Prose Gallery Eight
This gallery contains four memories of youth relating to "the
bomb" and school friends, and a postscript.
bomb" and school friends, and a postscript.
air raid drills.
-In Catholic school we had to get under our desks. Since most of
the students at A. Harry Moore could not perform such a feat, we were
marched instead into a room near the center of the building. I always
doubted whether this was an actual bomb shelter, but it was a room free
of windows. At least we would not be hurt by flying glass if and when the
big one fell.
the Cuban Missile Crisis
and watching JFK on TV speaking to the nation about the possibility
of war with the Soviet Union
and wondering during class the next day whether we were going to be
escorted to that window-free room near the center of the building
one last time.
John Dunwoodie and Eddie Burke
and being close friends at A. Harry Moore
and mimicking "The Three Stooges" [John played Moe, Eddie
played Larry, and I played Curley]
and being pretty good, except that Eddie, being Black, lacked the
stringy wild hair characteristic of Larry
and Eddie having a pronounced limp [perhaps from polio]
and never being certain why John was at A. Harry Moore since
he had no obvious disability.
-It was not uncommon for kids to keep silent about their
disabilities. Whatever John's problem, however, it must have resolved
since just minutes before writing this recollection, I learned that he had
been highly decorated, including the Bronze Star, for his service in the
Vietnam War. I learned this information from his obituary in the
newspaper. John had died at age forty-four, leaving behind a wife and
three children.
John Seccafico
and he being my closest friend at A. Harry Moore
and John having polio and being confined to a wheelchair
and talking with John all day at school and then into the evening
on the telephone
and the day in the fourth-grade when John was being transferred to
another class [he was a half-year ahead of me, but we caught
up again when the school abandoned half-year promotions]
and both of us crying uncontrollably
and making such a scene that teachers from other rooms [perhaps
other floors] came to see what was going on.
-About twenty years or so after school, I ran into John at a
wedding at which my band was playing. We couldn't speak much during
the night since I was working and he was with his family, but we did
exchange telephone numbers and promised to get in touch the following
week. I thought to myself, how great it will be to rekindle this once
great friendship. He never called me and I never called him.
. . . perhaps when it comes to our memories, we are ultimately
afraid of subjecting our known, even if sometimes sad past, to the
uncertainties of our present and future.
-In Catholic school we had to get under our desks. Since most of
the students at A. Harry Moore could not perform such a feat, we were
marched instead into a room near the center of the building. I always
doubted whether this was an actual bomb shelter, but it was a room free
of windows. At least we would not be hurt by flying glass if and when the
big one fell.
the Cuban Missile Crisis
and watching JFK on TV speaking to the nation about the possibility
of war with the Soviet Union
and wondering during class the next day whether we were going to be
escorted to that window-free room near the center of the building
one last time.
John Dunwoodie and Eddie Burke
and being close friends at A. Harry Moore
and mimicking "The Three Stooges" [John played Moe, Eddie
played Larry, and I played Curley]
and being pretty good, except that Eddie, being Black, lacked the
stringy wild hair characteristic of Larry
and Eddie having a pronounced limp [perhaps from polio]
and never being certain why John was at A. Harry Moore since
he had no obvious disability.
-It was not uncommon for kids to keep silent about their
disabilities. Whatever John's problem, however, it must have resolved
since just minutes before writing this recollection, I learned that he had
been highly decorated, including the Bronze Star, for his service in the
Vietnam War. I learned this information from his obituary in the
newspaper. John had died at age forty-four, leaving behind a wife and
three children.
John Seccafico
and he being my closest friend at A. Harry Moore
and John having polio and being confined to a wheelchair
and talking with John all day at school and then into the evening
on the telephone
and the day in the fourth-grade when John was being transferred to
another class [he was a half-year ahead of me, but we caught
up again when the school abandoned half-year promotions]
and both of us crying uncontrollably
and making such a scene that teachers from other rooms [perhaps
other floors] came to see what was going on.
-About twenty years or so after school, I ran into John at a
wedding at which my band was playing. We couldn't speak much during
the night since I was working and he was with his family, but we did
exchange telephone numbers and promised to get in touch the following
week. I thought to myself, how great it will be to rekindle this once
great friendship. He never called me and I never called him.
. . . perhaps when it comes to our memories, we are ultimately
afraid of subjecting our known, even if sometimes sad past, to the
uncertainties of our present and future.
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