The Ash Creek Papers

Some folks are lucky to hit LOTTO and win a ton of money. We were luckier. We hit the Lottery and won a place for our children to attend the Columbus Magnet School. Children of the wealthiest citizen in Greenwich couldn’t have provided for a better elementary school education than the education that Zack, Shaina & Suzy received at Columbus.

The school was modeled on the Bank Street School in NYC… it featured “open classrooms” and an academic core that was built on a “Social Studies Wheel”. The program allowed for growth and development at an individual pace.

And on a social basis, children were given a solid foundation that promoted self pride… pride in your heritage, pride in your beliefs, pride in your self image. Rather than teach that we are all the same… Columbus took the tack that we are all different… feel good about yourself, learn about other people… don’t feel threatened by differences.

It has been the finest lesson my children have learned at any level of education.

The “Heart and Soul” of the School was its original Principal, Art Perschino. He retired from the School System the year that Suzy moved up to Middle School. His energy and devotion to the School was pure. It was said that he couldn’t keep a marriage because of his many mistresses… and first in line was Columbus School.

The other constant “star” in the Columbus School Family was the gym teacher, Tom Kretsch.

Tom was like no other gym teacher (or athletic coach) that I have ever known. Small and slight of build, there would be a solid hand full of kids in the 5th Grade who would be much bigger than he. Much of his “instruction” was based on developing skills… and then the trickier part… teaching that competition was good; but what was better was doing the best you could, regardless of the outcome.

Tom was not of the Vince Lombardi School of Winning is the Only Thing. But his thinking was a perfect fit for the Columbus approach to improving at your own pace.

Tom was always at the School. On Family Share nights he would be there with his guitar adding to an evening, his voice not particularly strong; but softly effective… and the kids (and parents) knew that you had to be quiet if you wanted to pick up the words that Tom sang. And his songs always had a soft and poignant quality.

It was one of his tricks… other teachers might use a loud voice to control a room… Tom used a soft voice.

Friday was “All School” Meeting day… it would take the better part of the morning… and over the years I saw many a Friday Meeting. It would feature “shares” from the individual classes… maybe a skit or a song… Mr. Perschino would also hand out special pencils for anyone celebrating a birthday that week (teachers and any attending parents included)… it was truly a weekly celebration of the Columbus School Family.

And if Mr. P. could not be there the duties of Principal fell on to Tom’s shoulders. And he did a credible job.

The best School Meeting would be the final Friday of the year. It marked the “graduation” of the 5th Grade Class. And part of the “entertainment” would be a slide show of the graduating class. Tom was a “shutter bug” of the first order. He wore a Yashica around his neck the way other gym teachers wore whistles. Over the year he would have taken 1000s of candid shots of folks… the kids, teachers & the parents… shot during the day, at field trips, evening get togethers, in the class, on the playground… you name it… Tom found ways to record the growth and happiness of our children.

On the last Friday Meeting, amongst the tears and stifled sobs of the parents, we would watch the slides of our kids… set to music that Tom had rightly found appropos. Hard not to feel your eyes filling as slide after slide picked up a shot of your child, or a dear friend, and in the background Rod Stewart scratching out Forever Young.

Mr. P. retired… Tom was in the running to be named Principal. He did not make it… that honor went to Marilyn Libratore… the former 5th Grade Teacher… like Tom, a Columbus Teacher from its inception.

I don’t know if it hurt Tom. But he stayed with the School… as much a fixture as Marilyn (more actually in some ways) or as Art Perschino for that matter.

I imagine that he is still filling in for Marilyn on the odd time that she not be there for Friday Morning Meeting. That he still is doing his spring marathon with the 4th & 5th grades (wherein each student is responsible for a half mile of carrying the “olympic torch” before handing it off to another student… the route, by the by, went by each of Norwalk’s elementary and middle schools)… that he still has his “Trot Off the Turkey, Turkey Trot” the Saturday after Thanksgiving… that he is still promoting fun games that are non-competitive… and that he is still fondly remembered in the hearts of the many kids that had the opportunity to learn from him.

Tom would occasionally join our basketball group that played every Tuesday night over at the Vitam Center’s Gym. There were a couple of other Columbus parents that I had recruited over the years. And Tom played a good team game… just as I would have thought.

And then I would catch Tom at the Oyster Festival… in the “dreaded” craft’s tents. Tom had decided to put his photography skills to other uses… and began selling his photos. He is good. He has an excellent eye for both colour and composition. One year Ellen gave me a couple of his photographs as a birthday gift. It was one of the best presents she ever gave me.

But it has been a while since I last saw him… Suzy is five years out of Columbus.

And when I saw him come into the gym this morning… it gave me a thrill… I was plodding my way thru a run, with no particular joy or focus… hoping to put 4 miles up… and then I began thinking about Tom… and of course Columbus… and of course, my kids. I finished with 8 miles… a pretty good sweat.

I stopped by and chatted with Tom before heading in for my sauna. I hardly ever speak to anyone in the gym itself (the locker room or sauna is where I gab with folks, if I am going to gab at all); but I couldn’t pass up talking to Tom.

He looks great… although he wears glasses full time now giving him an “older look”… he is a year away from retirement… and then he will devote his time to his photography… do a 12 or so craft shows… and sell something here or there.

He remembered each of my kids in turn…

We wished each other the best…

And when I went into the encompassing heat of the sauna I thought about Tom… he has his health… his “marbles”… and a year from now he will retire and pursue his love of photgraphy at his leisure.

Bravo for you Tom…

The New York Rangers had finally won the Stanley Cup! I was long past the youthful years of devoting my energies for “living and dying” for my teams. The Colts had recovered from the disgrace of losing to the Jets in Super Bowl III by beating the Cowboys a couple of years later (and the Cowboys were another team worthy of hating nearly as much as the Jets). The Dodgers had won a couple of World Series in my time. Although not as big a Knicks fan, I still took joy in their Championship Seasons…

And until the Rangers won, maybe I was reluctant to admit that there was still a bit of a kid that pounded in my breast at their inability to take home the big prize. And their final victory (done in classic story book fashion, I might add, with overtime wins, and twice pushed to the brink of elimination) put to rest my sports’ demons.

Typical of men, huh? Going thru life with the vicarious successes of their teams. And so here I was, in my mid 40s, hanging on by my finger nails to a business and a marriage… perhaps not able to express the full measure of my joy. Day after day I felt lonlier and lonlier, sinking further and further into despair.

And there was a day that brought me on an appointment to see a friend at Canter Fitzgerald in the World Trade Center (the same Canter Fitzgerald that would lose nearly every single employee on 9/11 — the Board Chairman spared that fate because he took his daughter to school and was late arriving to work — good fortune & bad turn on such happenstance). I went to Union with Glenn Grossman… he thought I was a genius at Chipp… loved what I did, and invited me down to sell special order shirts to some of his chums at Canter Fitzgerald… guys who he felt were a need of a serious upgrade in their appearance.

After working my way thru a handful of guys… I made my farewell and headed for the street. Pleased to have gotten some business (but not nearly enough to cover the checks we were on the verge of failing to cover); but hardly feeling good. And as I turned to head back up town I noticed a series of barricades linning the street. And then it took my breath away as I looked around… I was at the start of the ticker tape parade route for the triumphant New York Rangers… and there in the lead vehicle, about ready to strike out, standing in the back of the truck was Messier, Richter & Leetch holding Lord Stanley’s Cup aloft.

Their route would take them on a snaking path thru the canyons of lower Manhattan… and the folks linning the route… and from the buildings above created a roar that just reverberated against the narrow defile. It was chilling.

I can remember hearing the muffled sounds of distant cheers when arriving late to a game at Yale Bowl… the crowd telling of an Eli success on the field. But nothing prepared me for the encompassing sound of that roar of appreciative fans that celebrated their team’s long awaited victory.

And this morning I lay in bed… mesmerized at the sound of the wind cascading thru the trees. My window need not have been opened to hear the power of that wind; but the slight aperture added the dimension of coldness to give that sound further authority. There was a majestic quality to it… not purely frightful like a hurricane’s wind… rather something that was marching and accumulating speed as it moved the trees bare branches in wave after steady wave of force.

Hard not to feel excited, hard not to feel small…

Today I got a call from Lee Lobianco, the Chef from the Inn at Longshore. She told me that Steve Chocas passed away last week.

Now that I live in Stamford, I barely see anything in the Norwalk Hour, least of all the obits. So the news caught me completely unaware.

I have lost a friend…

Steve and I worked together for about seven years tending bar on weekends for the Inn at Longshore. In that time we never had one cross word with each other. But our laughs could have filled the Coliseum. The mayhem that we had behind the bar was marvelous. Steve was like a messenger from God for me. At a time that my personal and business life was crashing and burning, Steve was there to lift my spirits and make me feel good about myself. Man, did we have fun. We could have been beat to shit at the end of a shift…and during the summer a double shift, but we always took the time to re-play the evening’s highlights.

Our favorite gig was “Singles Night” for this group that would split their monthly functions between Longshore, Three Bears in Westport & the Yale Club in NYC. Over the years the age level drifted up to 40s/50s… it was supposed to be over 30… well it got well over 30 when I stopped. Steve and I loved to check out the various maneuverings and posturing’s. It was like a middle school dance for 45 year olds. Sad in a way. Although the awkwardness of the participants, and some of the sad tales that we became privy to, did not change the fact that we had major laughs at their expense.

When Julia was manager (she of substantial bust), she would always treat Steve and I to unbuttoning her blouse so we could correctly assess her lingerie selection as well as her cleavage… on one happy occasion she lifted her skirt (when Steve told her that we were tired of looking at her tits).

Sometimes Steve and I would go out for a nightcap after a gig… particularly if the tipping Gods had smiled.

And even after I got cashiered by Longshore, Steve would drop into Arturo’s when I was tending bar and visit… and the laughs just kept on rolling.

If we spent everyday together, there wouldn’t be one that would not include one of us breaking up uncontrollably. He was a delightful man. And on the occasion that I became serious, as I am apt to do from time to time, the conversation would slip seamlessly to discussing “life issues”… and just as rewarding.

I haven’t seen him since I left Arturo’s last December. I bumped into Robert about 6 weeks ago at my gym… and we caught up a bit on what was what at the Inn. I knew that Steve had cut back his schedule… and I thought that I should give him a call and meet him for a drink.

I never did make that call… I never had one more chance to share a laugh… to re-tell the tales of Lindy and the assorted folks who we worked with. I didn’t get to tell him one more time what a great guy he was, and what pleasure he had given me all those years we worked side by side… how special those times were.

No… I missed my chance.

My father told me years ago don’t save telling people how much they mean to you… don’t wait for them to be in the grave; because then it’s too late.

My Father’s advice rings true: make that extra call. Tell folks how much they mean to you… how much you love them.