teacher, biochemist, psychiatrist, or psychologist. My favorite colleges are Kent, Bowling Green, Harvard, Yale or Cornell.”

It’s quite remarkable, I think, how the concluding, predictive views turned out. I did go to Kent for my undergraduate work, earning two degrees: B.S. in Ed. and B.S. with a major in chemistry. Four years later, I completed my Ph.D. at Cornell with a major in biochemistry and minors in organic chemistry and endocrinology. Much of my pleasure has come from teaching adult education in religion and bible studies. I did not earn any degree in psychology, but I’ve applied insights from this discipline throughout my entire life.

My weight at the time I graduated from Cornell reached about 235 pounds; it’s now about 160. My spine has compressed to about 5’9″. Recent cataract surgery has dramatically modified my nearsightedness. I never could do much athletically, but enjoyed walking, until recently when my mobility rapidly changed to a much slower pace. My interest in correspondence with foreign students led to a great (and fulfilled) interest in foreign travel to Europe. My US mint stamp collection begins in the 1920s and continues to the current year. Martha Smith unhappily married and divorced Don Castle. I fell in love and married Karen Swank more than sixty years ago! I still cannot remember names.

In reviewing my journey before Kent, I’m pleased to discover that it may have been more pleasant than I once recalled it to have been. I’ve concluded, thus far, that probably every teenager had less than an ideal, picturesque life. Mine was no different from theirs, but I may have reflected more than many about how it was going at the time. I strongly doubt any of my friends kept a diary, or some sort of record, for as many years as I have. As a result, I know where I’ve been; I’m still interested in where I might be going.

This, for now, completes the second section of the “bronze years,” which continue to include the remaining segments of my formal education, under the tabs “Kent State University” and “Cornell University.” It is then that my life truly began with my meeting, falling in love with, and marrying Karen. This life has continued with an expansion with three children and their spouses, as well as with grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

I have enjoyed rereading old diary entries and writing newer reflections on those early years. I hope whoever may be reading these lines has found them to be entertaining, if not enlightening.

Addendum: In my diary I wrote a several page reflection on what would have otherwise been blank pages. It is dated December 13, 1952, i.e. mid-way during my senior year in high school. However, since these are, perhaps, more philosophical rather than chronological recollections, they are presented here, at the end of my senior year at Niles McKinley. They were composed when I was seventeen, they represent a limited background!

Origin: Instead of drawing a lot of odd lines and characters across the pages of days upon which nothing happens, I intend to write reflections, retrospectives, predictions, philosophic wonders and any other miscellanea that occur to me. However by miscellanea I do not mean the kind of hash fed to gladiators which was termed miscellanea. Or on second thought, perhaps this will become a hash of juvenile adolescentian (sic) origin.

A true philosophic work should start at the origin. According to the ancients, the origin came out of Chaos by Nyx, or Night. But in Christianity the origin is termed God.

Thus God is the Origin. There must be an Origin, ergo there must be a God. There must be a first cause to produce anything and everything. When we trace resulting causes and effects backward, we come to the first cause.

One might say that the earth was the effect of the sun, Sol, in juxtaposition with another star. But where did sol come from? A cloud of condensing gases? And whence comes the cloud? From X? And whence comes X? From the origin and the Origin is God.

Who or What is God? – is to ask for the origin of the Origin. But an origin has no beginning for it is the beginning and the beginning is it. Where is the origin of a circle, where is the origin of a Moibus strip, where is the origin of infinity? Erat. Est. Erit. It was. It is. It will be. So it is with any origin. So it is with the prime origin – Deus.

But by what attributes do we know this divine personification of the Origin? Look but to your own soul, mind, and body for the answer, for there are the greatest attributes of the Divine Origin.

Now you have the anticlimax of the origin – Erit, Est, Erat. The soul will be, the mind is, the body was. The soul is the origin-eternal; the body the origin-temporal; and the mind but the synapse between the temporal and the eternal. The pons-temporis is chained by the body, yet has the wings of the soul. It may attempt flights of fancy, flights of peace and tranquility but it must always return to the body.

The three must exist together for man to be the complete attribute of God. But sometimes Erat departs and man dies in body; sometimes Est departs and man dies in mind; sometimes Erit departs and man dies in soul. The first is proclaimed dead, the second is proclaimed insane, and the third is proclaimed a sinner. Yet in some, the three attributes are stronger than in the ordinary mortal. Then the first is proclaimed ambitious, the second a genius, the third a saint. But woe to him who is lacking or in excess on these three attributes, for mortal man is a jealous creature.

Mortal man is not a perfect creation of the Origin, for numerous times the mind joins forces with the body for mutual pleasure at the expense of the soul. Yesterday and today care but naught for tomorrow. The union of the body and mind goes by the name of evil. The body alone is pleasure; the mind alone is jealousy. Together they double their power and become evil.

If the attributes of the Origin may be Good and/or Evil, may the Origin be Good and/or Evil? By adding or subtracting may the Origin be God and/or Devil?

The ancient Romans had many divinities, many manifestations of the Origin. Some were virginal, Diana; some were rapers, Apollo; some were good, Vesta; some were bad, Dis.

But today we consider the Origin good. Yet can an Origin be truly good if it permits war, poverty, and suffering? A point, but one easily refuted, or is it? While it is true that man produces these three scourges, still the Origin produced man. And still it permits these crimes. Or is the Origin no more than just the origin? Did the Origin produce the beginning and then lose power?

I think not, for while the origin of a circle always was, always is, and always will be, so the Origin of the Universe always was, always is, and always will be, to look after its creations and to hope that they will all carry its three attributes neither in less or greater quantity – for only then will the soul, mind, and body of each individual exist in the perfect harmony of the Origin.

Man and Woman: What is the origin of man and woman? The Hebrews say that God created Adam from the dust and Eve from his rib. The Greeks and Romans adhere to the story of Deucalion and Phyrra who created mankind from thrown rocks. Science claims that algae were the parents of homo sapiens. Depending upon your own beliefs in the matter, choose your own theory of it.

What is man physically? Physically he is a composite of seven tubes of varying size, namely the head, two arms, trunk, penis, and two legs. There are other appendages but these are the main ones. These tubes are packed in wrappings of various types of muscles. The more densely packed and proportionately distributed the better is the individual. Above this there is a scattering of hair upon the arms, legs, chest, etcetera. Supposedly it is most densely allocated on the top of the head. And so except for a few minor embellishment we have the male of the species.

The female is structurally similar except she has nine tubes: eight exterior and one interior. The exterior ones are the head, two arms, trunk, two breasts, and two legs. The interior one provides an accommodation for the corresponding male tube, not to be confused with mail tube. The female has more padding than has the male and the final wrapping is not coarse but very soft. She has an excess of hair only on her head and very sparse on other parts. Of the two, she is physically the more tender, for the male must forage for her. But if the stronger male displeases her, she is in spirit and frenzy twice his match.

A young, handsome male will try many things to win the admiration of a member of the opposite sex. While he might climb the highest mountain, swim the deepest sea, brave the hottest desert sands, or coldest arctic snows for her, he will not venture out of the house for her when it’s raining. But usually the young male will either put on heavy clothing and flex his muscles in a football game or strip down to shorts to thrill her at basketball.

The female in turn, if she is young and well formed, must do little to impress the male. While she might wear a lot of fancy clothes to attract his attention, just the opposite will attract more than just his attention.

During the early years they are quite compatible. They will hold hands, sit in the dark, kiss, and indulge in other forms of companionship – such as going to the movies, dancing, etcetera. In the first years of the period of their life called teenage – they usually go with numerous representatives of the opposing sex. But later a mild but common disease (parvus canis amor) sets in to produce a temporary insanity, termed “going steady.” The symptoms of this are well known – they include: a loss of appetite, increased day dreaming, a lowering of grades (where possible) and more day dreaming.

However the disease is neither serious or permanent for the “going steady” slowly dissolves after a period of time. However in rare cases complications and/or true love sets in and this disease becomes a malady termed marriage. But due to the progress of mankind in the field of medicine, a pill of divorce will usually cure this and get rid of marriage. Occasionally an after-effect of alimony occurs.

Yet in the early stages, and in the later ones too, triangles must be avoided at all costs, especially the P-M-D type. It may be aggravated considerably by the presence of a doctor’s son. The fidelity of M also makes the case stronger to the exclusion of P. Conditions may be alleviated somewhat by the applications of locomotion in the form of a motor vehicle of recent vintage. Otherwise rigor mortis will set in.

[The following is dated 12/31/52. The opening paragraph is a pre-amble.]

V-E Day in Okinawa: I am studying history for a scholarship test I have to take. I am using Miss Campana’s modern history syllabus when I run across a clipping from the Cleveland Plain Dealer. I read it and am moved almost to tears. And so I am recording it here – what is a fine bit of prose by Gordon Cobbledick. The date line is Okinawa, May 8 (1945). The topic “V-E Day?”

Thus far I’ve made only passing reference to my father, in terms of “he” or “him.” That’s how I always thought of the man as I was growing up – not a relative, not a biological parent, but rather merely a distant male presence in my life, a presence that was somewhat evil, albeit, he was only emotionally, not physically, abusive, even though he often threatened bodily punishment. In return, I hated him. Somehow I did not completely fear him, because I realized, at some level, that he would not actually lay a hand on me. I’m not sure why I thought this. Many times, I believed, as probably many sons do, that he was not really my biological father. I was adopted; I could not truly be related to him. He often reinforced that belief.

His usual war-cry or opening salvo was about money, the money we stole from him. Born of the depression and failed banks, he had no financial accounts of any sort, not even a checking account; he did have US savings bonds (war bonds.) The money available for food was deposited, with the cashing of his paycheck, into a coffee cup on a kitchen shelf. I have no idea where my mother kept any funds for clothing and household needs. Perhaps there was a “cup” in some other part of the house, or she was forced to use what she earned by working in the cashier’s office at the local Woolworth’s.

At random times, often at the beginning of the year, he would yell that we took money from the cup for things other than food. We stole “his” money! This opening cry was frequently followed by abusive language about my mother. In an effort to get my hatred under control, I would write in my diary what had occurred. In most cases I wrote in a code I had invented to conceal thoughts I wanted to keep private.

But not in mid-August and early September of my senior year, 1952.

That summer he had taken violently ill and was hospitalized. I have no recollection of the nature of his illness, since it is recorded in code that I could read easily at the time but which the years have made difficult to decipher. However, the entries for early September appear un-coded as “regular English.”

Monday, September 1, Labor Day: “I suppose I should write today’s entry in code but English will do better. First: about one o’clock, his sister phoned and said to Mom, “What! Haven’t you gone to the hospital yet?” Aunt Mary then added she couldn’t go, for she was canning tomatoes and would be too tired! So when Mom finished washing clothes, she went to the hospital in Warren. No one else was in “his” ward, for Mr. Allen and the Greek had been discharged. Therefore “he” spent his time calling Mom vile names. Today she was a whore, and a cock-sucker who should go out on the road and pick some prick up.

“A few nights ago, when “he” was so sick I asked God to let “him” live, for “he” might have changed and we should wait and see. Well, my most ardent wish now is he has a relapse and suffers in agony before “he” dies. But “he” will probably live making Mom and me exist in a hell on earth.”

Tuesday, September 2: ““He” came home from the hospital today. Uncle Frank Borecki brought him, because “his” relatives were too busy to do it. Mom had to pay a hospital bill of 51¢. Hospitalization took care of the rest. Now he can spend his $800 and bonds in gambling. His mother and brother, Joe, were here to see him. Aunts Vi and Ada phoned.”

Wednesday, September 3: “For some unknown reason, “he” again started degrading Mom, saying she was lazy, a poor housekeeper, stank, etc. The same as usual. “He” seems to be angry because she didn’t go up to Camerino’s to help them can tomatoes. But why should she, since grandma, grandpa, Mary, Frank, and Joe are there to do it. They never come here to help Mom.”

Thursday, September 4: “God, is “he” hot again today. Mom went up-the-hill with Smutz to get tomatoes for canning. While she was gone “he” repeated to me everything “he” had said previously. According to “him” anything she canned will be poison for “him.” “He” added a few comments about his “limited” freedom and enjoyment here. “He” said he was cashing his bonds so he could have a good time – good bye my education. What’s more important, if she says anything, “I’ll cut her up and see that she makes the pages.””

The physical abuse did not materialize. The verbal abuse continued. I always felt he despised me from the beginning. It may well have started when I was a toddler and he thought I had replaced him, with my mother loving me more than she did him. They had dated for seven years before being married. During that time my mother had never met any of his family – not until a month or so before the wedding. They certainly had the time to get to know one another. On the other hand, I’m not sure he ever had the time to get to know me or I him.

In my eighteen years living in his presence, he never had a kind word for me. He never acknowledged any accomplishment I might have made. He never, to my recollection, hugged me or said he loved me. Many times, according to my diary entries, he did say: “No other husband treats his family so well. I must work all day to feed you. Without me, you would be scum.” He continued to begrudge everything we had and threatened to take everything we did have and leave, or, more preferable, to kick us out.

Earlier that year, soon after he bought our television set, given that all of our relatives and his friends already had one, he removed a tube or two and was pleased we now had a “broken tv.” His action was the result of my mother’s asking him to turn down the full-blast sound of the baseball game he was watching. He bragged to Uncle Bill and others that if he could not enjoy himself around the house, no one would.

His major form of having fun was gambling. It was not uncommon for him to end a fight with my mother by walking out of the house to play cards and lose hundreds of dollars in the process. On one occasion he did feel guilty about the gambling and that he had lost $57 two weeks ago and $20 last week. As penance he had gone to an auction in Pennsylvania and brought me a Helbros wristwatch. My diary says it had “17 jewels, gold stretch band, and sweep second hand. It was originally priced at $110 but he got it for $37. It is not second-hand or so he claims. Anyway it is not a bad looking watch and I rather like it.” It is, to my recollection, the only gift he ever bought for me. Birthday gifts and Christmas presents came from my mother.

Although my mother usually made me feel we were on the same side when either of us had arguments with “him,” she was not always warm and fuzzy. When it came to a decision that had to be made, her response was often: “Well, that’s your department, you can do what you think best; do what you want.” We seldom disagreed. Our own interactions were minimal and without physical touching, once I was out of childhood. The rare instance of our disagreements has only once referenced in my diary:

Sunday, December 14, 1952: “Sometimes I wonder just who the crazy one is around here. Him – Her – or Me. Right now, I am beginning to suspect it’s Her. The way she talks now, she can’t wait until I get out of here next year and go either to college or on my own.

“Well, I can’t wait either. Does she think I enjoy it around here with those two bitching all the time to each other and to me? Is it supposed to be fun to listen to her yell every time I come home about how rotten he is? I’m human – I can remember once and reason. I don’t have to learn by repetition like a dog.

“But who can I talk to? Whom can I confide in? No one. Certainly not to him or her. And I have no friends. So instead I have to keep it bottled up inside me. But it’s dangerous to let live steam condense of its own accord. Someday the safety valve has to pop.

“Anyway I can hardly wait until I can get out of this place and not return. I despise it and everything in it.”

So I admit that when stressed by the bickering and verbal/emotional abuse of my teen years, my response was often to sit on the porch swing in the summertime or retreat to my room at other times, where I would contemplate his death, my suicide or my hope that the future would be better once I was able to leave home for college.

It wasn’t until I was married, had my own family, and had enough instruction in psychology (in college I had as many “hours” in developmental psychology as I did in chemistry, my formal major) that I began to understand and appreciate my own development and the influence it had on me and how my own adult relationships arose from my younger life.

My father probably viewed me as the major competitor for my mother’s love for him. He took out his frustration and anger on both of us. They never saw divorce as a means of solving their problems, even though his brother Freemont (sic) had been divorced when his son, Fremont Junior, was in junior high school. It was then that Uncle Freemont became distanced from the family. Fremont was entirely outlawed, since he and his sister, Mary Ann, remained with his mother, Aunt Anne. It was only years later, after my father had died, and I became outlawed, that Fremont was reaccepted by the family. (Modern Italians still practice vendettas!)

During my college years and those which followed, I returned home only for Thanksgiving and Christmas. The love that he was unable to give to me, he wholeheartedly presented to his three grandchildren, especially on the very rare accessions when the two of them would visit us in the various parts of the country where we lived, at the time.

He and I spoke, sporadically; we never had a conversation, per se. I knew when I needed to walk away in order to avoid a complete argument. It was also during these later years that my mother and father seemed to have reached a more “livable” life. Without my presence, they appeared to go to more places with her relatives: Bill and Ada Moransky as well as Rose and Frank Borecki. I would hear about their trips to local fairs and shrines on weekends or for fish dinners on Fridays.

Over the years, my hated and loathing of how “He” treated me has been modified to an understanding of “Him.” I no longer hate him, but neither do I have a love of the father who was and never could be.