What School Was Like Before a Teacher’s Union

Posted on 09/03/2011 by Grumpa Joe

My grammar school was special; it was small, and it was across the street from our home.  It was a typical Catholic school, except; the classrooms were above the church.  The building was dull compared to European churches.  Some Catholic schools were separate from the church.  Those parishes had a typical European style church with ceilings that stretched toward the sky, choir lofts and arched stain glass windows. Our pastor built a cost effective, utilitarian building.

On the second floor were four classrooms; grades 1-2, 3-4, 5-6, 7-8 doubled up in a single room.  There was not room for kindergarten or preschool. The nuns lived on the same floor in the space of two classrooms.

A single nun taught in each room.  An aisle divided the grade levels. Each room had six rows of seven desks mounted to wooden slats. The seven desks all moved together, and room set-up was easy to do.  The seat back of one desk formed the front of the desk behind it.  The desktop slanted down to make it easy to read and write.  At the very top of the desk surface was an inkwell with a glass bottle.  No ink was kept in the well unless we were doing a writing exercise. The desktop lifted up to reveal a compartment for books.

Each classroom had between 30 and 36 kids. The school population was between 120 and 144 kids. Perry School, a public school nearby, was much larger.

Having two grades in a room always gave the lower grade an opportunity to see what the upper grade was doing, and the upper grade could review last year’s material.  The nun assigned work to one grade, and taught the other.  Our assignments were solving problems, practicing our writing, or reading. She could only leave a group on it’s own for a short time before someone would start talking or picking on a classmate.

A nun was very good at dispensing justice.  Punishments varied from standing in the corner to getting a whack across the hands with a ruler. If a student did something very bad, she sent him to the principal’s office.  Sometimes she held a culprit after school to clean up the room.  Cleaning up was a gift.  A worse punishment was staying after and just sitting quietly reading an assignment. I had my share of detentions, knuckle whacks, and corner facing.

Every day, school began with mass at eight o’clock.  I could never get there on time, but neither did many others.  I just marched down the center aisle to my class, and joined them in the pew.  Our nun sat with the class.  After mass everyone filed out of church up the stairs to the classroom. We had a fifteen-minute recess in the morning. Our lunch was one hour. The afternoon recess was also fifteen-minutes. Classes ended at 3:00 P.M., except on Wednesday when we got out at noon.  That’s when the public school kids came to OLH for Religious Education.

Every day, class started with a prayer, and the Pledge of Allegiance to the Flag.  Our rooms all had a blackboard across the front with a set of maps hanging on rollers. The Sister could pull a map down when needed.  Above the blackboard was a line of cards with the alphabet shown in cursive capitals and lowercase letters.  The street side was a wall of windows and the center wall had a closet for our coats.

We could buy milk daily, or by the week.  A milkman delivered the milk in special racks filled with half-pint cartons.  Most kids brought a lunch. Those of us who lived very close went home for lunch.

Attending a Catholic school gave us many excuses for getting out of class.  For the boys who were altar servers, it was serving at a funeral.  The girls got off to sing. During funerals, we had to be extra quiet in the classroom. We didn’t want to wake the dead or disturb the mourners.

The eighth-graders always got called on to be messengers. They went from room to room to hand the nun an announcement.  The older boys served on the safety patrol. “Patrol Boys,” stood at the corners on the way to school. Their job was to warn kids from crossing when a car was coming. That was a good duty because I got to come in a little later and leave a few minutes earlier to stand on my corner.  Patrols got to wear a white belt that crossed over our shoulder to our waist. Today, only adults are crossing guards, and they get paid for their duty.

The nuns sent report cards home to our parents four times a year.  They used a number system to grade us. Each subject had a number.  For instance, Religion – 85, meant I scored 85 percent on all my work in religion. Our parents had to sign the cards. We got them on Friday and had to return them on Monday.  God forbid that I got a check mark on anything, especially, obedience.  A check mark in an area was a signal to my parents. It meant they were failing to keep me under control.  Whenever I got a check mark, it was a guaranteed lecture from Mom.  Dad never said anything.

Neither Mom nor Dad went past the fourth grade, but it never showed.  What they lacked in formal education, they made up for with experience and common sense.  They never doubted or challenged a nun on any issue.  A nun was always right. She was a saint. The priest was Jesus with a black robe and white collar.

As a Catholic, we believe that we are the one true church. Back then associating with Protestants was not appropriate.  Hanging around with a protestant person was the same as wanting to be friends with the devil. Mom always wanted us to speak Hungarian at home and we did until we started school.  One year, she learned about a summer school that taught kids to read and write Hungarian.  The people of the Hungarian Reformed Church taught Hungarian during the summer. Their church was near Tuley Park.  Mom registered Sis and me. We went to the first class. It was fun, and I looked forward to learning to read and write.  For some reason after the first session mom told us we weren’t going any more. Many years later I learned that she felt guilty about sending us to the Reformed church. She talked to Father Horvath about it.  He didn’t make Mom feel any better. He advised her not to send us back.  Back then the Catholic Church made the current Islamic Fundamentalists look like amateurs.  The reason for keeping us out was a fear that the protestant teacher would convert us to their beliefs.

Our nuns always helped by tutoring us.  My worst subject was English Grammar; it still is (Thank you Bill Gates for Microsoft Word grammar check). I never got the idea of sentence structure, and diagraming sentences was gibberish to me.  During the exam to get out of fifth grade, I got stuck on those questions. I wound up being the last one in the room.  Sister Clementine came to my desk. She sat next to me and started asking questions to try to give me hints.  She did everything but give me the answer.  It was embarrassing, and I was afraid to death that I was going to flunk.  It terrified me to think of repeating a grade like my friend Georgie. Worse, I feared what Mom and Dad would say. It seemed like she sat with me for an hour coaching me through the exam.  To this day I feel she promoted me to the next grade out of sympathy.

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Social Networking circa 1952

Posted on 06/03/2011 by Grumpa Joe

SOCK HOPS

Many wonderful new worlds opened up to me in high school.  It seemed like every time we listened to the announcements during home room class a new activity was born. This time it was the “sock hop.”

My social life was never lacking because of all my friends around the block.  In grammar school we stuck to each other like glue.  We hung together, we danced, we played games, we laughed and told each other our deepest feelings.  When high school entered our lives, it all changed.  We were still friends but our common interests were gone.  All of us were developing new ones.  We had new activities to attend. Now, we met our high school friends at these activities rather than take our grammar school buddies with us.  The school frowned on bringing boys from a different school to a Mendel social function. It was okay to sell them a ticket to a ball game but not to a dance. In a way, attending high school was like belonging to an exclusive club which was members only.

Up until that time, I had never heard the term ‘sock hop” before, but my new buddies, who were already in the know, told me I had to go because it was a great place to meet girls.  I could have taken a date to a sock hop, many boys did.  I was too afraid of girls to do that.  Even though I danced a lot with the girls of Avalon, this was different.  These girls were strangers and I’d have to talk to them.  It wasn’t easy for me to come up to a stranger and begin a conversation.  My mom was great at it. She made friends with people in an instant.  Dad was quiet. He had to force himself to meet new people all the time on his insurance job.

The sock hop was always on a Friday night. They began in mid-fall during football season, and continued through the basketball season. Many times they were right after the pep rally, and bon fire. They were simple dance socials organized for the purpose of getting the boys to meet girls and vice versa.  We always had a live band of high school kids who played the latest music.  At least one band member was a student at Mendel. We had to take our shoes off to dance on the sacred basketball floor; that’s why it was a ‘sock hop’.

There were a number of Catholic schools In the Roseland area. Saint Louis Academy was one of them.  Saint Louis was an all girl’s school located on State near 115 Street, and about a mile from Mendel.  The priest in charge advertised our event at all the neighborhood girl’s schools.  The word always got out, and there was always a good crowd at these dances.

Homecoming Dance, Not a Sock Hop, 1956

 

In my first year, I attended as many hops as I could.  Each time, I met a buddy and we stood on the sidelines drinking a coke, eyeballing the girls dancing by themselves.  We poked each other when a particular girl peaked our interest, and dared each other to ask her to dance.  I always thought the girls were too good for me, or too pretty. I never believed a pretty one would ever accept my offer to dance. The girls all seemed so old and mature. Most times it took me all evening to build up enough nerve to ask a special girl to dance. Then, when I finally made my move, another guy asked her just before me.

It was easier to talk to someone if you were dancing a slow dance than if you did a jitterbug.  That limited the number of chances I had to meet someone.  Since most guys could dance slow, but not fast, the competition was fierce.  (It just occurred to me as I am writing this that I was a good dancer, and loved to jitterbug. I should have taken advantage of that skill to meet the girls.  Duh!!  Not too dense, it’s only taken me fifty-eight years to figure that one out!)

The dance ended at 10 p.m., then everyone went their own way.  Many parents waited outside in cars to pick up their daughters.  A few older boys drove home from school, but most of us took the streetcar home.

In that first year that I attended the sock hops, I never developed enough nerve to ask a girl for a date after the hop.  I finally got enough nerve to begin asking girls to dance, but never had the nerve to go past “see you at the next sock hop” when it came to furthering a relationship.

Every time I attended a sock hop I took a step away from Avalon and a step further from my friends on the block. My freshman year at Mendel was my ‘breaking away’ experience.  We were all growing up and expanding our horizons, but desperately holding on to each other at the same time.

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In Over My Head

Posted on 02/03/2011 by Grumpa Joe

IN OVER MY HEAD

I visited Mendel High School once before I signed up. They held an open house in the winter.  Mom and I took the tour and got to know the place, or so I thought.

On my first day, entering the main hallway, was very exciting.  All of a sudden I didn’t know where anything was.  The letter I got said to report to room 103 for home room.  “Where is room 103”, I asked myself.  I climbed the stairs up to the main floor. There were people everywhere but no one to help.  I walked the main floor looking for 103 but couldn’t find it.  I finally broke down and asked.  By this time my heart was pounding fast because it was getting closer to the 9:00 a.m. start time.  A loud bell rang and then shut off.  That scared me.  The bustle of activity in the halls was even faster now.

Room 103 was on the ground floor downstairs.  Whew!  I got into the room with a minute to spare.

The bell ruled my life at Mendel.  The idea of a bell ringing to let us know a class was over or beginning was totally new to me.  Getting up from your desk at the bell seemed disrespectful to the teacher.  AT OLH we stayed in the same seat all day, we got up when Sister told us to.  We would never think of getting up and walking out on her because the time was up.

My home room meant that it was the very first class of the day, and that is when the teacher took the roll call. My home room teacher was Mr. Mills;  he was also the football coach.

Another strange new practice was the ‘announcements’.  When the principal or a school leader wanted to talk to us, he’d turn on the public address system.  Each room had a speaker and we listened to the announcements during our home room session.   Once roll call and announcements were completed, Mr. Mills started teaching General Science.  This subject fascinated me because it covered all of the practical things in life, like water seeking it’s own level.  I’d learn much later that General Science was basic physics.  Physics is the foundation of engineering.

It always seemed like we just got started in General Science when the bell rang and class was over.  The next class was Algebra, taught by Mr. Magee, the assistant football coach.  He came to our room to teach the class.  I never heard of algebra before and wondered what it would be.  Once he started, I loved it.  The whole idea of algebra was fascinating.

Being in a Catholic school meant we always had a class in religion, which, for the first time in my life, was taught by a lay person.

After lunch on Monday, Wednesday and Friday I had woodshop for two hours with Father Hennessy.  There was also English and something called Social Science.  Of all the classes, I hated English and Social Science the most.  What do they have to do with being an engineer? The question haunted me.  Yet, in looking back over my years as an engineer, those two subjects were an integral part of my life and work.  So many times during school, both high school and college, I would ask myself the question “What does this subject have to do with engineering?”  The answer was always ‘nothing’.  The simple truth is that subjects like Social Science, Art Appreciation, Philosophy and Religion may not directly be a part of engineering, but they are a huge part of life. Knowing about many things makes me a better person all over.  I didn’t believe it or understand it back then.  I did know that I wouldn’t graduate with the credits.

Credit is another concept that was new to me.  In grammar school, everyone learned the same things, but in high school the kids in a home room could be learning along four different tracks.  At Mendel, it was Pre-engineering, Scientific, Business or General.  All of the curricula were preparing the student for college, but each one had slightly different subjects to learn.  Each subject carried credit hours and to graduate I needed a certain number of credit hours completed successfully.  Credits made it easier for the school and student to know how close one was to graduation.  Oops, the bell just rang; it’s time to go to the next class!

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Burnside Teen Gang

Posted on 27/02/2011 by Grumpa Joe

Yesterday, Grandma Peggy  had the distinct pleasure of meeting a group of my grammar school buddies. Eight of us who lived within a few houses of each other, and hung around with during the seventh and eighth grades met with their wives to have lunch at Papa Joe’s in New Lenox, IL. It is amazing that after sixty years we can still relate with each other. We had a grand time, sharing our lives. I felt like I was back in Burnside on Avalon with the old gang.

When I retired ten years ago, I wrote a series of stories about my earliest recollections as a kid. I self-published the collection in a three-volume book titled Jun-e-or. Many of the tales are from the seventh and eighth grade years. I’ve chosen the one below because it best describes the relationship we enjoyed as friends. Five of those who were there are named in this piece. I hope I didn’t tell too many whoppers, but it is what I remember.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

TEEN GANG

By the time I was in seventh grade, I felt like hot stuff.  I had many friends around the block.  Most of them were classmates from Our Lady of Hungary grammar school (OLH).  Others went to Perry school.  Today, they would classify us as a gang.  Back then, we were just some friends who hung out together.  If I needed companionship, I walked down to 93rd street after supper. Within a few minutes, someone would join me.  Our group had boys and girls. Eventually, each of us paired off with a partner.

I hung out with Rich Makowski, Joe Barath, Jack Adams, Bob Golden, Kenny Zivkowich, and Larry Somodi.  Joe Barath was a year behind me at OLH. Joe’s parents owned and operated Barath’s Grocery Store on 93rd Street. Jack Adams lived across the alley from me on Woodlawn Avenue. Bob Golden lived a block south on Avalon.  Ken Zivkowich came from Kimbark where he lived in an upstairs apartment.  Larry Somodi lived on Avalon, and then moved to 93rd Street.  Jack, Kenny, and Bob all went to Perry school, the rest of us went to OLH.

The girls in the group consisted of my sister Maria, Mary Ann Lihota, Mary Ann Pavel, Carol Cometic, Rose Ann Pfaff and Sherry Zajeski.  Usually, my group ignored Sis and Mary Ann.  Joey Barath had a crush on Sis, but she pretended not to like him. Eventually, he gave it up.  Rich Makowski had a romance going with Rose Ann Pfaff and Joe Barath finally paired off with Carol Cometic.  Jack Adams liked Mary Ann Pavel, but so did Ken Zivkowich.  Carol Cometic’s girlfriend, Sherry, is the one I fell for head-over-heels.

The gang had many other kids too, but I forget them all. We hung around together, sitting on the front steps of someone’s house, fooling around.

We were at an age when music became a very important part of our lives and we often played records together.  By then each of us had a television. After school, we all watched American Bandstand with Dick Clark.  Soon we were meeting for dance parties at someone’s basement.  Each of us brought our favorite records to play. We listened, sang along with and danced to the music with our partners until it was time to go home.

Once, Kenny Z came dressed in a pink shirt with the collar flared out. He matched the shirt with a pair of electric blue pants pegged at the heel.   They had white stitching running down the seams.  He was hot stuff and started a trend which all the boys followed, or at least the ones who could afford the clothes.  Another fashion statement was to add a narrow knitted tie to the pink shirt.  The knot was big and ugly because the knitted material was so thick and the tie was so narrow. The uglier the knot was, the better it was.  We also put pressure on each other to dress alike and to wear our hair the same way.  The DA (duck’s ass) hair style was popular with the guys as was the Brylcreem sheen.  We used Brylcreem on our hair to keep the waves in place, and our long sideburns swept back, and up sharply at the end. Our hair looked like the tail end of a duck, therefore the term “duck’s ass.”

One of the most popular guys in the neighborhood was “Dago.” His real name is Bob, but his nick name was “Dago.”  Bob combed his hair in the DA style.  He wore a black leather jacket over a white tee-shirt, Levi pants, and black engineer boots decorated with chrome carpet tacks on the heels.  Dago was our real life version of the “Fonz,” he hung around with Billy and Ray Anna from 93rd Street.  Dago was a little older than most of us and the very first to own his own car.  It was the coolest car in Burnside; a Black 1949 Mercury with fender skirts.  It had really smooth lines and was a trend setter for car designs of the future.

Our group was inseparable unless a couple went on a formal date, which was rare.  We hung out together throughout the seventh and eighth grade and up to the moment we separated to go to high-school.

I chose Mendel Catholic High School. Ken Zivkovich, Bob Golden, and Jack Adam, all went to Chicago Vocational High School, (CVS).  Joe Barath followed me to Mendel.  Larry Somodi went to St. Francis De Sales on the East side.  Most of the girls enrolled at Bowen High School.

Going into high school was a beginning for all of us, and the old gang didn’t hang together as often as it did before.  Each of us had unique excitement in our new environments. We were making new friends, and going to school events that were very different from each other. Many boys took part-time jobs selling shoes. They made money for car fare, lunch, and clothes. Each of us had extra excitement generated by the sports teams of our school. Football games, pep-rallies, and sock hops kept us busy on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. In the evenings we were loaded with homework assignments. Our time for hanging out became very limited and precious. Often, when I walked to the corner to find someone to hang out with, I was alone. Many of us had telephones in our houses, but we never used them to call each other. We still relied on meeting our friends on the street. It was several years before we began to call each other.

By the time I finished high school, I had a new set of friends, and activities. My old friends all went their separate ways too. Some paired off with new partners, some had no partners, and some, like Joe and Carol, were going steady.

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Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic

Posted on 10/03/2010 by Grumpa Joe

     Free education in the USA is a joke. There is nothing free about it. We pay dearly in taxes. The education opportunity given to our children is a golden gift. They waste the gift from grades 1-12 daily. Our kids just do not get it. They are too young to get it on their own. The problem is with parents who fail to take their parental responsibility seriously.

     My own parents did not have the same opportunity that they gave me. Their formal education was at a fourth grade level. Both Mom and Dad left their homes in a foreign country to migrate to America as teenagers.  The experience of coming to a new land on your own at age sixteen is unimaginable. Yet, there were thousands of European kids coming to America for a better life. When they arrived, they did not find a friendly country. People called them greenhorns and hunkies. They stuck with others of their own nationality in order to survive.  After they settled into a community, they attended school for two reasons: first to learn the language, second to become citizens.

     What I am getting to is that they understood the value of education, and insisted that we get a good one.  My own philosophy is the same. My children’s philosophy is the same as mine. Our kids will not squander the golden gift. I made sure the kids went to good schools.  We insisted they show us their assignments, and reviewed their homework. We talked to their teachers and gave them our permission to discipline our kids when they were out of line. Every teacher they had was a caring person who was serious about his work and my kids. I am satisfied that my kids took advantage of the gift.

     What makes me upset today, is the low graduation rate and the number of kids who get out of school, and do not know how to read. I hear politicians campaigning on the promise to spend more money on education. I see Chicago schools that are a hundred years old, and in need of serious repair. I see school busses lined up to deliver kids to school. I see kids getting free breakfast and lunch. I see teachers afraid to enter a classroom because of discipline problems. I see parents who do not give a hoot about their kid’s education. I see gangs substituting for parents and family in a kid’s life.

     All of the above only makes me mad as hell. What makes me furious is when I hear about teachers who are no longer interested or capable of teaching, and the administration cannot fire them because of their tenure. Between tenure and the teachers unions, I see my tax dollars flushed down the toilet.  I recently learned that it costs $219,000.00 to fire a bad teacher in the Chicago system. As a result, the bad teachers remain in force. They ignore our kids, and waste our dollars. When they retire, they get great pensions. Our kids are screwed.

     My point is that we have to make the teacher unions give a little in order to improve the school system. Certainly, more money is not the answer.

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