Hi all, I know I promised I wouldn't be posting but this was relatively simple and required no thought:) Thanks to Barb Conway for id'ing Nancy Garrison and "Linda" Smith, not Susan Smith who was equally hot but much younger. A few other comments on the photo. First, check out my cowlick. Jesus I look like Alfalfa. Second, go back over the past years and look at Terry's expression in every photo. He always has the same odd look. Is it the holly poking him in the back? Who knows?
Barb reminded me as has Bob that one of the cool things about being in Ed Campbell's class was that he would leave to go to fires and come back smelling of smoke. That's devotion.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Sixth Grade 1963-1964
Mrs. Myers 6th Grade Class
Front Row from left: Elisa Contarino, Dolores Lorenz, Irene Thomas, Susan Parker,Nancy Garrison, Dottie Chattin, Caroline Stens, Margie Loving, Michelle Smith, Susan Abbott
Second Row from left: John Hindman, Ken Fell, Steve Smith, Tim Sellen, Bunny Allen, Sharon Hoffman, Kathy Collinge, Bonnie Mecholsky, Linda Smith, Don Davis, Me, Bob Stokes, Tom Jenkins
Back Row from left: Terry Fleming, Dave Earnhart, Ralph Leeds, Dave Moffit, Mario Contarino
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Lull in the Action; Fun Being Me
Hi everyone! I'm afraid I have to take a three or four week break from the blog and dear Wenonah in order to focus on a project of mine. A very talented young man named Steven McCasland has adapted my two books into a one man play called, oddly, "Fun Being Me". It has its premier on April 12th and 13th at Pace University in downtown Manhattan at 8pm. I'm excited and scared and overjoyed. Steven has done a fine job of locating the points where the books intersect and has woven them into a moving theater piece. Sadly he hired me as the actor. Oh well, you get what you pay for and he's not paying me.
If you'd like to attend you need to RSVP to Steven at this address: GroupTherapyProductions@gmail.com. There is a suggested donation of $5 that goes to the charity of my choice...in this case the GMHC of New York. What a shock, a guy with AIDS picks one of the finest organizations in NYC to donate money to. I'd love to see you there and talk with you after. Here's what Steven said in his email publicizing the piece:
Hello, friends--
I am proud to be a participant in the world premiere of poet Jack Wiler's beautiful one-man play, FUN BEING ME. Jack speaks candidly life with AIDS, living the life of a poet but working as an exterminator to pay the bills, and the difference between life and death. I was given the opportunity to adapt his poetry into a play and direct him in it and I'm proud to say that the work he is doing is stunning and beautiful. He is a wonderful man and his poetry is absolutely gorgeous.
We're presenting the piece of Saturday April 12th and Sunday April 13th at 8pm in Pace's Multipurpose Room. It is presented by Group Therapy Productions, a student theater group I co-founded with Kerrie Bond, Michael Rehse and Theresa Johnson, and Pace CARES. All of the proceeds raised will benefit Gay Men's Health Crisis.
We ask that you donate $5.00 for admission, though it is not required. The performance should last about 45 minutes, followed by a talk-back with Jack and I. Attached you'll find the ad for the performances.
If you'd like to attend, please e-mail GroupTherapyProductions@gmail.com.
I hope to see you there!
Sincerely,
Steven McCasland
Okay, you're saying where's the attached ad? I'd post it but it's a pdf file and blogger doesn't let you upload pdf's. God knows why. Write me and I'll email it to you. To all you sad sack South Jersey knuckleheads, this is your chance to come to the big apple for a bit of culture. To everyone else in the metropolitan area I'd love to have you in attendance to buoy my spirits.
Till April 14th then, Godspeed and Happy Easter!
Jack
If you'd like to attend you need to RSVP to Steven at this address: GroupTherapyProductions@gmail.com. There is a suggested donation of $5 that goes to the charity of my choice...in this case the GMHC of New York. What a shock, a guy with AIDS picks one of the finest organizations in NYC to donate money to. I'd love to see you there and talk with you after. Here's what Steven said in his email publicizing the piece:
Hello, friends--
I am proud to be a participant in the world premiere of poet Jack Wiler's beautiful one-man play, FUN BEING ME. Jack speaks candidly life with AIDS, living the life of a poet but working as an exterminator to pay the bills, and the difference between life and death. I was given the opportunity to adapt his poetry into a play and direct him in it and I'm proud to say that the work he is doing is stunning and beautiful. He is a wonderful man and his poetry is absolutely gorgeous.
We're presenting the piece of Saturday April 12th and Sunday April 13th at 8pm in Pace's Multipurpose Room. It is presented by Group Therapy Productions, a student theater group I co-founded with Kerrie Bond, Michael Rehse and Theresa Johnson, and Pace CARES. All of the proceeds raised will benefit Gay Men's Health Crisis.
We ask that you donate $5.00 for admission, though it is not required. The performance should last about 45 minutes, followed by a talk-back with Jack and I. Attached you'll find the ad for the performances.
If you'd like to attend, please e-mail GroupTherapyProductions@gmail.com.
I hope to see you there!
Sincerely,
Steven McCasland
Okay, you're saying where's the attached ad? I'd post it but it's a pdf file and blogger doesn't let you upload pdf's. God knows why. Write me and I'll email it to you. To all you sad sack South Jersey knuckleheads, this is your chance to come to the big apple for a bit of culture. To everyone else in the metropolitan area I'd love to have you in attendance to buoy my spirits.
Till April 14th then, Godspeed and Happy Easter!
Jack
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
6th Grade, September 1963
We pick up our bikes from the grass of my front lawn, me, Chris, Terry, Gary, Mick, & Ed Mossop, and wheel up to the school. It's the last week in August. On the window of the school are the classroom assignments. Terry and I are set for Mrs. Myers. We've never heard of her. It's her first year teaching at Wenonah. But we're in the same class so that's good. We're excited and happy and ready for a new year. We're almost the oldest kids in school. Chris will be in the last 7th grade class at Wenonah and there's one last 8th grade class but after this the school goes to K-6. Next year we'll be in the new regional high school in Woodbury Heights. Gateway Regional High School. So this is our chance to shine.
This is the year the Beatles break big. This is the year JFK buys it. This is the year of long hair (or what passes for long hair in Wenonah), worrying about girls, and being big kids. Finally. Big kids. We rule. Kind of. Almost. In our heads.
There will be much to talk about over the next few months but this was a momentous year of tremendous success. Meaning we didn't do much of anything and thought we were all that. Tomorrow you can see us in all our pre-teen glory.
This is the year the Beatles break big. This is the year JFK buys it. This is the year of long hair (or what passes for long hair in Wenonah), worrying about girls, and being big kids. Finally. Big kids. We rule. Kind of. Almost. In our heads.
There will be much to talk about over the next few months but this was a momentous year of tremendous success. Meaning we didn't do much of anything and thought we were all that. Tomorrow you can see us in all our pre-teen glory.
Friday, March 07, 2008
Summer 1963
Oh the vagaries of life! I thought I'd write and write and then work and stuff gets in the way and next thing I know I'm getting yelled at by Carolyn in the office that I haven't written anything.
So.
I've spoken in the past about the 4th of July in Wenonah but I've sort of left off how it was different then from now. The principal difference was the dancing. I know, you say what dancing. Well in 1963 and I would imagine for years before there was a dance band that performed on Mantua Avenue after the traditional Pitman Hobo Band concert in the park. The fire department would hose off the street in late afternoon and all us knuckleheads would go to get knocked down by the spray from the hoses. Then immediately following the concert a smart dance band playing all the hits of the fifties and early sixties would set up and every one in town would dance in the middle of town across from Margie's luncheonette and the park.
The sweet sounds of swing and Sinatra would waft across the night air and grown ups and kids would fill the street. This was both weird and cool. In 1963 I was in love with Diane Evans and wanted to dance with her with all my heart. I got my wish. Like some weird little wind up child I approached her and we danced and that might be the last time I ever spoke with her. The same night something stranger happened.
Young people from out of town tried to join the fun. A fight nearly erupted. An alarm spread through the celebrants. The tiny police department and the firemen and the town elect banded together to expel the intruders.
What the fuck?
We might have been in a tiny village in England in the Middle Ages. We might have been Miller's Men doing our spring dance for the Maidens. We repelled the invasion of alien peoples from our sacred precincts. I don't know if the kids were black or white, tough or stupid but they were sent packing. This was for our town...not for anyone else.
When people talk about racism and shit like that they forget that all of this was based on tiny littI don't know if the kids were black or white, tough or stupid but they were sent packing. This was for our town...not for anyone else.
When people talk about racism and shit like that they forget that all of this was based on tiny little towns scared to death of strangers. Of the other. So when some kids came to our town to dance they were beaten back. Huh?
Meanwhile the strains of Glenn Miller filled the air. It was hot and wet all at once. I was dancing with Diane Evans. Life was as good as it might ever get.
The only other thing I truly remember about this is that I was small. There comes a time in a childs life when he is suddenly as tall as everyone else. This was not one of them. I came up to everyone's waist. That's how I saw the world. Maybe that's still how I see the world. Maybe that's how you see the world.
Next post... Mrs Myers and 6th Grade. Jack has his last shot at cool Stay tuned.
So.
I've spoken in the past about the 4th of July in Wenonah but I've sort of left off how it was different then from now. The principal difference was the dancing. I know, you say what dancing. Well in 1963 and I would imagine for years before there was a dance band that performed on Mantua Avenue after the traditional Pitman Hobo Band concert in the park. The fire department would hose off the street in late afternoon and all us knuckleheads would go to get knocked down by the spray from the hoses. Then immediately following the concert a smart dance band playing all the hits of the fifties and early sixties would set up and every one in town would dance in the middle of town across from Margie's luncheonette and the park.
The sweet sounds of swing and Sinatra would waft across the night air and grown ups and kids would fill the street. This was both weird and cool. In 1963 I was in love with Diane Evans and wanted to dance with her with all my heart. I got my wish. Like some weird little wind up child I approached her and we danced and that might be the last time I ever spoke with her. The same night something stranger happened.
Young people from out of town tried to join the fun. A fight nearly erupted. An alarm spread through the celebrants. The tiny police department and the firemen and the town elect banded together to expel the intruders.
What the fuck?
We might have been in a tiny village in England in the Middle Ages. We might have been Miller's Men doing our spring dance for the Maidens. We repelled the invasion of alien peoples from our sacred precincts. I don't know if the kids were black or white, tough or stupid but they were sent packing. This was for our town...not for anyone else.
When people talk about racism and shit like that they forget that all of this was based on tiny littI don't know if the kids were black or white, tough or stupid but they were sent packing. This was for our town...not for anyone else.
When people talk about racism and shit like that they forget that all of this was based on tiny little towns scared to death of strangers. Of the other. So when some kids came to our town to dance they were beaten back. Huh?
Meanwhile the strains of Glenn Miller filled the air. It was hot and wet all at once. I was dancing with Diane Evans. Life was as good as it might ever get.
The only other thing I truly remember about this is that I was small. There comes a time in a childs life when he is suddenly as tall as everyone else. This was not one of them. I came up to everyone's waist. That's how I saw the world. Maybe that's still how I see the world. Maybe that's how you see the world.
Next post... Mrs Myers and 6th Grade. Jack has his last shot at cool Stay tuned.
Summer 1963
Oh the vagaries of life! I thought I'd write and write and then work and stuff gets in the way and next thing I know I'm getting yelled at by Carolyn in the office that I haven't written anything.
So.
I've spoken in the past about the 4th of July in Wenonah but I've sort of left off how it was different then from now. The principal difference was the dancing. I know, you say what dancing. Well in 1963 and I would imagine for years before there was a dance band that performed on Mantua Avenue after the traditional Pitman Hobo Band concert in the park. The fire department would hose off the street in late afternoon and all us knuckleheads would go to get knocked down by the spray from the hoses. Then immediately following the concert a smart dance band playing all the hits of the fifties and early sixties would set up and every one in town would dance in the middle of town across from Margie's luncheonette and the park.
The sweet sounds of swing and Sinatra would waft across the night air and grown ups and kids would fill the street. This was both weird and cool. In 1963 I was in love with Diane Evans and wanted to dance with her with all my heart. I got my wish. Like some weird little wind up child I approached her and we danced and that might be the last time I ever spoke with her. The same night something stranger happened.
Young people from out of town tried to join the fun. A fight nearly erupted. An alarm spread through the celebrants. The tiny police department and the firemen and the town elect banded together to expel the intruders.
What the fuck?
We might have been in a tiny village in England in the Middle Ages. We might have been Miller's Men doing our spring dance for the Maidens. We repelled the invasion of alien peoples from our sacred precincts. I don't know if the kids were black or white, tough or stupid but they were sent packing. This was for our town...not for anyone else.
When people talk about racism and shit like that they forget that all of this was based on tiny little towns scared to death of strangers. Of the other. So when some kids came to our town to dance they were beaten back. Huh?
Meanwhile the strains of Glenn Miller filled the air. It was hot and wet all at once. I was dancing with Diane Evans. Life was as good as it might ever get.
The only other thing I truly remember about this is that I was small. There comes a time in a childs life when he is suddenly as tall as everyone else. This was not one of them. I came up to everyone's waist. That's how I saw the world. Maybe that's still how I see the world. Maybe that's how you see the world.
Next post... Mrs Myers and 6th Grade. Jack has his last shot at cool Stay tuned.
So.
I've spoken in the past about the 4th of July in Wenonah but I've sort of left off how it was different then from now. The principal difference was the dancing. I know, you say what dancing. Well in 1963 and I would imagine for years before there was a dance band that performed on Mantua Avenue after the traditional Pitman Hobo Band concert in the park. The fire department would hose off the street in late afternoon and all us knuckleheads would go to get knocked down by the spray from the hoses. Then immediately following the concert a smart dance band playing all the hits of the fifties and early sixties would set up and every one in town would dance in the middle of town across from Margie's luncheonette and the park.
The sweet sounds of swing and Sinatra would waft across the night air and grown ups and kids would fill the street. This was both weird and cool. In 1963 I was in love with Diane Evans and wanted to dance with her with all my heart. I got my wish. Like some weird little wind up child I approached her and we danced and that might be the last time I ever spoke with her. The same night something stranger happened.
Young people from out of town tried to join the fun. A fight nearly erupted. An alarm spread through the celebrants. The tiny police department and the firemen and the town elect banded together to expel the intruders.
What the fuck?
We might have been in a tiny village in England in the Middle Ages. We might have been Miller's Men doing our spring dance for the Maidens. We repelled the invasion of alien peoples from our sacred precincts. I don't know if the kids were black or white, tough or stupid but they were sent packing. This was for our town...not for anyone else.
When people talk about racism and shit like that they forget that all of this was based on tiny little towns scared to death of strangers. Of the other. So when some kids came to our town to dance they were beaten back. Huh?
Meanwhile the strains of Glenn Miller filled the air. It was hot and wet all at once. I was dancing with Diane Evans. Life was as good as it might ever get.
The only other thing I truly remember about this is that I was small. There comes a time in a childs life when he is suddenly as tall as everyone else. This was not one of them. I came up to everyone's waist. That's how I saw the world. Maybe that's still how I see the world. Maybe that's how you see the world.
Next post... Mrs Myers and 6th Grade. Jack has his last shot at cool Stay tuned.
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